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Album: Lyric Book (2001)
Artists: Hawkwind

  1. 25 Years
  2. 5, 4
  3. Adjust Me
  4. Angel Voices
  5. Angels Of Death
  6. Arrival In Utopia
  7. Assault And Battery
  8. Back In The Box
  9. Be Yourself
  10. Black Corridor
  11. Black Elk Speaks
  12. Born To Go
  13. Brainbox Pollution
  14. Brainstorm
  15. Bring It On Home
  16. Children Of The Sun
  17. Choose Your Masks
  18. Coded Languages (Bainbridge, Moorcock)
  19. Confrontation
  20. D-Rider
  21. Damage Of Life
  22. Damnation Alley
  23. Dangerous Visions
  24. Days Of The Underground
  25. Dealing With The Devil
  26. Death Trap
  27. Disintegration (Brock)
  28. Down Through The Night
  29. Dragons And Fables
  30. Dream Worker
  31. Dreaming City
  32. Dust Of Time
  33. Earthed To The Ground
  34. Ejection
  35. Elric The Enchanter
  36. Fable Of A Failed Race
  37. Fahrenheit 451
  38. Fall Of Earth City
  39. Fifth Second Of Forever
  40. First Landing On Medusa
  41. Flying Doctor
  42. Free Fall
  43. Girl On A Train


Hawkwind
Lyric Book
Days Of The Underground
( - Brock - Calvert - Shaw - )
In visions of acid we saw through delusion and
brainbox pollution,
we knew we were right.
The streets were our oyster, we smoked urban
poison and we turned all this noise on,
we knew how to fight.
We dropped out and tuned in, spoke secret
jargon and we would not bargain for what
we had found in the days of the underground.
We believed in Guevera, we saw that head held up
and our anger welled up,
but we kept it cool.
No need for machine guns 'cause the system was
crumbling, our leaders were fumbling,
while we broke every rule.
We saw them on T.V. they'd blown their cover and we
tried to smother their voices
with sound, in the days of the underground.
Whatever happened to those chromium heroes, are
there none of them still left around, since
the days of the underground?
Now we can look back at the heroes we were then,
we made quite a stir with our sonic attack,
street-fighting dancers, the assassins of
silence, with make-believe violence, on a hundred
watt stack.
They offered us contracts, we said "we don't
need 'em", we'll just take our freedom and will
not be bound in the days of the underground.
And some of us made it but not smiling Michael,
his black motorcycle got eaten by rust.
And John the Bog dreamt that he slept at the
wheel, but when he woke it was real, too late
to have sussed.
And Jeff was a poet who wrote with a spray
can on walls,
saying "Hey man, I believe that we've drowned"
in the days of the underground.
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