Woorden: Jethro Tull. Broadsword And The Beast. The Clasp.

We travelers on the endless wastes in single orbits gliding
Cold-eyed march towards the dawn, behind hard weather hoods a-hiding
Meeting as the tall ships do, passing in the channel
Afraid to chance a gentle touch, afraid to make the clasp

In high-rise city, canyons dwells the discontent of ages
On ring roads, nose to bumper crawl commuters in their cages
Cryptic signals flash across from pilots in the fast lane
Double-locked and belted in, too late to make the clasp

Let's break the journey now on some lonely road
Sit down as strangers will, let the stress unload
Talk in confidential terms, share a dark unspoken fear
Refill the cup and drink it up, say goodnight and wish good luck

Synthetic chiefs with frozen smiles, holding unsteady courses
Grip the reins of history, high on their battle horses
And meeting as good statesmen do before the TV eyes of millions
Hand to hand exchange the lie, pretend to make the clasp