Posts

Rosie Hodgson 2021

The Wilderness Yet: https://thewildernessyet.bandcamp.com/track/turn-the-year-round-2

Chorus:
Turn the year round, turn the year round,
The old king is dead, a new king is crowned
In ivy, in holly, in mistletoe berry and bough,
The jewels of the greenwood through cruel winter abound,
To turn the year, turn the year round!

In comes I a flash and a glance,
For if I must die I shall lead them a dance,
When be you so merry men, As when you’re hunting the wren to…

In comes I to brighten the dark,
The thrush calling nigh from your sorrows depart
What cannot be weathered When we sing together and start to…

In comes I a song bright and bold,
With red breasted coat for to keep out the cold
Leave of your grieving The robin’s receiving old souls to… 

Ewan MacColl 1966

Written for BBC documentary about construction of the Victoria Underground Line. Verse 5 edit probably by Chris Bracken

Ewan MacColl: https://ewanmaccoll.bandcamp.com/track/the-tunnel-tigers

Hares run free on the Wicklow mountains,
Wild geese fly and foxes play;
Sporting Wicklow boys are working,
They’re driving a tunnel through the London clay.

Chorus:
Up with the shields and jack it! Ram it!
Driving a tunnel through the London clay.

Lough Derg trout grow fat and lazy,
Salmon sport in Cushla bay;
Fishermen of Connemara
Are driving a tunnel through the London clay.

Below Armagh the wild ducks breeding,
Wild fowl gather ’round Loch Rea,
Sporting boys of Longford County
Are driving a tunnel through the London clay.

The curragh rots on the Achill Island,
Tourists walk on the Newport quay;
Mayo boys have all gone roving,
They’re driving a tunnel through the London clay.

Carlow girls are fine and handsome,
All decked out so neat and gay;
Carlow boys don’t come to court ’em
Because, did you hear, I said they all were gay

Down in the dark are the tunnel tigers
Far from the sun and the light of day;
Down in the land that the sea once buried,
They’re driving a tunnel through the London clay. 

C. Fox Smith 1926

"Cicely Fox Smith was an English poet known for writing maritime poetry. Smith did not follow the usual route of the minimum education and early marriage which was expected of young ladies in the Victorian era. She relished her education at Manchester's High School for Girls and allowed herself to wholeheartedly become immersed in her writing career." William Pint & Felicia Gale in 1997 adapted a tune they heard from Bob Zentz into the minor setting Alex Sturbaum uses below.

Alex Sturbaum: https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/tryphinas-extra-hand

On the clipper ship Tryphina Swinging northward from the line
With the trade winds blowing steady And her flying kites ashine
Five and sixty days from Angier With her freight of Foochow teas
There a sailor man lay dying And the words he spoke were these:
Many years I’ve sailed this packet And I’ve come to like her well
And I’ve not much hope of heaven And I’ve not much use for hell
But if be it as they’ll let me By the great hookblock I swear
When the great Tryphina wants me Dead as living I’ll be there

Chorus:
There’ll be one more at the haliards There’ll be one more on the yard
Fisting up them thundering courses When they’re frosted good and hard
One more tallyin’ at the forebrace At the waist neck deep in foam
One more hand to sweat the tops’l’s up And sheet t’ga’ns’l’s home

It was off the Western islands When he smelled the land he died
And they laid a back the main yard And they tossed him overside
Then they squared their sheets for England Pulley haulingwith a will
But for all they thought they’d left him He sailed aboard her still
And the chaps as was his shipmates Went the way as all chaps go
and the folks as was her owners Sold the old ship long ago
But whoever owned or sold her And whoever went or came
The Tryphina’s extra hand He sailed aboard her just the same

And he never signed no articles He never drawed no pay
He never scoffed no vittles But by night as well as day
Though you’d never know his coming And you’d never see him go
He’d be always somewheres handy When it’s coming on a blow
And he’d stand by wheel at lookout And you’d kind of feel him near
Kind of see him and not see him Kind of hear him and not hear
And the funny thing about it Was you somehow couldn’t swear
But you’d know it it sure as shootin’ When the extra hand was there

And in port when all the chaps had gone Ashore to take their ease
And left the ship as lonely And as quiet as you please
Not a blessed soul aboard her But the galley cat and you
Then you’d hear a sort of something More than once I’ve heard it too
Like a feller up aloft there Puttering around amongst the gear
Lashing here another rat line Putting on a mousing there
And a-whistling old tunes over Such as shellbacks used to know
In the good old China tea trade Many, many years ago 

