One. Exterior.
Cathedral. Daylight. Establishing it's beauty in elevation, stain
Glass and stone carvings. From its huge doors suddenly comes a
Flow of white cloud choir boys. Angelic, white surplussed, all
Bobbing in a disciplined stream. But then, suddenly in their
Midst, startling, ridiculous, incongruous is Martin a young man
In an ill fitting rain coat. As the boys proceed in their orderly
Way, Martin is left alone. Peculiar, disturbing. Which one...
Which one will it be?
Two. Interior. An office near the Cathedral. Daylight. A view of
The Cathedral through the window. Alone, in this Dickensian
Office above the small printing presses, sits Mr. Bates, middle
Aged, meticulous, writing with a gold barreled fountain pen. He's
Finishing a little verse beneath a picture of an angel:
Although we all must sometimes stumble
As we journey through this life,
I've never heard you moan or grumble,
The perfect mother and wife.
Bates places the sheet of paper on top of a pile of similar
Sheets, his face heavy with contempt. He stares into the middle
Distance. A framed photograph of a lively, attractive young
Woman, Patty, his daughter, is in front of him, on his expanse of
Desk. He glances at it. He caps his fountain pen, neatly puts the
Sheet into the pending tray, neatly lines up his blotter, his
Desk aids, and satisfied, rises to join the homeward throng.
Three. Exterior. Cathedral precincts. Fading daylight. A few
People bobbing along with the anomalous, near vacant, tired
Expression of home-goers. Which one... which one will it be?
Sting - Narration Lyrics
Sting - Narration Lyrics
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One. Exterior.
Cathedral. Daylight. Establishing it's beauty in elevation, stain
Glass and stone carvings. From its huge doors suddenly comes a
Flow of white cloud choir boys. Angelic, white surplussed, all
Bobbing in a disciplined stream. But then, suddenly in their
Midst, startling, ridiculous, incongruous is Martin a young man
In an ill fitting rain coat. As the boys proceed in their orderly
Way, Martin is left alone. Peculiar, disturbing. Which one...
Which one will it be?
Two. Interior. An office near the Cathedral. Daylight. A view of
The Cathedral through the window. Alone, in this Dickensian
Office above the small printing presses, sits Mr. Bates, middle
Aged, meticulous, writing with a gold barreled fountain pen. He's
Finishing a little verse beneath a picture of an angel:
Although we all must sometimes stumble
As we journey through this life,
I've never heard you moan or grumble,
The perfect mother and wife.
Bates places the sheet of paper on top of a pile of similar
Sheets, his face heavy with contempt. He stares into the middle
Distance. A framed photograph of a lively, attractive young
Woman, Patty, his daughter, is in front of him, on his expanse of
Desk. He glances at it. He caps his fountain pen, neatly puts the
Sheet into the pending tray, neatly lines up his blotter, his
Desk aids, and satisfied, rises to join the homeward throng.
Three. Exterior. Cathedral precincts. Fading daylight. A few
People bobbing along with the anomalous, near vacant, tired
Expression of home-goers. Which one... which one will it be?
Cathedral. Daylight. Establishing it's beauty in elevation, stain
Glass and stone carvings. From its huge doors suddenly comes a
Flow of white cloud choir boys. Angelic, white surplussed, all
Bobbing in a disciplined stream. But then, suddenly in their
Midst, startling, ridiculous, incongruous is Martin a young man
In an ill fitting rain coat. As the boys proceed in their orderly
Way, Martin is left alone. Peculiar, disturbing. Which one...
Which one will it be?
Two. Interior. An office near the Cathedral. Daylight. A view of
The Cathedral through the window. Alone, in this Dickensian
Office above the small printing presses, sits Mr. Bates, middle
Aged, meticulous, writing with a gold barreled fountain pen. He's
Finishing a little verse beneath a picture of an angel:
Although we all must sometimes stumble
As we journey through this life,
I've never heard you moan or grumble,
The perfect mother and wife.
Bates places the sheet of paper on top of a pile of similar
Sheets, his face heavy with contempt. He stares into the middle
Distance. A framed photograph of a lively, attractive young
Woman, Patty, his daughter, is in front of him, on his expanse of
Desk. He glances at it. He caps his fountain pen, neatly puts the
Sheet into the pending tray, neatly lines up his blotter, his
Desk aids, and satisfied, rises to join the homeward throng.
Three. Exterior. Cathedral precincts. Fading daylight. A few
People bobbing along with the anomalous, near vacant, tired
Expression of home-goers. Which one... which one will it be?
Writer: DENNIS POTTER
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group