"Mrs. Tibbets"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

Blinkered against the harsh and raging sun, they said, "Divert your gaze, don't look behind"
It was time, they said, to do that thing, mindful, they, of peace and peace of mind
"Don't feel bad, " they said, about the numbers, don't feel bad about the melting heat
The burning flesh, the soft white cell demise and the shattered ground beneath the trembling feet
Mrs Tibbets' little boy, August morning silence breaks
Eyes to Heaven, Manhattan toy, drops in for tea and Eccles cake
All for the good and ultimately, saving precious lives in longer run
Set a course for home and happy holidays, tell yourselves thank God what's done is done
Mrs Tibbets' little boy, August morning silence breaks
Eyes to Heaven, Manhattan toy, drops in for tea and Eccles cake
Maybe if Lot had stopped and stood his ground and maybe if Peter hadn't turned away
What if that Judas stole no kiss? What if, what if, Enola Gay?
Mrs Tibbets' little boy, August morning silence breaks
Eyes to Heaven, Manhattan toy, drops in for tea and Eccles cake
Have yourselves a merry little Christmas, open parcels, gifts of different kind
A bigger bang will call for bigger bucks, so pay the ransom, don't look behind



"Jacob's Tales"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

Who cares about the family silver, that glints in dusty halls
Lined with badly painted landscapes on badly painted walls?
Who cares for family favourites, dangling from the family tree?
That Auntie Mabel loved you more, loved you, loved you more than me
We're not old fools of competition, Jacob's tales or superstition
But siblings born in equal grace, seated at set-table place
Same old chances, toss of dice, evil eyes look twice as nice
Blood runs thicker, blood runs cold, seize legacy before it's sold
Who cares if I am comfortable, in leafy rural lane
While you are tied to drudgery, left staring at the rain
That washes out your young ambition, hung out left to dry
And wither on the washing line, washed-out, washed-out butterfly
We're not old fools of competition, Jacob's tales or superstition
But siblings born in equal grace, seated at set-table place
Same old chances, toss of dice, evil eyes look twice as nice
Blood runs thicker, blood runs cold, seize legacy before it's sold



"Mine Is The Mountain"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

Mine is the power and mine is the glory, mine is the mountain up which you tread
Give me bold questions, give me good reason, tell me you love me, fear all I have said
Don't imitate me, don't forsake me, in images silver, in idols of gold
Don't make me jealous, don't make me angry, don't ever leave me out in the cold
(Mine is the mountain)
Bring all your pomp, precious jewels and your fin?ry, build me safe haven for tabl?ts of stone
To live through the ages to scold and to guide you, threaten, cajole you, and cut to the bone
(Mine in the mountain)
I'm no pushover lamb, no gentle provider, vengeance, retribution are my middle names
I can make a cadaver of your women, your firstborn, with a snap of a finger, of salt and of flame
Matty and Lucas may bring something softer, gentle in word and gentle in deed
But you who ignore these things that are written, will define the story your children will read
(Mine is the mountain)
Bring all your pomp, precious jewels and your finery, build me safe haven for tablets of stone
To live through the ages to scold and to guide you, threaten cajole you and cut to the bone
(Mine is the mountain)
So think of me fondly in spite of the raging, the ranting, the raving, the threatening tone
For I am the father, the power and the glory, and now, for God's sake, kindly leave me alone
(Mine is the mountain)



"The Zealot Gene"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

Half of us are in the apple, half of us are in the pie
All of us are in the pudding when the last bus has gone by
Someone has to take the high road, someone has to make the bed
No one has the right to tell you to lie down when all is said
The black and white, the stereotype, the polarising pitch at play
While some of us sit in between interminable shades of grey
No need to walk the tightropem set out on that great divide
The balance scales may tremble, but the featherweights are on our side
Carrying the Zealot gene, right or left, no in between
Beware, beware the Zealot gene, naked flame near gasoline
The populist with dark appeal, the pandering to hate
Which xenophobic scaremongers deliver on a plate
To tame the pangs of hunger and satisfy the lust
Slave to ideology, moderation bites the dust
Bee buzzing in your bonnet and a wasp right up the bum
A V-8 under hood, a cocked hammer under thumb
Ear-splitting twitter thunder and a screaming banshee wail
You got too many opinions and a tom cat by the tail
Carrying the Zealot gene, right or left, no in between
Beware, beware the Zealot gene, naked flame near gasoline
Carrying the Zealot gene, right or left, no in between
Beware, beware the Zealot gene, naked flame near gasoline
Half of us are in the apple, half of us are in the pie
All of us are in the pudding when the last bus has gone by
Someone has to take the high road, someone has to make the bed
No one has the right to tell you to lie down when all is said
The black and white, the stereotype, the polarising pitch at play
While some of us sit in between interminable shades of grey
No need to walk the tightrope, set out on that great divide
The balance scales may tremble, but the featherweights are on our side
Carrying the Zealot gene, right or left, no in between
Beware, beware the Zealot gene, naked flame near gasoline



