1. |
Knock Four Times
04:40
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Knock Four Times
Lyrics — Adam Summerhayes
Knock four times, that’s my rule,
If you’re not up then, then you’re the fool.
It’s years since I saw midnight,
And miles I’ve walked by four.
So I’ll be there to wake you,
Though I’ll not knock on your door —
For it’s only you who’ll pay me,
So it’s only you I’ll wake,
And, if your neighbours make their plans,
With the cunning of a snake,
For the knock from me to wake them,
Without their shillings paid,
They’ll be sorely disappointed,
And in their beds stay laid,
As I tap upon your window,
A message just for you:
Knock four times, that’s my rule.
If you’re not up then, then you’re the fool.
But the girl that I saw weeping,
At the entrance to the mill, Perhaps she stole my heart then,
But I know she has it still.
For her, four knocks were not enough, Her shift she missed and life is tough, So just for her,
I broke my rule —
And you could say that I’m a fool.
But her face at morning’s window
Became the purpose of my life.
I know that I can never rest,
Till you become my wife.
So I tap upon your window,
A message just for you:
Knock forever, that’s my rule.
I just must see you, for I’m the fool
So it’s here that I’ll stay knocking,
Just waiting for your smile.
I’ll always be here for you,
Forever tapping, whilst
You come to know that it’s me you need
To make purpose of your life
—
And anticipate the happiness
You’ll feel when you’re my wife.
For you I will do anything.
For you I have no rules.
If the rest of them don’t want you,
Then they’re a bunch of fools.
And now you’re at the window,
With a message just for me:
We need no knocks, we need no rules,
We have each other, and we’re no fools.
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2. |
Belladonna
04:45
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Belladonna
Lyrics - Kirsty Merryn
Berries sweet, berries dark,
Berries stop a grown man’s heart,
Gather me at spark of dawn,
Mix me with sea holly thorn.
He visits me each early morn,
He eyes me with a baleful glare,
He loves and loathes me each in turn,
Both curse and covet in his stare.
I watch him hungry gaze at her,
With feverish eye and pallid face.
She bends to gather nut and burr,
He longs for her to grant him grace.
Berries bright, berries black,
Berries make your vision slack.
Gather me at morning’s dew,
Grind me down with feverfew.
He came to me again today.
With sharpest knife he stripped away
A leaf and stem, and berry black,
And furtive hid them behind his back.
I never saw her here again.
As I begin my winter’s sleep,
I see him pace his lonely tracks,
And often bend, and often weep.
Berries tart, berries bold,
Berries make your skin turn cold.
Gather me in softest silk,
Mix me down with poppy milk.
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3. |
Brusher Mills
04:24
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Brusher Mills, lyrics Kirsty Merryn
She draws me forth, I draw her off,
With sigh of slate grey sky and earth,
I bid her meet me in the heath,
Hot sun above, black soil beneath.
I wish her here, I want her not
To trap and tame, for life and rot,
Diamond-coat, on forest floor,
Myth-corrupted, ancient lore.
Entangled is her hide with mine,
I leach her life to make my wine,
Her bones I bleach, her venom tap,
And set her loose in lion’s lap.
She draws me forth, I draw her off,
With sigh of slate grey sky and earth,
I bid her meet me in the heath,
Hot sun above, black soil beneath.
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4. |
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The Ballad of Agnes Sampson Lyrics — Adam Summerhayes
She held my mother’s hand as her eyes closed,
As she held it at my birth.
She closed my mother’s mother’s eyes,
When life became too much.
And who now will close my eyes, my child?
She brought my mother in to the world,
Though she’ll not be at your birth.
She knew herbs, ointments, incantations, charms,
You’ll not know her healing touch.
And who now will bring you into the world, my child?
She set broken bones, soothed fevers,
Brought mirth to us,
Cursed only Red Bill, for the favours he forced from us,
So to thank her they shaved her,
And a witch they found her.
She would not confess,
So in torments they drowned her.
Her life fled with open eyes,
And her dying fed their mirth,
We are crushed by their iniquities,
Blighted by their killing touch.
And who now will bring us justice, my child?
Who will bring justice, my child?
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5. |
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Lyrics — as spoken by Agnes Sampson
All kinds of ills that ever may be,
In Christ’s name I conjure thee,
I conjure thee both more and less,
With all the virtues of the mass,
And right so the nails sore,
That nailed Jesus and no more,
And right so the same blood,
That wreaked o’er the ruthful rood,
Forth of the flesh and forth of the bone,
And in the earth and in stone,
I conjure thee in God’s name.
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6. |
The Thurifers
04:12
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Lyrics — Kirsty Merryn
Holy, holy, holy,
Smoke coils round my throat,
Soot it coats my fingers,
Perfumed ashes float.
We contemplate together
The gently rising threads;
The sweet bliss of submission in
The lowering of his head.
Holy, holy, holy.
We stir the plumes in silence,
We stir the shimmering air.
His gestures speak of longing,
And the darkness holds his stare.
Powder drenched in perfume,
gathered and dispatched —
Lifting, shifting, breaking,
With the striking of the match.
Holy, holy, holy.
Fingers brought to fingers,
Palms to wrists to cheek.
Smoke coils round the two of us:
The meeting of the meek.
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7. |
Becalmed
04:56
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Becalmed
Lyrics — Kirsty Merryn
Windless, the Devil’s on the mast,
Nine miles only travelled, in the nine days past.
Salt under my fingernails, salt upon the deck,
The Devil’s caught the empty sails,
Nine days empty yet.
We cannot carry forward, we cannot carry back,
the devil’s on the deck my boys, the Devil’s on my back.
No biscuits in the larder,
no brandy in the kegs,
the Devil’s caught the captain
and he’s making him to beg.
