Invocation of the Prog Lord
(A Tiny Prog Opera)
scene: the cavern of the prog lord. dwarves toiling.
we are the dwarves of prog
dig dig dig
searching for our lord
dig dig dig
how the world has lost its flavour
4/4 tunes for kiddie ravers
we need something we can savour
and stroke our beards to
raw displays of virtuosity
awkward shifts in tempo and key
solos that go on till tea
time
so we dig dig dig
the gnomes of conformity sing:
we run an honest shop, my dear
a short discourse on the disparate nature of dwarves and gnomes:
oh no, a dwarf is not a gnome
oh no, a gnome is not a dwarf
the dwarves toil on. their labour bears fruit:
the tomb!
the tomb!
we have arrived!
arise, my lord!
the prog lord emerges from his tomb in a triumph of groovy lasers and inflatable animals:
i have arised!... arisen?
(looks around in confusion)
where is my cape?
the goblins! the goblins have stolen my cape!
another discourse on the nature of dwarves and gnomes, complicated by the existence of goblins:
oh no, a dwarf is not a gnome
but is a gnome a goblin?
the gnomes of conformity (rather predictably) sing:
we run an hon-
those silly gnomes. The prog lord beckons his faithful dwarves near:
bring me excalibur
bring me my golden blade
that i may play a solo ere i fade
ere i fade
o wretched detumescence
the prog lord grasps his mighty weapon and plays the longest, grandest solo that ever there was. the dwarves stroke their beards and swoon. lord prog collapses, ecstatic, spent:
tend my flame, o smelly gnomes... dwarves... whatever
i die splendidly
sorry chaps
the gnomes of comformity sing:
the lord of prog's popped his clogs
the dwarves sing a threnody for their fallen lord:
how bleak the world without our lord
wood for the coffin, hammer for the nail
(n.b. mercifully, a few small sections were chopped out when it came time to record)