Lyrics - Wind-up by Jethro Tull

When
I was young and they packed me off to school and taught me how not to play the game,
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success, or if they said that
I was a fool.
So
I left there in the morning with their
God tucked underneath my arm -- their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So
I asked this
God a question and by way of firm reply,
He said --
I'm not the kind you have to wind up on
Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares): before
I'm through
I'd like to say my prayers --
I don't believe you: you had the whole damn thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you have to wind up on
Sundays.
Well you can excomunicate me on my way to
Sunday school and have all the bishops harmonize these lines -- how do you dare tell me that
I'm my
Father's son when that was just an accident of
Birth.
I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song `cos that's the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me, as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
I don't believe you: you had the whole damn thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you have to wind up on
Sundays.

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