Fred Smith 2020

Fred Smith: https://fredsmith2.bandcamp.com/track/trembling-sky

"When the Taliban took power in 1996, many Afghans held hopes that, for all the severity of their approach, they might at least bring some order to the country wracked by conflict and predatory warlordism. But the regime was harsh, banning all nonreligious social activities including films, music, kite flying and poetry (Afghans love poetry and will take great risks to travel to a poetry meet). These rules were enforced by summary beatings, sham trials and public executions. A result of this was a continuing flow of refugees out of Afghanistan. By mid-2001, an estimated 3.6 million Afghans were living outside their national borders". First verse supplemented by Alex Ellis.

For my homeland I am pining I will keep this letter rhyming,
They can decode, what is written in prose
It’s much different here in Sydney But we never fit in, did we?
We didn’t comply with the trembling sky.

So they tried me in my absence, When I heard about my sentence,
I had to smile, here in exile
For you know from your excursions If the truth has many versions
then what is a lie, to the trembling sky?

As our nation looked for heroes We both fell in with the weirdoes
All of our peers, artists and queers
As I recall we still were kissing, As our friends were going missing
Spit in the eye, of the trembling sky

If you are taken for correction, They will ask about connection.
Just play the game, slander my name
And don’t ask them for a reason, Or they’ll have you tried for treason
Never ask why of the trembling sky

As our countrymen all hardened, Esmat found me in my garden
Gave me the queue, time to slip through
So I hope you understand There was no time to touch your hand
When I had to fly from the trembling sky 

trad 

On the 1951 recording of Jimmy McBeath, who shared the song with Alan Lomax and Hamish Henderson, Peter Hall wrote that it was attributed to a Besom Jimmy from the late 19th century.

Chorus:
Come aw ye tramps and hawker lads And gaitherers o blaw
That tramps this country roon’ and roon’ Come listen ane and aw
I’ll tell tae ye a rovin tale On sichts that I hae seen
Far up intae the snowy north And south by Gretna Green

I’ve seen the high Ben Nevis A-towerin tae the moon
I’ve been by Crieff and Callander And roon’ by bonnie Doon
And by the Nethy’s silvery tide And places ill tae ken
Far up intae the stormy north Lies Urquhart’s fairy glen

Oft hae I laucht untae maself When trudgin on the road
Wi a bag o blaw upon ma back Ma face as broun’s a toad
Wi lumps o cake and tattie scones And cheese and braxie ham
Nae thinkin where I’m comin fae Or where I’m goin tae gang

I’m happy in the summertime Beneath the bricht blue sky
Nae thinkin in the mornin At nicht where I’ve to lie
Barns or byres or onywhere Or oot among the hay
And if the weather does permit I’m happy every day

I’ve done my share o lumpin Wi the dockers on the Clyde
I’ve helped the Buckie trawlers Pou the herrin ower the side
I’ve helped tae build the mighty bridge That spans the Firth o Forth
And wi mony an Angus fermer’s rig I’ve plowed the bonnie earth

Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond Have aw been kent by me
The Dee, the Don, the Deveron That rushes tae the sea
Dunrobin Castle by the way I nearly had forgot
And aye, the rickle o cairn marks At the house o John o Groat

I’m often roon’ by Gallawa Or doun aboot Stranraer
My business leads me onywhere I travel near and far
I’ve got a rovin notion Thare’s nothin’ that I loss
And aw the days my daily fare And what’ll pay my doss

I think I’ll go tae Paddy’s land I’m makkin up ma mind
For Scotland’s greatly altered now I canna raise the wind
But I will trust in Providence If Providence proves true
And I will sing o Erin’s isle E’er I get back tae you 

Sarah Pirtle 1988?

