Nude Lyrics

City Life
Wake-up,
Wake-up, wake-up
Signs tell the time
you're wasting.

Wake up
wake-up, wake-up
Life you will find
is changing.

O the city life,
endless confusion.
Hanging on too tight,
to this illusion...

I'm not what I appear to be.
I couldn't take the honesty,
It seemed to be...
too easy for reality.

O the city life,
what have I come to?
Faces in the night,
friendly to fool you.

I always try to justify,
the way I am and wonder why
I couldn't be...
the same to you I am to me.

Nude
(Instrumental)

Drafted
Nude's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. The
postman muttered something about wishing he could go too
and handed over a yellow envelope.
It was a command long overdue that called for healthy,
young men.

In reply to your request,
please find...
I hereby protest.
To the ways and means you use
you know...
I cannot refuse.

So I'll take this vow
of Loyalty.
Fight for the right,
You have said,
To be free.

When this time has run its course,
I must...
Live without remorse.
For the deeds I'm bound to do,
I know...
it's all the same to you.

But I won't forget
the memory...
Taking a life,
for a life...
to be free.

Nude's life revolved around orders. He found himself pushed
and pulled onto a crowded deck of uniformed figures who
shared the same expressionless faces. Loved ones stood
anxiously on the pier as the transport faded into separating mist.
Water and night seemed one. Nude was going to war...

Thunder cracked. Ramps hit the beach and countless boots
assaulted the shore. His heart punding, Nude stumbled
headlong into the undergrowth in a desperate search for
refuge. Sheets of rain drenched the sunless forest as the skies
opened raging down on the tiny island. Panic-stricken, Nude
staggered forward and fell unconscious.
Raindrops spattered from the trees onto Nude's face.
Startled and confused, Nude listened in the humid silence; he
was alone and had no idea where he was. Worst of all, he didn't
know what had become of his Regiment.
The setting sin left Nude with the growing darkness of his
fears. He made camp and slept with dreams of a dawn rescue,
unaware that his Unit had already left the island. In wartime, one
less soldier is hardly noticeable.

Seasons turned with time. Nude had given up the search for his
Unit but continued to move through the jungle, bayonet poised,
as if a thousand eyes were upon him. Home was a cave in a
hidden lagoon with abundant vegetation and fresh springs. The
highest point of the island provided shelter from annual
monsoon floods and sanctuary for his soul.
His military duties consisted of a monthly visit to the
mountain top whereupon he ceremoniously croaked the
national anthem and fired one precious bullet into the air.
In the loneliness he endured, Nude found an inner strength
that flowed with the rhythm of instinct.

Docks
(Instrumental)

Beached
(Instrumental)

Landscapes
(Instrumental)

Changing Places
(Instrumental)

Pomp & Circumstance
(Instrumental)

Please Come Home
The 29th monsoon had finally dried when a distant buzzing sent
Nude scrambling for cover. A tiny plane dipped and swerved,
filled the air with swirling white and disappeared.
He cautiously approached one of the scattered pices of
paper:

We've been writing letters each day
hoping that you'll come home.
And we're wondering if you're okay.
As you're not on the phone.

Face the facts now
Take a chance.
Come on back now.
Fast.

Please come home,
Please come home.
Everyone cares for you.
Please come home,
Please come home.
Everyone cares for you,
Everyone.

We've been writing letters each day.
Hoping,
that you'll...
come home.

As the sky turned to afternoon gold, Nude picked up the rest of
the envelopes and carried then carefully up the mountain.
For a long time afterwards he sat rocking gently. The letters
fluttered...the war was over. Long ago. But it seemed of
little consequence to Nude. For him, it had never started.

In the days that followed, Nude was no longer at one with his
environment. He was now burdened with the need to explain
what could not be explained to those who would never
understand.
With the air heavy and his instincts dulled by the
preoccupation of his thoughts, he failed to heed the warning
silence of a normally busy afternoon. With a gasp and a grunt he
was wrestled to the ground. A sting in his skin and he was
released. He reeled around to stare into the eyes of familiar
uniformed figures. The sudden weight of his head plunged him
face down into sand denying him protest or the right of a
farewell glance at his island...

Reflections
(Instrumental)

Captured
(Instrumental)

The Homecoming
(Instrumental)

The band marched beneath a banner that read WELCOME
HOME SOLDIER. City streets were littered with cheering
crowds entangled in the paper streamers that filled the air.
Hailed for his 'unquestioned patriotism' and 'heroic bravery'
Nude was unable to respond. The tidal wave of publicity that
engulfed his life had a devastating effect after 29 years alone.

Lies
Tell me no lies,
has peace arrived...
Or, is this some kind of joke?

What a surprise,
you don't realise...
There's some things you don't own.

Can you disguise,
can you simplify...
This change you put me through?

Can you revive,
and will I survive...
This life you've brought me to?

Physically and emotionally exhausted, Nude was confined to a
sea-side resort nursing home.
His war had finally begun.

The Last Farewell:
The Birthday Cake
(Instrumental)

Weeks of monotony filled his life with an opposite extreme. No
longer pursued by opportunists who disguised themselves with
good intentions, his body regained strength. The government
arranged his back-pay. The mass of generation-removed
relatives ceased their dutiful visits and eventually no one came
to see the hero who had fought the longest war.
For his 50th birthday, the nursing staff organised a small
party. To make him feel at home, the festive cake has been
decorated in the form of a tropical island. Nude was visibly
moved by the occasion and yet he seemed strangely distracted.
They thought it best to leave him alone.

Nude's Return
(Instrumental)

Nude was last seen on a summer evening in 1972 talking to a
small group of people just before he sailed out of the harbour.
In the morning paper, buried within the articles about Asian,
Middle Eastern, Irish and American conflicts, was a short column
on the disappearance of 'The Island War Veteran Who Could
Not Live in The Civilised World.'

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