[William A. Baurle]

Orwn, It's odd to me to hear a poet say no lyrics ever inspired them. I became interested in poetry as a result of hearing music while I was growing up, and having a father who liked to talk about song lyrics with me, when I was very young. My first heroes were Bernie Taupin, Keith Reid (Procol Harum) Paul Simon, Cat Stevens, John Denver, Carly Simon, Neil Diamond, The Beatles, and The Stones. Later on I was inspired by Ian Anderson more than anyone else, though Frank Zappa was a strong second.

I didn't catch the OP's last bit about wondering which songs may have been mine stylistically. Hmm. I probably have (or had) more in common stylistically with Keith Reid and Ian Anderson than any other lyricist. I remember deliberately imitating Reid in my own song lyrics, and doing the same later on with Anderson.

I'll offer one from each, as an example of something I may have written, were I good enough:

***

Grand Hotel

Tonight we sleep on silken sheets
We drink fine wine and eat rare meats
On Carousel and gambling stake
Our fortunes speed, and dissipate.
It's candlelight and chandelier,
It's silver plate and crystal clear.
The nights we stay at Hotel Grand

Tonight we dine at Hotel Ritz.
(A golden dish with every wish).
It's mirrored walls, and velvet drapes,
Dry champagne, and bursting grapes.
Dover sole, and Oeufs Mornay,
Profiteroles and Peach Flambe,
The waiters dance on fingertips
The nights we dine at Hotel Ritz

One more toast to greet the morn
The wine and dine have danced till dawn
Where's my Continental Bride?
We'll Continental slip and slide
Early morning pinch and bite -
(These French girls always like to fight)
It's serenade and Sarabande,
The nights we stay at Hotel Grand
Les nuits qu'on passe a l'Hotel Grande.

— Keith Reid

***

from A Passion Play (part II)

[The Foot Of Our Stairs]

We sleep by the ever-bright hole in the door,
eat in the corner, talk to the floor,
cheating the spiders who come to say "Please",
(politely). They bend at the knees.
Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs.

Old gentlemen talk of when they were young
of ladies lost and erring sons.
Lace-covered dandies revel (with friends)
pure as the truth, tied at both ends.
Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs.

Scented cathedral spire pointed down.
We pray for souls in Kentish Town.
A delicate hush, the gods floating by
wishing us well, pie in the sky.
God of ages, Lord of Time, mine is the right to be wrong.
Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs.

Jack rabbit mister, spawn a new breed
of love-hungry pilgrims (no bodies to feed).
Show me a good man and I'll show you the door.
The last hymn is sung and the devil cries "More."

Well, I'm all for leaving, and that being done,
I've put in a request to take up my turn
in that forsaken paradise that calls itself "Hell"
where no-one has nothing and nothing is...well meaning fool,
pick up thy bed and rise up from your gloom, smiling.
Give me your hate and do as the loving heathen do.

[Overseer Overture]

Colours I've none, dark or light, red, white or blue.
Cold is my touch (freezing).
Summoned by name — I am the overseer over you.

Given this command to watch o'er our miserable sphere.
Fallen from grace, called on to bring sun or rain.
Occasional corn from my oversight grew.

Fell with mine angels from a far better place,
offering services for the saving of face.
Now you're here, you may as well admire
all whom living has retired from the benign reconciliation.

Legends were born surrounding mysterious lights
seen in the sky (flashing).
I just lit a fag, then took my leave in the blink of an eye.

Passionate play, join round the maypole in dance
(primitive rite) (wrongly).
Summoned by name, I am the overseer over you.

[Flight From Lucifer]

Flee the icy Lucifer. Oh he's an awful fellow!
What a mistake! I didn't take a feather from his pillow.
Here's the everlasting rub... neither am I good or bad.
I'd give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once had.

I'm only breathing. There's life on my ceiling.
The flies there are sleeping quietly.

Twist my right arm in the dark.
I would give two or three for
one of those days that never made
impressions on the old score.

I would gladly be a dog
barking up the wrong tree.
Everyone's saved, we're in the grave.
See you there for afternoon tea.

Time for awaking, the tea lady's making
a brew-up and baking new bread.

Pick me up at half past none,
there's not a moment to lose.
There is the train on which I came.
On the platform are my old shoes.

Station master rings his bell.
Whistles blow and flags wave.
A little of what you fancy does you good
(Or so it should).

I thank everybody
for making me welcome.
I'd stay but my wings have just dropped off.

— Ian Anderson


I'd give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once had. - I'd give up my left leg (and my codpiece) to have written that line.