Chorus: I am looking at a witch hazel blooming in a garden Bright, yellow flowers in the middle of wintertime And I tell my heart be strong like the witch hazel flower And you will not be injured by this dark and troubled time
I take myself alone to a place I know in winter And I look at that south sloping bank covered with ice And I tell my heart it all will melt and run down to the ocean And you will not be injured by this dark and troubled time
We must say goodbye to the ones we love, we must say goodbye to many And we must say goodbye in way too short a time And I tell my heart be strong like the witch hazel flower And you will not be injured by this dark and troubled time
Now is the start of winter, when animals get thinner Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la The fat ones and the flabby get awfully thin and crabby Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la
They burn up calories against the winter breeze Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la And so I recommend we have some lunch my friend Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la
When storm storms are forecast-a, got to use some pasta The cold winds should persuade us to eat some mashed potatoes
And meat and gravy too so we will not turn blue Remember until March, to make the servings large
Sugar is essential to keep away the windchill Before we take a walk, let us sit and eat some chocolate
Let’s eat another course, it’s awful cold outdoors It’s colder than a witch, why not go in the fridge
In days gone by, when the world was much younger Men harnessed the wind to work for mankind Seamen built tall ships to sail on the ocean While landsmen built wheels the corn for to grind
Chorus: And around and around and around went the big sail Turning the shaft and the great wooden wheel Creaking and groaning, the millstones kept turning Grinding to flour the good corn from the field
In Flanders and Spain and the lowlands of Holland And the kingdoms of England and Scotland and Wales Windmills sprang up all along the wild coastline Ships of the land with their high canvas sails
The Lancashire lads worked hard with the good earth Ploughing and sowing as the seasons declare Waiting to reap all the rich, golden harvest While the miller is idle, his mill to repair
Windmills so old, of wood blacked by weather Windmills of stone, glaring white in the sun Windmills like giants, ready for tilting Windmills that died in the gales and are gone
Fay Hield performed it in 2013, after she found it in the Lucy Broadwood Broadside Collection which largely contains songs compiled 1898-1928 when Broadwood helped found EFDSS. Final verse by Alex Ellis.
Chorus: O meet me in the willow glen, When the silvery moon is gleaming; Songs of love I’ll sing you then, When the world is still in dreaming, If you’ll meet me in the willow glen.
No prying eye will come, my love, No stranger foot be seen; And all the village hum, my love, Will echo on the wind If you’ll meet me in the willow glen.
To melodious mandolins, My song I’ll softly blend, love, While to thee my melody A soothing balm will lend If you’ll meet me in the willow glen.
So come if you’ll consent my love I’ll bring a merry bottle And all night long we’ll share in song Til silvery moon descends If you’ll meet me in the willow glen
Too many times I’ve fallen for a bold flirtatious smile My emotions had a way of breaking loose and running wild Till recently I reined them in behind a casual front I’m older now and wiser, not so quick to fall in love
Chorus: Why did I waken this morning with a song inside my head? And why the smile upon my lips, the lift in every step? And why when I walked among summer wildflowers of widest range of hue Were all the colors brightened by the memory of you?
Love for all its newborn joy may later take its toll For expectations not quite met may finally come to boil For all the pleasures gained in love, I’ve been too often burned I’ve sworn to live alone and keep the distance I have learned
Last night you warmed my kitchen with the crinkle of your eye You brought my home a comfort it has missed for a long time And though I’m scared of letting down the barriers inside Already you have touched my heart to melt away the ice
Final Chorus: And so I woke this morning with a song inside my head And with a smile upon my lips, a lift in every step And then when I walked among summer wildflowers of widest range of hue The colors all grew brighter with the memory of you.
If I had my life to live, I’d sure live it over. Only walk in brand new shoes and just lay down in clover. Only work on Christmas Day. All the rest go sportin’. Spend my days down at the creek, and ev’ry night go courtin’.
Chorus: Honey from the honey comb, water from the fountain. Sugar from the sugar cane and my wild rose of the mountain.
When I think of home sweet home, it makes my eyes grow misty. Poppa singing gospel songs and Momma sippin’ whiskey. Whiskey from a white oak barrel sure does make good liquor. Makes the nights seem twice as bright and the days go by much quicker.
If I had a pickup truck, I’d fill it up with water. Paint a catfish on the side and make believe I’d caught her. Drive it slowly down the road, try to keep from bumpin’. Park it down beside the creek and watch those fish come jumpin’.
If I had a new-made quilt, I’d fill it up with feathers. Take my Rosie by the hand and lay down there together. Oh, the days that I was young! Thoughts that keep returning Drive the winter night away just like a log fire burning.
