On Murk Mire Moor when the light is very poor You barely see your hand before your face But nights the sky is clear bringing all the stars so near you can almost see them fall from outer space On Murk Mire Moor this tale of which I'm sure happened on one dark and freezing night A traveller was lost among the heather and the frost and desperate to see some welcome light On Murk Mire Moor soft ground you must endure You can lose your boots sucked down in the sog Our traveller was tired and his legs became enmired as he wandered ever deeper in the bog. Oh Murk Mire Moor your fame I must abjure You have kept so many good men out so late At home the anxious bride prays with tears she has not cried you will not lead her man to deathly fate Our traveller came across the blue man i' the moss a standing stone marking out the way A figure stood aloft and with a smile his hat he doffed and bid him both good evening and good day He said he'd be his guide and swore he would not to hide The traveller thought it strange he promised so But he'd lost all his ideas so put aside his fears and trusted him and with him he did go The guide traversed the gorse carving out a winding course and led him to the barrows called Three Howes struck his stick upon the bank and offered up his thanks Then they heard the sound of laughter and carouse Oh Murk Mire Moor etc The ground began to yield into a different field where the land was full of sunshine, smiles and joy The time became unfurled in this happy underworld and he felt himself going back to being a boy The people fed him goat and asked to take his coat The air was warm with ancient scented smells Our man seemed not to care or prepared to be aware he might be victim of some magic spells So they caroused through the day till the hour seemed so late and darkness fell into this underworld just as in the morning hour the sun came oe'r the Moor. He was found beside the barrows stiff and curled. Oh Murk Mire Moor etc Some say this tale unreal another reason they will feel is needed how our traveller died that night Perhaps he lost a bet got into so much debt or forgot his coat after some bar room fight But no publican in Grosmont will aver to his avaunt after drinking in his inn or hostelry Glaisdale they shake their head give answers best unsaid when you quote the loss of rings and jewellery. So it still remains obscure what occurred on Murk Mire Moor But don't go up there when the day has died Beware of the blue man and if on him there should stand another who will ask to be your guide.

Time on a beach in Italy wine and a fire by the sea a weekend with someone I met and never saw again Back then I wondered why she went She had to catch a train She packed her bag took down her tent put up her umbrella in the rain Love ran with her across the sand She won the race with love I did the same with one last glance left embers in the cove So many opportunities let go for one more thrill like never taking in the view when you're climbing up a hill I met another on the road hitch hiked up to Skye We spent a few days travelling north she asked to know my mind What did I want what did I like I gave her no reply She took a coach to London town turned around and waved to me goodbye Love chased her down that highway She left love behind I did the same I would not stay and pay it any mind So many opportunities let go for one more thrill like never taking in the view when you're climbing up a hill Time runs out looking for love Love it outlasts time I was searching the wrong places for someone I could find I had to learn to give myself and learning that took time But you helped me on the way You showed me to be kind I didn't know when I met you things would be so different I stopped my climb took in the view no need to pretend The weaving of the threads of love into a tapestry the contours of our journey unravelled mystery

Driving through Tennessee with my Appalachian girl one or two things I want to see with my Appalachian girl sitting back seat of the car shining like a union star looking like she'll attack and put some stripes across my back she feels a prisoner of the road my Appalachian girl Baseball cap hides both her eyes my Appalachian girl that glint like Clint's as someone dies my Appalachian girl Each day it's when are we going home without her friends she's all alone she can't use her mobile phone all she does is mope and groan a prisoner of the road my Appalachian girl Thirteen years thinks she's twenty five my Appalachian girl In the car she says just drive my Appalachian girl she only shrugs when we want to talk she won't get out and have a walk she wants to be free as a hawk but she's just leggy like a stork a prisoner of the road my Appalachian girl Those teenage years are hard to bear my Appalachian girl Mum and Dad just don't care my Appalachian girl we put you up in the best hotel all you did was ring the bell your bad mood did not dispel at breakfast time you did not feel well a prisoner of the road my Appalachian girl It's the trip of a lifetime over mountains to the sea I keep throwing you a lifeline a ice cream here and there a Tennessee cream tea You're going through your changes my Appalachian girl we've lost our little baby my Appalachian girl you walk on water and don't sink down never fear that you will drown kill your Dad with a deadly frown usurp the family and take the crown a prisoner of the road my Appalachian girl.

