Blood and Bones |
All written by Stannard unless otherwise stated. The bees told the apples to grow, trees held the honey and combe and now there'll be dancing and singing to the Winter sun 'a raising a bowl to the leaf-covered one
The silence falls as you and the evening calls, to wrest this heart from the soul Your sweet bouquet, planted here like the wild fire To keep you above me in the soft light of the night time
You glow, lit with silvery beads, a poem, a tableaux to decieve To prepare for the leaving, a feast for the ones who remain the loss of hope brings the loneliest days
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 Cut cross the fields the songs draw you here to feed and breathe the air The hills hold the lime in impossible lines That chase through the heart of this English shire Pull at the weeds and try to deceive the ones who follow the hare Leaving the trail we'll set them to fail Run to the heart of this English Shire
We do mourn the spoiling of the corn, meadows spared from rye Season turn shadows that we'll burn, where they come to lay.
Cut from the fields, tied to the tress for freedom, hope and fayre Gathered with thyme, feasting in mind that runs through the heart of this English shire. Death in the seeds we'll follow the ley, to seek, to rest and heal Fashion a pike to wield in the night to Run straight through the heart of this English shire.
We do mourn the spoiling of the corn, meadows spared from rye Season turn shadows that we'll burn, where they come to lay. Born mid the storm of brambles and thyme barbs that are surrounding leaves of blood red wine Taken from the season that makes for idle hands distracted from the beauty of the ragged bands
They took flowers from the oak they took flowers of the broom flowers of the meadowsweet all layed before the groom and as the feast grew rowdy we left to slip away with promises of ever more upon the bed we'd lay
Fevered in moonlight patterned with owls my true loves heart's made of paper and flowers Dreams do inform these waking hours my true loves heart's made of paper and flowers
With all the time to wonder and no one yet to please The muse that will inspire me into this reverie We'll go hunting for the hunter to feel the warming hand Her beauty like a beacon to lord and lowly man
Nor poison, nor bullet could cease the jealous lies Bled death into the river and made the eagle fly Death must be revenged for the face of flowers Hidden from the light of day to roam the darkest hours 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 Float through the Green Wood on Midsummer's day Echoes of sunrise through a canopy haze Longing and wonder calls the sweet forest flowers
Her clothes but a remnant of the prettiest gown Long hair and soft hands the belle of the town Chasing forever guide these sleeping hours
When its time to roam no one can deny that Reaping what we sow in the lands we're seeding So we roll the stones, letters turning to fire A life in which we dream sleeping in the wild wood
Out from the fields the freedom to find Laying 'tween branches a feast for the eyes Taste of the blossom that plays all around
Light feeds from darkness the yoke from the plough and freedom awakes midst the candles and sounds Lost meadows in summer to awaken us now
When its time to roam no one can deny that Reaping what we sow in the lands we're seeding So we roll the stones, letters turning to fire A life in which we dream sleeping in the wild wood
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. 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
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. 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 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. |
