4 - Jeff Wayne - The War Of The Worlds - Forever Autumn | Текст песни

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• 4 - Jeff Wayne - The War Of The Worlds
• Forever Autumn

[The Journalist:]
For three days I fought my way along roads packed with refugees, the homeless, burdened with boxes and bundles containing their valuables. All that was of value to me was in London. By the time I reached their little red brick house, Carrie and her father were gone.

[The Sung Thoughts of The Journalist:]
The summer sun is fading as the year grows old,
And darker days are drawing near,
The winter winds will be much colder,
Now you're not here.

I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky
And one by one they disappear,
I wish that I was flying with them
Now you're not here.
Like the sun through the trees you came to love me,
Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away...

Through autumn's golden gown we used to kick our way,
You always loved this time of year
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
Cause you're not here
Cause you're not here
Cause you're not here

[The Journalist:]
Fire suddenly leapt from house to house. The population panicked and ran, and I was swept along with them, aimless and lost without Carrie. Finally, I headed eastward for the ocean and my only hope of survival: a boat out of England.

[The Sung Thoughts of The Journalist:]
Like the sun through the trees you came to love me,
Like a leaf on the breeze you blew away...

A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes
As if to hide a lonely tear
My life will be forever autumn,
Cause you're not here
Cause you're not here
Cause you're not here

[The Journalist:]
As I hastened through Covent Garden, Blackfriars and Billingsgate, more and more people joined the painful exodus. Sad, weary women, their children stumbling in the street with tears, their men bitter and angry, the rich rubbing shoulders with beggars and outcasts. Dogs snarled and whined, the horse's bits were covered with foam, and here and there were wounded soldiers, as helpless as the rest.

We saw tripods wading up the Thames, cutting through bridges as if they were paper. Waterloo Bridge. Westminster Bridge. One appeared above Big Ben.

Never before in the history of the world had such a mass of human beings moved and suffered together. This was no disiplined march, it was a stampede, without order and without a goal. Six million people, unarmed and unprovisioned, driving headlong. It was the beginning of the rout of civilisation. Of the massacre of mankind.

A vast crowd buffeted me to the already packed steamer. I looked up enviously at those safely onboard; straight into the eyes of my beloved Carrie. At sight of me she began to fight her way along the packed deck to the gang-plank. At that very moment it was raised, and I caught a last glimpse of her despairing face, as the crowd swept me away from her.

[The Sung Thoughts of The Journalist:]
Like the sun through the trees you came to love me,
Like a leaf on the breeze you blew away...

Through Autumn's golden gown we used to kick our way,
You always loves this time of year,
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now,
Cause you're not here,
Cause you're not here,
Cause you're not here.


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