"Shoshana Sleeping"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

Sleep, the time's not yet, early birds soon crowing
Wake when dawn declares, woman risen from childish airs
I watch, across the room, dncing shadow, torch outside
Lights path down cobbled lane, which I have walked, will walk again
Sweet field lily, sweet Shoshana, names to conjure fragrant danger
Fingers tremble, trace the line from nape to sacrum down the spine
Poisoned prize a trophy, freely taken, hardly won
A minute, holds back hours, bud emboldened, forest flowers
Moist under my hand, she sleeps, breath comes quickly
A sigh parts silky lips, soft-swell breasts, proud golden tips
Sweet field lily, sweet Shoshana, names to conjure fragrant danger
My fingers tremble, trace the line from nape to sacrum down the spine
Sweet sadness fills my heart, offered chances best not taken
Unsullied, no vain glory, chapter, verse, another story
Brushed eyelids gently closed, beauty framed in dawn light
Savoured moment blessed, a kiss, farewell and leave to rest
Sweet field lily, sweet Shoshana, names to conjure fragrant danger
Fingers tremble, trace the line from nape to sacrum down the spine



"Sad City Sisters"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

Hard to choose, to choose between them, tramps on a night out, out of season
Bare legs and arms at the taxi stand, shoes in hand, cold curb to freeze on
What desperation what souls possessed with lonely demons are put to test?
Why should we worry? Why should we care, the warrior horsemen shame, defile them?
Why tip the cabbie, plus his fare? So send them home to stumble in and toss their knickers in the bin
Repentance looms then melts away, mocked by dark unearthly silence, replaced by incubus at play
Bad sisters stare, graffiti walls, stare in return when weekend calls
The empty bragging, the empty lives, an anguish echo through empty malls
What desperation, what souls possessed, with lonely demons are put to test?
Why should we worry? Why should we care, the warrior horsemen shame, defile them?
The six-gun notches say it all
It was hard to choose, to choose between them, tramps on a night out, out of season
Out of body and out of mind, out of dark and into reason
Get them home to stumble in and toss their knickers in the bin
Demons loom then melt away, enough, disrupts the earthly silence
Guilty Eros had his day, hands two sad souls to Agáp?



"Barren Beth, Wild Desert John"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

Oh, the joy! (Oh, the joy) to feel the faint beat pulsing, cousin Mary (cousin Mary) set two hearts racing
Winged Gabriel (young Gabriel), we started something, angry ranting (and raving), fur bad winds chasing
You know he's going to be so special, not number one, maybe number two
Filled with passion, preparation, a dip in Jordan's heady brew
Cousin Mary (Mary) gets all the credit, iconic mother (mother) that's all understood
While Barren Beth (Barren Beth),wrinkly life-bringer, helped two Jays (two little Jays) to find their nests
What would be one without the other? What would one be without the tale?
Dark narrative of grave and passion, head on platter, cross and nail
Oh, the joy! (Oh, the joy) to feel the faint beat pulsing, cousin Mary (cousin Mary) set two hearts racing
Winged Gabriel (young Gabriel), he started something, angry ranting (and raving), four bad winds chasing
You know he's going to be so special, not number one, maybe number two
Filled with passion, preparation, a dip in Jordan's heady brew



"The Betrayal of Joshua Kynde"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

You just know it, don't you? You can sense it, can't you? There's always someone to spoil the party fun
Turncoat in right-hand, right-hand trusted service, the moment come for the coup-de-gun
What did I do to so upset you? Did you feel so cruelly, cruelly maligned
To push you to this cold conclusion and the betrayal of Joshua Kynde?
A spy with coin, a coin of sweet betrayal, of dagger hidden, black cloak unfurled
Swayed, perhaps, by idealogical obsession or plain detachment, dark otherworld
So take this silver, feel it rattle, comforting in pocket and comforting in mind
Should I be flattered at this price upon my head and the betrayal of Joshua Kynde?
How does it feel to point the stabbing finger with perfidious kiss from those deceiving lips?
You sealed my fate as goodly Joshua Kynde, the kind who played with fish and had his chips
So take this silver, feel it rattle, comforting in pocket and comforting in mind
Should I be flattered at this price upon my head and the betrayal of Joshua Kynde?



