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(Fripp Wetton Palmer-James) Shine, shine, the light of good works shine The watch before the city gates depicted in their prime That golden light all grimy now Three hundred years have passed The worthy Captain and his squad of troopers standing fast The artist knew their faces well The husbands of his lady friends His creditors and councillors In armour bright, the merchant men Official moments of the guild In poses keen from bygone days The city fathers frozen there Upon the canvas dark with age The smell of paint, a flask of wine And turn those faces all to me The blunderbuss and halberd-shaft And Dutch respectability They make their entrance one by one Defenders of that way of life The redbrick home, the bourgeoisie Guitar lessons for the wife So many years we suffered here Our country racked with Spanish wars Now comes a chance to find ourselves And quiet reigns behind our doors We think about posterity again And so the pride of little men The burghers good and true Still living through the painter's hand Request you all to understand |
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