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8. |
The Men I Call My Own
09:16
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The Men I Call My Own Lyrics — Adam Summerhayes
I’ll take my choice, work where I will,
Beside this ditch or beyond that hill, With the men I call my own.
They build your roads and dam your streams,
Make substance of your wildest dreams,
For all your ideas need the shoulders of iron,
Of the men you slowly kill.
I’ll take my choice, work where I will,
Beside this ditch or beyond that hill,
With the men I call my own.
Our walls are of turf, we’re not worthy of stones;
Crowded men share their food and their groans.
The ale flows free at the end of the day,
And men spend what they will.
I’ll take my choice, work where I will,
Beside this ditch or beyond that hill,
With the men I call my own.
So you pay them, they pay me,
And it’s not the first time in history
That girls like us make the wheels go round,
Of the empires that you build.
I’ll take my choice, work where I will,
Beside this ditch or beyond that hill,
With the men I call my own.
They’re proud hard men, and they pay them well,
As they lay the tracks for the trains to hell,
But accidents happen and backs can break,
And with tears my eyes are filled.
I’ll take my choice, work where I will,
Beside this ditch or beyond that hill,
With the men I call my own.
They’re banned in the ale house and feared in the town,
You mock us and shun us but we’ll not back down,
For we’re building your country, of which you’re so proud,
So it’s wrong that you wish us ill.
On the tramp again over moorland or fen,
With no house and no home to call my own,
And the way goes on from one job to the next,
And the way goes on with these men or the next,
One step then another …
One road then another ...
And so my path goes on.
And so my path goes on.
I’ll take my choice, work where I will,
Beside this ditch or beyond that hill,
With the men I call my own.
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9. |
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The Queen and the Nightman Lyrics — Adam Summerhayes
Old Bess had many suitors,
And was given many rings.
There were men she would have chosen,
But she was prone to losing things.
As she struggled to the privy,
In her skirts she would get stuck —
Her newest ring
From her finger would ping,
And drop into the muck.
And even with love awoken,
Its quite hard to say yes,
When his shiny true-love token Is lost in your own mess.
“I’d be up to my neck
. With no bucket or shovel.
To find the ring
Would be far too much trouble.
There’ll soon be another man.”
Old Bess had many suitors,
And was given many rings.
There were men she would have chosen,
But she was prone to losing things.
Arthur Sidney thought himself lucky:
His job paid very well.
He might be rather mucky,
But his girl had no sense of smell.
At sixpence a night,
He’d work at the palace,
Earning the coin
To take back to Alice.
Though everyone shunned him,
If seen in day’s light,
The Queen needed the work
That he did in the night.
“I’m up to my neck
With my bucket and shovel.
I don’t smell great.
But I know that my love’ll
Be pleased to see me home.”
Old Bess had many suitors,
And was given many rings.
There were men she would have chosen,
But she was prone to losing things.
After twenty years of living
Off the bounty of the queen,
He revealed his prize
To his girl’s shining eyes:
If you sift in the grime for things that shine,
You’ll find such things from time to time ...
Seven fat stones,
In seven fat rings.
Seven fat stones
That could’ve made seven kings —
If old Queen Bess had been better at things.
Old Bess had many suitors,
And was given many rings.
There were men she would have chosen,
But she was prone to losing things.
Now Alice had no sense of smell,
But she had a nose for wealth,
So she re-considered her path in life,
And Arthur lost his health.
“Seven fat stones to buy poison,
A carriage and a house.
Seven fat stones to bring gentlemen,
And entrap a landed spouse.”
Seven fat stones,
In seven fat rings.
Seven fat stones
That could have made kings —
If old Queen Bess had been better at things.
But Old Bess had many suitors,
And was given many rings.
There were men she would have chosen,
But she was prone to losing things.
“He was up to his neck
With a bucket and shovel.
I strove to be rich,
And he saved me the struggle —
All thanks to the virgin queen.
For Old Bess had many suitors,
And was given many things.
There were men she would have chosen,
But she gave me all her rings.”
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10. |
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No Grass Grows on His Grave Lyrics — Adam Summerhayes
That way lies our John, no grass grows on his grave.
Best you turn your back on him, for your soul he cannot save.
When he was a young man, he was strong and brave and tall,
His wife so fair and pretty, and he asked for nothing more,
Until the fire drew her ship in, and she drowned just off the shore.
And her soul he could not save,
So he lost his only joy in life,
And no grass grows on his grave.
He was our most loved excise man, with his face turned to the wall.
Their pretty daughter on his knee, and he asked for nothing more,
But he hated with a passion, the wreckers on the shore.
For her soul he could not save,
So he lost his only joy in life,
And no grass grows on his grave.
For smuggling feeds the living,
And wreckers feed on the dead,
So John scoured the night-dark shore,
To fill their hearts with lead.
But daughters stay not on your knee —
Love is a fickle flame.
A moth to the wrecker’s fires she went,
And Robbie was his name.
Our John saw the fatal blaze,
And fired into the night,
But he knew not what he hit,
Till the dawn’s corpse-grey light.
And her soul he could not save,
So he lost his only daughter,
And no grass grew on his grave.
So he lost his only daughter,
And no grass grew on his grave.
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11. |
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Poem by William Butler Yeats
I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow.
And then I must scrub, and bake, and sweep,
Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
But the young lie long and dream in their bed
Of the matching of ribbons, the blue and the red,
And their day goes over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift up a tress.
While I must work, because I am old
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.
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The Ciderhouse Rebellion England, UK
Two virtuoso musicians playing some of the most startling and original music you will ever encounter. Compelling, exciting
and utterly original" Phil Beer
The duo brings together master accordionist Murray Grainger and fiddle player Adam Summerhayes.
... more
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