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Blood and Bones |
We carved wood and stones to see through their eyes With roots in the soil are traces beyond time I held her close to the mid-summers morn The light split the sky and the seed moved through the corn
Placed for the heart and the soul Fashioned with cuts from the corn Hung high in the eaves in the homes In shaping the sheaf who strikes the final blow
Oh the grinding at the stone Oh to receive my blood and bones
And to combine this dark into light The feast feeds the soil oaks burning for their eyes Fresh from the fields and down through the fair With branches of green. Yellow flowers for her hair
Faces shone green into gold It's there in the trees that they roam Projecting their leaves through a smile of carved wood and stones blank, spaces for their eyes
Oh the carving of the stone Oh to receive my blood and bones Oh the grinding at the stone Oh to receive my blood and bones The fire in the wine keep us warm tonight, under Autumn skies lit by candlelight Silent horses run from the stable door, heading for the storm where they'll run no more
The endless summer light fading into day, like the promises we made in all our yesterdays We should make more time before we lose our way. Sinking gently out of sight with the early morning sun.
Now is time to sow the seeds of love. The future is unknown for the stars above Cast a fickle charm on the greenest fields. The fire in the wine that the Autumn yields For The Rivers Of The Night (Stannard) The branches gainst the window now winters finally over I put my arms around her breathing in the sunrise The clouds for now are broken goodbyes the same unspoken Another day has passed us in the blinking of the eye
Tommorow drawing closer but I can still see the light The dream is almost frozen so keep some for the rivers of the night
In the forest that we live in our friends stay for the evening The story that's been told to me I need to tell to you Now she sits beside me reciting tales of mystery Every word to be absorbed will one day relayed by you
When it is almost over she taps you on the shoulder asks for you to write to her about what it means to leave When all she can remember of times we spent together Are all bound up in ribbons left fraying in the drawers of time I walked alone beyond the fields as Summer rain met Autumn leaves And sat below the Rowan tree with all the things she made for me
Fol da rol the seasons go, a time to reap a time to sow There's time to sleep but not to roam. All to make a happy home
My ears her words began to burn to earn a crust ‘fore my return I'll fight for king and country maid, it's time to wear the soldiers braids
Fol da dol it's off to war Where life's as cheap as men are poor No way to sleep through battle roars. All to make their happy homes
Played upon the battle board, we all become footnotes of war Whose to say what is just cause and quite what we are fighting for All too soon we'll be cut down, our bodies plough into the ground The lifeblood washes in the fields and trickles down to greet the seed
Caught up in the myth of war that's writ large throughout this soil This mud that has the sharpest claws to drag you from this happy home
To float above the greenest fields and swim amongst the Autumn leaves And sit below the Rowan tree for all the good it did for me.
Fold a rol the seasons go. My time to reap has come and gone And so to sleep forever more all to make this happy home. There's always been a hunter, he who steals the game There always been the hunter, we do know his name, we do know his name There's the squire and master, the horses he'll run lame But for the squire and master we'd all play the game, we'd all play the game
I know we're in for hell, they fix the price to sell Then take away the chain that mills the grain, that mills the grain
Keep the candles burning help the hunter find his way When the hunter becomes hunted he'll need a place to stay, so hide him till comes day However hard the winter, the hunter knows our name He'll be there with bird or hare and never ask for pay, the hunter knows our name
They'll tie him to the sails, while sharpening their blades But we're going to smash the gang, man for man with stones in our hands Keep back corn, break the stone, make your own, so the hunters not alone Take up arms we'll all be soldiers Our battle lines drawn in the fields We'll all be kings and all be saviours But only a fool is king for a day
The Millers chain won't stop me now Asleep in the barley that the wind don't bow He'll keep a watch between the sails but I'll return to twist the blade
Well now my master where do you wander Over the hills and far away Once so brave to keep us under While safely preserved from this peasants grave
And from the fields like storm and thunder Hear the voices ring the change Don't turn back walk on forever Now I've returned to twist the blade. Keep the horses well in sight, that the Blacksmith forged in the hillside A path can always lead you home, but the night must steal the lonely road
So lay you down in silver shade, the ears in the fields hearing all that we made Of a song before this morning light, a whisper you know is growing far deep inside
There's books I see that we must find, so we can leave them far behind Building tall an ark or jail, though you wont be setting sail.