Some call me Major Miner some call me Caliban Others call me Swampy my given name is Dan Raised in the shires of England attended school in a town enshrined by hills and valleys known as the Chiltern Downs Head Teacher blew his whistle loud, music teacher played the flute My classmates got themselves in line as he marched in his suit But I was all for climbing trees and roaming far and wide and bathing in the chalk trout streams throughout the country side I bore his disappointment I bore their sobs and tears I left school without honours and with my class mates jeers I was made for others things to cultivate the land dig and sow and harrow earth plant forests with my hands So when I saw those diggers come to rip that land apart I watched with horror in my eyes a dagger in my heart I entwined trees and holed the earth and said you shall not pass cut down the haunt of finches for roads that will not last They sent in police to clear us out they dragged us from the trees but I dug deeper underground where badgers take their ease For one long week I stayed below avoiding all their traps They had the land in their control they didn't have the maps I emerged a famed protester fawned on by all the press who tempted me with bribery to become a TV guest But as I'd shunned the daylight by hiding underground I would not bask in the limelight and sell those Wessex Downs I traded fame for privacy and headed west to Wales Looked for anonymity and avoided all their jails Now years have passed since that protest I've children of my own I think sometimes of Wessex Downs that ground I made my home We didn't stop that road being built where traffic queues for free where finches flew to other woods twelve cars for every tree It takes a lot to make things change but I was sure what's right and I was young and full of hope and youth will always fight In Wessex and in Devon and in protests at Heathrow we fought to save country being sentenced to death row My children all are growing up I work in forestry I'm a surgeon of the arbours and I'm still planting trees.

I remember when I was twenty lifting the sand and sifting it gently through my fingers and over my pulsing skin This girl came gliding like a shimmering image I blinked convinced she was a mirage As she got closer the sun began to spin I called to her to come and sit beside me She never looked my way not even to deride me She walked on by with the wind kissing her hair The sand could have swallowed her as I whispered "Ah" I would have followed her no matter how far and dug till my fingers bled for one so rare Every generation has its girl from Ipanema Every boy that sees her couldn't get no keener While the guys are getting fatter this girl is staying leaner The men are getting older she's still the girl from Ipanema. I remember when I was thirty thinking 'bout the time when I was twenty seeing some girl walking down the avenue Tall and lovely and young and slender like a knight I would have vowed to defend her But she just kept on walking out of view. Every generation etc. Every summer you will see them on the stairs and on the beaches all the girls from Ipanema fall in love and leave you speechless I remember when I was forty seeing my girl so young and haughty chin held high as she walked along the shore She reached to touch and refresh the water I looked with pride at my beautiful daughter as she frolicked in the froth of the oceans roar Every generation etc.

Hear the trumpet and the drum now the strong man's come with his lock and chain wrapped around his body while his helper tries her best with her drum rolls and her jests her makeup doesn't hide her hurt and sorrow The strong man shouts into the crowd watch me break this solid chain It snaps, he takes a bow begs a lira for his pains Different towns it's the same routine He gets drunk on wine sleeps on the ground She looks up at the star bound sky for the love she's never found See the fool up on a wire walking high across the sky like he's Jesus or maybe just some angel she looks at him enthralled afraid that he might fall and she prays with fingers crossed against the danger He mocks the strong man's artless trick while playing a tiny violin Runs away to escape his kick when he says that he will kill him He tells her all things have a use or nothing has a purpose then Asks why she takes the abuse - in a world that’s run by men She thinks that she will leave him though she's got nowhere that she can go She cries for home, feels all alone and worthless as a stone She thinks she can rescue him Something like love keeps her tied to him She plays a tune upon the trumpet like blowing fire at her heart The fool knew he would die and it happens with a sigh with his broken watch wrapped around his wrist The strong man scared to death that he took the fool's last breath covers up the crime that he's done with his fist But she whimpers in the night like a mother that's lost her only child She starts to lose her mind as she wanders in the wild He leaves her on the road years later hears that trumpet tune and the story how she died looks up and sees the stars in ruin. On the beach digs in the sand as if to make himself a grave finally he understands feels his grief and not his rage. All the links break in the chain his body heaves a painful cry as if he'll never breathe again. He sees a love he never knew just die.