Chorus:
And it’s hey ho hi, I want to touch the sky
I want to know what the wild goose knows and hear the crickets cry
And it’s hey ho hi, you’ll know it by and by
When you seek the sound and you follow the ground
and you feel the night come round

My father knows the name of every bird and every tree
As we hike he whistles back each birdsong to me
Once we followed deer tracks for half of a day
We found the deer and the deer stood still before it ran away

We build our fires carefully, they only need one match
We eat our food from the milkweed leaves and the blackberry patch
We like to camp in a special spot where the trees make a ring
We’re not afraid of the dark, we hear the darkness sing

When you camp you hear the crickets, then you hear the frogs
Those tiny little peepers from the swampy wet bogs
Once I heard a rustle and I got up to see
A raccoon with some berries running up a tree

And I teach my father how to walk across the stream
To watch the rocks that can tip you down, slippery moss green
How to find the steady ones you can hop across fast
And how to jump that final jump, safe into the grass 

Emma Azelborn 2023

"My friend Penny Gale posted about learning to stay in the moment and be authentic about who you are, and letting things go which are outside your control. Amidst posts about coming out, discovering who you are at any stage of life, and general turmoil in the world, her post was a light of inspiration and hope for me. She ended with these words which evolved into the chorus of Toss the Bones: 'So toss the bones high. They'll fall where they fall. I'll shrug, and dance while they spin. That's all one can do.'"

Emma Azelborn: https://emmaazelborn.bandcamp.com/track/toss-the-bones

You’ve been afraid for far too long
So hidden away So scared of a change and what could go wrong

Chorus:
Toss the bones high
Be steady and small
And dance while they spin in the sky
They’ll fall where they fall

The truth will grow so hard to hide And every time
You build on the lies will eat you alive

Your stem could be cut, your leaves could wilt Discarded aside
So suddenly dry yet drowning in guilt

But roots could expand so solid and deep Your branches could grow
Supported by those whose hearts you keep

Whatever may come your strength will hold Stop hiding away
You’re ready for change, go out and be bold

Graham Moore 1995

Alex Sturbaum: https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/tom-paines-bones

As I roved out one evening by a river of discontent
I chanced to meet with old Tom Paine as running down the road he went.
He said, “I can’t stop right now child, King George is after me.
He’d have a rope around my throat and hang me on the Liberty Tree.”

Chorus (x2)
I will dance to Tom Paine’s bones, dance to Tom Paine’s bones
Dance in the oldest boots I own to the rhythm of Tom Paine’s bones

He said I only talked about freedom and justice for everyone
But since the very first word I spoke I’ve been looking down the barrel of a gun.
They say I preached revolution, let me say in my defense
That all I did wherever I went was to talk a lot of common sense

Old Tom Paine, he ran so fast, he left me standing still.
And there I was, a piece of paper in my hand, standing at the top of the hill.
And it said, “This is ‘The Age of Reason’, these are ‘The Rights of Man’.
Kick off religion and monarchy,” it was written there in Tom Paine’s plan.

Old Tom Paine, there he lies nobody laughs and nobody cries.
Where he’s gone or how he fares nobody knows-and nobody cares. 

Rónán Ó Snodaigh 1997

Kíla: https://klamusic3.bandcamp.com/track/tip-toe

Tip toe through Tireless peace
Come and go Leave your toys and sweets
If I had a place You could visit me
Read fairy tales, play Hide and go seek

Cliff faces are far too steep
Even though we try to Smile through our teeth
This surface is not so deep
Although we have our Secrets to keep

Tightropes are seldom Too weak
Say I’ve lost my shoes or I have cold feet
Say stranger how did we meet
And who will hear us When we start to speak

Our shadows are still Out on the street
My skin is still as White as a sheet
Our time is short and fleet
Empty pockets, trick or treat

We all need food to eat
Friend or foe we all go to sleep
Life away from home is Far from cheap
So look long now before you leap

So soldier please have a seat
You’re only alive while Your own heart beats
There will always be Wolves among the sheep
But what’s left of the Earth will be ploughed By the meek 

Stan Rogers 

Where Patterson Creek’s muddy waters run down
Past the penny arcades, by the harbour downtown,
All the old Turtlebacks rust in the rain
Like they never will leave there again.
But leave there they will in the hours before dawn,
Slip out in the darkness without word or song;
For a few more years yet they will work while they can
To catch tiny fish for Japan.

No white fish or trout here, we leave them alone.
The inspectors raise hell if we take any home.
What kind of fisherman can’t eat his catch
Or call what he’s taken his own?
But the plant works three shifts now. There’s plenty of pay.
We ship seventeen tons of this garbage each day.
If we want to eat fish, then we’ll open a can,
And catch tiny fish for Japan.

In the Norfolk Hotel over far too much beer,
The old guys remember when the water ran clear.
No poisons with names that we can’t understand
And no tiny fish for Japan
So the days run together, each one is the same.
And it’s good that the smelt have no lovelier name.
It’s all just a job now, we’ll work while we can,
To catch tiny fish for Japan.
And we’ll catch tiny fish for Japan.