Lyrics

Lyrics to The Rowan Amber Mill songs.

Blood and BonesEnglish Shire Fire In The Wine Face Of Flowers

All written by Stannard unless otherwise stated.

Bees Tell The Trees

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

 

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

English Shire

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.

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Face Of Flowers

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

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Fire In The Wine

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

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Greenwood

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

 

 

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Happy Home

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.

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The Hunter

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

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A Miller's Tale

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.

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Morning Light

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.

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Patchwork Paint

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.

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The Paper Owl and Golden Hare

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

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The Road Gets Lonely

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.

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Saturnalia

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.

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She Sings The Silence

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

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Singing and Spinning

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

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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.

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