The Emperor In His War-room Lyrics

Van Der Graaf Generator - The Emperor In His War-room Lyrics

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The Emperor In His War-room Lyrics

i. THE EMPEROR

Standing in the space that holds the silent lace of night

                                          away from you

You think that you can hold the searing, moulten gold between

                                         your fingers ...

But it slips through, tearing tendons as it goes,

exposing the white of a knuckle ...

flesh-and-metal forming letters in the mould.

Cradling you gun, after choosing the ones you think should die-

Lying on the hill ... crawling over the windowsill into your

                                          living-room

They stare out, glass-eyed aimless heads,

bodies torn by vultures ..

you are the man whose hands are rank with the smell of death.

Saviour of the Fallen, Protector of the Weak,

Friend of the Tall Ones, Keeper of the Peace ...

       Ah, but it is the only way you know .....

Looking out to sea, a flattened plane of weeds which bear no living

You crush life in your fist as your heart is kissed by the lips

                                           of death

Ghosts betray you, ghosts betray you, in the night they steal your eye

from its socket ...

and the ball hangs fallen on your cheek.

Complaining tongues are stilled; a thousand mouths are filled

                                         with rusting metal.

Your face a shade of green; somehow you try to speak through all the

                                      garbage in your mouth

But it won't come out, and you cannot frame the words

as your stepson

throws your fame into the flames and you are burned.

Saviour of the Fallen, Protector of the Weak,

Friend of the Tall Ones, Keeper of the Peace.

       Ah, but it is the only way you know ..........

ii. THE ROOM

Live by sword and you shall die so,

All your power shall come to nought,

every life you take is part of your own,

death, not power, is what you've bought.

Cringing in your room as the outriders of doom step

                                  on your threshold;

Begging for your life as the impartial knife sinks in your

                                   screaming flesh ...

without malice, merely taking murder's toll,

you must pay the price of hate, and that price is

                                  your soul ....

Live in peace or die forever in your war-room.