"Where Did Saturday Go?"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

Where did Saturday go?
Lost in a whirlwind, heady passion, long faces hang so low, high-flying dreams to Earth fell crashing
Deeply regrettable, somewhat predictable, faintly implausible, quite unmissable, but where did Saturday go?
Friday felt so alive, savagely, wickedly entertaining
Watching comeuppance arrive, the howl of the pneuma, the last breath remaining
For bucking the system, ascending the rostrum, occasional tantrum, offering nostrum, but where did Saturday go?
Empty sun on an empty hill, suffering simply, set aside
Silent screams, a silence shrill, on a one-way donkey ride
Empty sun on an empty hill, suffering simply, set aside
Silent screams, a silence shrill, on a one-way donkey ride
Sunday started so slow, empty beds in emptier places
How were we meant to know? Ghostly soul amongst crazy faces
Striking ascendance, in due accordance, ultimate prescience, what a performance
But where did Saturday go? Where did Saturday go, go?



"Three Loves, Three"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

Call it what you will; I just need to hear it, tell me, fill the night; blow warm breath to cheer it
It's not for me that I ask sweet reassurance, it's for you to see, to see love's firm endurance
It's not for me that I ask sweet reassurance, it's for you to see, to see the three loves, three
Cold lambs are stirring on the gentler edge of dawn, good shepherds watching: alert, they linger on
Long after sun's up on just another day and night's dark whispers have had their say
Long after sun's up on just another day, it's for you to see, to see the three loves, three
Be it love of spirit, of brothers, lovers, sons or blood-heat emotion, burning lava, bright it runs
I'll take what's offered, made bold and manifest, remember me, long gone, long gone to rest
I'll take what's offered, made bold and manifest, it's for you to see, to see the three loves, three
Three loves, three. Three loves, three



"In Brief Visitation"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

I still need someone to love, someone outrageous, someone to make me laugh
Someone who fell from above, to channel my hope up and write me an autograph
Here on my heart, engraved dedication, the fall guy was here, in brief visitation
I still need someone to love, in brief visitation, the fall guy was here
Dangerous affections sublime, smother objections with infinite kindness passed
Between us, a steadying sail, never to flutter, never to break the mast
Write on my heart, engraved dedication, the fall guy was here, in brief visitation
Dangerous affections sublime, in brief visitation, the fall guy was here
In brief visitation, the fall guy was here
They still need someone to hate, to blend with harsh accusations, to scare
The many and even the few, who flock to the party but turn from the glare
When caught in the headlights and taken to task, cowardly persuasion behind the life mask
They still need someone to hate, in brief visitation, the fall guy was here



"The Fisherman of Ephesus"
music and lyrics by Ian Anderson

The Zealot Gene (2022)

Ten set out along the rocky road, to suffer for their saintly sins
The great betrayer missing, having topped himself or split his skin
Now, the young beloved one, last son of father Zebedee
Comes to the town of Ephesus to spin the lure and reel them in
Casts a line, sits waiting quietly for the telltale nibble to reveal
The passing curiosity, the inner need, the faint appeal
Sings sweetly for his supper, sings of miracles and fairy tales
Of barley loaves and two small fish to make, for multitudes, a meal
Fisherman of Ephesus surveys the spirits' battleground
Flag was flown, a story told of crucifix and thorny crown
Hard to go on living with the guilt of chance survival
All alone to fall from sky, crash landing on arrival
To walk again the rocky road, no martyrdom to comfort
Wait out the years to join the ten, in fairytale revival
The test of poison cup, a little boiling oil along the way
On isle of Artemis to toil, write memoirs at the end of day
Then back to lie in Ephesus, alone among the dozen
As harbour slowly suffocates and the catch has swum far away
Fisherman of Ephesus, did he know the fate of others?
Their sticky end, the harsh rebuttal, he alone without his brothers