Come With Me
by Robin Williamson
I have a ship both sleek and fine
I point her bows wherever I will
The seven seas they all are mine
I call the winds
I call the winds her sails to fill
If you will flee away with me
And bid farewell to the land you know
I'll show you marvels presently
And wonders
And wonders that the earth does show
The shouting mountains
- 0 speak on sir
The diamond valleys
The caves where sleep the stars by day
Eve's clouded bower
Adam's garden
The secret land that love does see
o come with me
I will come with thee
The gentle spring rains will lave your face
- 0 sweet waters
The winds will bear your train
The morning birds will sing your song
The earth will call your name
The stars will be your canopy
The sun your candle flame
The greeny~gold wheat your incense sweet
My heart your windowpane
O come with me
I will come with thee
All Writ Down
by Mike Heron
I fully understood
That you'd leave when your ship come by
And l fully understood
You had a purpose more high
Than to give a little schoolboy
To give a little schoolboy his first love
But oh did I cry
And did I cry
For I thought that those days
Would just fade and die
But every cell in my body has it all writ down
Every smile and every frown
And oh those good-time girls
Oh those good-time girls
That book ft sometimes makes me glad
That book ft sometimes makes me sad
But oh - it don't read bad
I cursed you to your face
When you turned to go
But I see now that you did just right
And I bow to you low
For you gave a little schoolboy
You gave a little schoolboy his first love...
Veshengro
by Robin Williamson
Moon of the berries is waning to clay
Bavol the wind leap on the whale's way
Sing for Veshengro, oak ash and may
I will not flash the day glance on the strong
king's shield
Nor yet the moon glance on the frightened man
Bring her sweet peace ere she rests on the
breast of God
With the nutrnegs and oak-apples of her rosary
That counts the praying sand
Who cradles earth and water in the hollow of her hand
I was a wasp on a nettled hill
Ten thousand brothers in a nest of fungus paper
And every sopping apple held its cider sweet for my thin tongue
I was a swineherd at the court of Fionn
I wore the coat of patches with Jalal beneath the stars
Sang at the black court of Ain
I baked sweet pastries for the Quenn of Spain
I hid my alchemy beneath the stone of lies
Burned at the post my boiling brain
Made craters of my eyes
The mystery of history it is not revealed
We hear not clear but only with hope and fear
And the pomp of crime, and the pride of the time
I was a monk repelled by a woman's smell
I sailed in Darwin's ship, a mouse that gnawed the grain
Trapped by the cook on one dark day
I have spoken with the Thames in much sweeter times
And with the Medway where she rolls her waves
The snake-weed is hissing the wind of the morn
The mountains are mouthing where Albion is born
The light rays are gathering where Horus is shown
Sing for Veshengro. oak ash and thorn.
Waiting For You
by Robin Williamson
I've been wearing faces in the strangest places
Just to make a dream come true
The dawn is sweet but it's incomplete and l'm waiting for you
The breeze is blowing and my hair is growing
Forgotten everything my mother knew
The day is young and spring is sprung and I'm waiting for you
Must you bring that horse in here Miss Jones
(although your snowshoes do look terrific)
Yes they all come from out of the sky you know
I'm waiting for the dove that never came home
I'm waiting for the painter when his colours were gone
I知 waiting for the soldiers at the war, I知 waiting for a royal decision
I'm waiting for the sun to snore
I'm waiting for a rumble from Jericho, waiting for the world to begin
I'm a bareback rider, I'm an outsider and love to dance the boogaloo
I'm a turnip head, I'm a lately wed and I'm waiting for you
More tea vicar? (Hold that tiger)
Yes, the hydrangeas do look divine this time of the year
I'm wailing for the angels to put on their smiles
I知 waiting for the judges to come to trial
I知 waiting for the aeroplane, I知 waiting for the graves to open
I'm waiting to be sold in chains
I'm waiting for a signal from the trapdoor queen
Waiting for the world to begin
I'm a snake charmer, I'm a guava farmer
I'm a goose to me don't ever say boo
Let the universe roll, I'm a simple soul and I'm waiting for you
Oh it sounds so sweet when you play it me like that..
(that tiger really doesn稚 want to be held)
I知 waiting for the signs to point a different way
I知 waiting for God to take a holiday
I'm waiting for night in the mine
I'm waiting for the hills to grow steeper
I'm waiting for the man they call Shine
I'm waiting for Willie the Weeper to wake,
waiting for the world to begin
I'm off to market with an old straw basket singing dodeodeodo
Green cloth to wear in the spring, in the April breezes how it will blow
I'm going to introduce to you now the
personalities who compose the Jim Spiggatt Occult Quart.
Over there on my left we have Miss Cynthia de Monfort-Jones on her silvery toned
mandoline, and just a little further over the left we have that famed Oriental bass player
Miss Fenola Bumgarner (first time in captivity folks!)
On the pounding batterie and coterie we
have that well known bricklayer's labourer from Pilton,
Mr Jack McMarker- and perhaps we just have time to devastate your synaesthesia
with one more searing chorus from Black Jack Davy on the steam organ. That's all.
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