And I hear “Summer Is A Cumen In”. All that's here to take you back again. Now we ring the breaking of the day. We're older now some things have changed We will leave you where you want to be, riding high in peaceful dreams
Your brushstrokes painted all around this house its enough to make it home With ivy growing up against the wall knitted tightly to the stone
A Raven drew the darkness from the sky and once again the trees could smile You must leaves us where we want to be, sail silent boats to meet the see
Lay in the trees so high here beneath the nights sky. Time is the only thing until meet again. The Paper Owl and Golden Hare (Stannard) Circle round the trees, the space between the leaves Waiting for the beauty in the night Layed upon the soul, with nowhere left to roam The golden hare shines silver in the light.
The owl that flies is just paper in empty lines that Summer warms and breathes into life Behind the leaves the book and the painters knife awaits the call to his page in time
The weather tills the fields, the blackbirds are most pleased Bringing you a story to the bowl When she comes to call, the Rowan tree has flown Falling for the wooden evening sun.
The owl that flies is just paper in empty lines that Summer warms and breathes into life Behind the leaves the book and the painters knife awaits the call to his page in time
And on we go where the apples flow To sing a song for a time that's gone The union of the open door that helps us find our way
The Road Gets Lonely (Stannard) We seek the day and greet the dawn. Two Lovers laying in the corn. Summer's sun is rising to the call Too soon a drop of rain does fall, to wash the seed out of the corn. Daisy chains to help it find its way
I don't know if we'll be back again, under Winter skies it never feels the same The spirit moves and we can drift away. This road gets lonely when it knows your name.
A seed is carried on the breeze, a journey with the Autumn leaves. Keepsakes for the promises we made A second light to be reborn, bitten by the Winter morn. Sorrow will lead us into song.
Looking toward Albion, through the tales of yore Calling to better times like the times before Reeling for meaning high in the dancing trees The warm drift of the western wind carried here for thee
Let the fires burn higher and return to the ground All good things the earth will spring leaves us to be found.
During saturnalia hope the wind will change Everything you know is wrong underneath the spreighs Through lammastide to harvest home we use them as our own We're all so proud to sing aloud trusting in the corn
Let the fires burn higher and return to the ground The seed will flow to bring life o'er, the seasons now to grow
Threading the needle joins the rows. The evenings dying sun's last throes Spirits need feeding oh to sow and grow, grow. Sow in the fields and take me back. Sow in the fields and take me back. She Sings The Silence (Stannard) If gods command you to obey, there's nothing really much to say Let's grow old and sink beneath the waves And what would be point of change if nothings learnt along the way I just thought it had to mean something.
I get to wander through the fields of Rye and Barley To catch the rays that trails above me. Undressed you leave me, broken like the morn.
She sings that “Silver Dagger” song and I'm not sure if it belongs In that place she's always longed to be I'm older than I've ever been so why then can't I make you see The silence is the simplest song to me Singing and Spinning (Stannard) Soft hands sit moulding the colourful clay, the smallest of people in their working days If I should consider the world of creation, keeping so busy just passing the time On a warm summers day we'll sleep in together, keep our heads down til the work whistle blows The cider we've had has soaked up the honey, the bread, the eggs and the elderflower wine
Sing Sing Sing when your spinning The Earth moves at the beginning It's where we all first learnt milling Much time spent toiling the old fashioned way
The tune will come buzzing around at my head. The passing of time is all that is meant Everyones shoes and their hands look the same. It doesn't take long to mould into this place Hitch a ride on a boat hitch a ride on a train. Shoot the same scenery time and again Everythings over by a quarter to three, with the box is spent a'spinning around just for me Wassail - Cider Lolly Mix (Traditional arr. Stannard) Wassail, Wassail all over the town Our bread it is white and our ale it is brown Our bowl it is made of the green maple tree In the wassail bowl we'll drink unto thee
Here's a health to the ox and to his long tail Pray god send our master a good cask of ale As good cask of ale as e'er I did see In the wassail bowl we'll drink unto thee
Come butler come fill us a bowl of the best Then we pray you soul in heaven it may rest If you do bring us a bowl of the small Down shall go butler bowl and all
Here's to the maid in her lily white smock Who tripped to the door and the slipped back the lock And slipped back the lock and pulled back the pin For to let us jolly wassailers waltz in. |