Mainly Norfolk: "The lyrics and melody are a variant of the song The Braes of Balquhither by Scottish poet Robert Tannahill (1774-1810) and Scottish composer Robert Archibald Smith (1780-1829), but were adapted by Belfast musician Francis McPeake (1885-1971) into Wild Mountain Thyme and first recorded by his family in the 1950s." "Like Burns, Tannahill collected and adapted traditional songs, and this one may have been based on the traditional song "The Braes O' Bowhether" though there is much more similarity between McPeake's words and Tannahill's words than between Tannahill's and the trad song. According to Wikisource, the first known publication of Tannahill's poem was in 1812, but it was better known from Smith's publication in 1821-4. Below is a mashup of McPeake's more familiar words and Tannahill's words. Jim Malcolm in band Keltik Elektrik: Wild Mountain Thyme
The summer time is coming And the trees are sweetly blooming, And the wild mountain thyme A’ the moorlands perfuming.
Chorus: Will you go, lassie, go? And we’ll all go together To pull wild mountain thyme All around the blooming heather, Will you go, lassie, go?
I will build my love a bower By yon clear crystal fountain. And on it I will build All the flowers of the mountain.
To our dear native scenes Let us journey together, Where glad Innocence reigns ‘Mang the braes o’ Balquhither.
So merrily we’ll sing, As the storm rattles o’er us, Till the dear sheiling ring Wi’ the light lilting chorus.
"A children's song, the first of many, written for my older daughter, Daniela, when she reached the obstreperous age of about five."
Chorus: Why does it have to be me? Why can’t they just let me be Why do I have to do things I don’t want to do Why does it have to be me?
Each morning I lie in my bed Slippery dreams in my head I live in a fine fairy castle of stone, All on my own, no-one to moan Then a voice shouts get up and it isn’t a dream Hurry-up you’re late for school and wash your face and brush your teeth and are your fingers clean And it goes on and on ’till I’m ready to scream Why does it have to be me?
Why do I have to eat greens Cabbage and spinach and beans I don’t mind potatoes, I’ll even have meat Though I’d much rather eat Ice-cream and sweets They say greens are good for me, maybe they’re right But sometimes I think that they do it for spite And I’ve never seen them eating what they don’t like So why does it have to be me
Now why can’t I play my own games Somebody always complains Whenever I’m playing at monsters or bears Jumping off chairs, falling down stairs It’s don’t be so noisy, or go out and play Or look for a book if you’re going to stay But the problem is they always get in my way So why does it have to be me?
Holes in the ozone the size of Brazil Barges of trash in the chewable breeze Pools of industrial wasteland pate’ Sulfur dioxide dissolving the trees Pretty soon it will all end with a boom Why am I painting the living room?
I have the whole day off Cause it’s a Saturday There is a bluegrass band Somewhere along the bay Look at the lilacs bloom Why am I painting the living room?
A pinhead evangelist pays for his sin With a five dollar fine for a black collar crime Kingpins of industry knowingly nod Just like lake Erie they’re 12% slime They wink at the president too I assume And here I am painting the living room
I hear the bluebird sing Don’t let the day go by Look at the blossoms blow Over the blue blue sky All with a wild perfume And here I am painting the living room
Chorus: Why am I painting the living room? (x4)
Ah yes I can see how my tombstone will read Here lies someone of exceptional worth Though she did not do a lot for her kind Or help hold together this crumbling earth Here lies a woman they’re saying of whom Sure had a good-looking living room…
Now it’s just my luck to have the watch, with nothing left to do But watch the deadly waters glide as we roll north to the Soo, And wonder when they’ll turn again and pitch us to the rail And whirl off one more youngster in the gale.
The kid was so damned eager. It was all so big and new. You never had to tell him twice, or find him work to do. And evenings on the mess deck he was always first to sing, And show us pictures of the girl he’d wed in spring.
Chorus: But I told that kid a hundred times “Don’t take the Lakes for granted. They go from calm to a hundred knots so fast they seem enchanted.” But tonight some red-eyed Wiarton girl lies staring at the wall, And her lover’s gone into a white squall.
Now it’s a thing that us old-timers know. In a sultry summer calm There comes a blow from nowhere, and it goes off like a bomb. And a fifteen thousand tonne’r can be thrown upon her beam While the gale takes all before it with a scream.
The kid was on the hatches, lying staring at the sky. From where I stood I swear I could see tears fall from his eyes. So I hadn’t the heart to tell him that he should be on a line, Even on a night so warm and fine.
When it struck, he sat up with a start. I roared to him, “Get down!” But for all that he could hear, I could as well not made a sound. So, I clung there to the stanchions, and I felt my face go pale, As he crawled hand over hand along the rail.
I could feel her keeling over with the fury of the blow. I watched the rail go under then, so terrible and slow. Then, like some great dog she shook herself and roared upright again. Far over-side. I heard him call my name.
So it’s just my luck to have the watch, with nothing left to do But watch the deadly waters glide as we roll north to the Soo, And wonder when they’ll turn again and pitch us to the rail And whirl off one more youngster in the gale.
Final Chorus: But I tell these kids a hundred times “Don’t take the Lakes for granted. They go from calm to a hundred knots so fast they seem enchanted.” But tonight some red-eyed Wiarton girl lies staring at the wall, And her lover’s gone into a white squall.
