It ain’t Aqualung, but…

The original rock & roll bard has this to tell us about the real Christmas spirit.   Here’s one of those rockers that just keeps on going.  I’ve seen him twice in concert years ago.  First time was in Dallas at the old State Fair Grounds arena.  My tickets were so bad I was a few rows from the top where all the weed haze collected.  Greeeaaat concert, with fans in leggings and leather jerkins.  The second time was at the Municipal Auditorium in San Antonio (a very cerebral crowd – lots of wool jackets with elbow patches and distinguished beards, but no lace-up boots, and no second hand smoke)   Ian Anderson had fallen or something while on tour and was confined to a wheelchair, but he could still kick some a**. 

Once in Royal David’s City stood a lowly cattle shed,
where a mother laid her baby.
You’d do well to remember the things He later said.
When you’re stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties,
you’ll laugh when I tell you to take a running jump.
You’re missing the point I’m sure does not need making;
that Christmas spirit is not what you drink.

So how can you laugh when your own mother’s hungry
and how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong?
And if I just messed up your thoughtless pleasures,
remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song.


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