Everybody's jumping on the circus train.
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Some jump high, some jump off again.
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And the razzmatazz is rolling, women folk unveiled.
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All truths to light, all crosses nailed.
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Aiming high where the eagle circles ---
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where he keeps his tail feathers clean.
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And wonders ``Am I still a free bird?
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Or just a part of the machine.''
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They hitch their coverd wagons and they roll out west.
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Politics in the pockets of their Sunday best.
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Shaking hands, kissing babies, for all that they're worth.
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Oh, they promise you gold, promise heaven on earth.
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Still, that old bald eagle circles ---
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it's not the first time that he's seen
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his reflection in the eyes of innocence.
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He's become just another
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part of the machine.
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I wish I had an eagle like you ---
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to look up to.
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He could be my wings to fly in a big bird sky
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up above the whole machine.
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Smart guys aren't running --- they're home and dry.
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Up in the mountains where the eagle flies.
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They wouldn't take that job
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offered on a plate.
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They got to fly with the eagle, and he won't wait.
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Looking down on the smoke and the factories
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till the truth creeps up unseen.
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They see themselves in the faces of their children
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and realize they too are
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part of the machine.
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I wish I had an eagle like you ---
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to wake up to.
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He could be my wings to fly
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in a big bird sky, hey ---
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let's be part of the machine.
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Part of the machine.
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-----------------
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Part Of The Machine
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| Jethro Tull |
