TANGERINE DREAM "TYGER"

Composed, performed, arranged and mixed by
Edgar Froese, Paul Haslinger, Chris Franke.
Lead vocals by Jocelyn Bernadette Smith
Recorded: february 1987 in Vienna and Berlin


POEMS BY WILLIAM BLAKE

(1757 - 1827)

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The Tiger

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry ?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes ?
On what wings dare he aspire ?
What the hand dare sieze the fire ?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart ?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand ? And what dread feet ?

What the hammer ? What the chain ?
In what furnace was thy brain ?
What the anvil ? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp ?

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see ?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee ?

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry.
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London

I wander thro' each charter'd street
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear:

How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black'ning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls;

But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot's curse
Blasts the new born Infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.
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Excerpt from "AMERICA"

Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are
  open;
And let his wife and chilren return from the opressor's
  scourge.
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream,
Singing: "The Sun has left his blakness, and has found a fresher
  morning,
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and couldness hight;
For Empire is no more, and now the Lion and Wolf shall
  cease."
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The Fly.

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My throughtless hand
Has brush'd away.

Am not I
A fly like thee ?
Or art not thou
A man like me ?

For I dance
And drink and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength and breath,
And the want
Of thought is death,

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.
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The Smile.

There is a smile of love,
And there is a smile of deceit;
And there is a smile of smiles
In which these two smiles meet.

And there is a frown of hate,
And there is a frown of disdain;
And there is a frown of frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain,

For it sticks in the heart's deep core,
And it sticks in the deep backbone;
And no smile that ever was smiled,
But only one smile alone

That betwixt the cradle and grave
It only once smiled can be;
But when it once is smiled
There's no end tio all misery.
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Tangerine Dream Page: www.netstore.de/tadream/
Christopher Franke Page: www.sonicimages.com