the chequered flag dead or alive

Jethro Tull

The disc brakes drag,
the chequered flag sweeps across the oil-slick track.
The young man s home; dry as a bone.
His helmet off, he waves: the crowd waves back.
One lap victory roll. Gladiator soul.
The taker of the day in winning has to say,
Isn t it grand to be playing to the stand,
dead or alive.

The sunlight streaks through the curtain cracks,
touches the old man where he sleeps.
The nurse brings up a cup of tea ---
two biscuits and the morning paper mystery.
The hard road s end, the white god s-send
is nearer everyday, in dying the old man says,
Isn t it grand to be playing to the stand,
dead or alive.

The still-born child can t feel the rain
as the chequered flag falls once again.
The deaf composer completes his final score.
He ll never hear the sweet encore.
The chequered flag, the bull s red rag,
the lemming-hearted hordes
running ever faster to the shore singing,
Isn t it grand to be playing to the stand,
dead or alive.