Richard was a handsome youth He rode a motorbike he learned to use a turner's lathe carved wood the way you'd like Jane was Richard's pillion pard Her legs were long and lithe Her hair was short and fiery red the way she lived her life Like a lovely woman's smile can turn a young man's head Rick turned this wooden fruit bowl It's English cherry red smooth and deep and carved with love a rare phenomenon grain like waves on a sandy beach and the smell of cinnamon With Jane's arms around his waist they rode the country lanes I met them down in Devon once drank beer and played some games Rick showed me his wood carvings a mare with a new born foal a dancer playing castanets this cherry wood fruit bowl I bought the bowl from Richard and gave to my love She held it like a chalice handed from above. Smooth and deep and turned with love etc My love took the wooden bowl went out to pick berries She filled it up with ripened fruit apples, pears and cherries Later on a friend told me the news of Rick and Jane They died in a motorcycle crash somewhere in southern Spain But I still have Richard's bowl it contains their memory I sense them through the scented grain lovely English cherry smooth and deep and turned with love etc

Johnny Cash died at 69 Louis Armstrong too David Bowie, Leon Redbone there've been quite a few Aged 69 I began to pine for the sounds of gay Paris I remembered on the boulevards my time with sweet Marie She said you are a gorgeous boy and I would not like to destroy your dreams and aspirations and let me drink all her pastis till I couldn't feel my knees and other such libations and other such libations I woke up in an alleyway my rings and wallet gone my trousers fell she'd stole my belt I thought she done me wrong I staggered in my underwear to report it to the Police but they just laughed and poked my eyes I thought they'd never cease They said I was a gorgeous boy and they would not want to destroy my dreams and aspirations advised me not to drink Pastis absinthe, ouzo or raki and other such libations and other such libations. I did not learn my lesson well their advice I declined Some old tow rope kept my trousers up I went to buy red wine I walked along some lush green banks till I met a young bargee She took me on her narrow boat to the canal du midi. She said I was a gorgeous boy and she would not want to destroy my dreams and aspirations and offered me absinthe, pastis, sambuca, pernod and raki and other such libations and other such libations Aged 69 I was in Paris I smiled at my memory the drinks I'd drunk the women met Claudette and sweet Marie The streets were strangely empty the people seemed all gone locked down in their houses I thought what's going on. No one to say you're a gorgeous boy and I would not like to destroy your dreams and aspirations and offer me absinthe, pastis, sambuca, pernod and raki and other such libations and other such libations.

Faded shacks on back road tracks high rise flats and corporate stacks low motels with looming signs winding courses bending lines Steel rails and electric wire that shock the soul and dull desire that push the land further back all along the beaten path Bold travellers tread the worn out road where times before a million strode The light fades out on either side no matter but the way is wide and still the land pushed further back invisible among the dark We hear no sound of cry or laugh all along the beaten path Journey on some bleak adventure to escape a harsh indenture Possessions weigh less than chattels moving fast from war and battles Abandoned land on either side scarred by pillage ruined by pride We hear no sound of pain and wrath all along the beaten path The tourist marvels at the view his way defined by height and hue He does not fear to be alone and knowing that he's going back home records his route with photograph tweets and blog and monograph the pilgrim there's no turning back The weary trudge the beaten path

Everyone's in mourning dressed in black and grey I don't think I'll ever see the sunshine again Since i lost my woman I got nothing left to lose Today would be a good day to bury bad news Since I lost my woman I find it hard to choose This would be a good day to bury bad news. Tall buildings tumbling, smoke up in the sky headlines in the papers blood and sweat across my eye commentators talking sounding so bemused Today would be a good day to bury bad news Since I lost my woman I been standing in the queues This would be a good day to bury bad news. She left here in the morning to make her way to work She was eager to get started there was nothing she would shirk She had a way of smiling, no one could refuse Today would be a good day to bury bad news. Since I lost my woman there's no one to accuse This would be a good day to bury bad news. Televisions replay. I watch without the sound I can't stop myself from looking. It's like picking at a wound It makes me wonder sometimes if it's just there to amuse Today would be a good day to bury bad news Since I lost my woman I been kneeling in the pews This would be a good day to bury bad news.

We're coming out of market town We've drunk ourselves both square and round listening to the cawing sound of hawkers, sheep and auctioneers. Our boots steeped in the blackest mud Our waistcoats caked in chicken blood We'd best get home before the flood the hostile looks and town folks' sneers. So up that hill we'll wend our way our beasts beneath our knees recalling every oaken tree we sing up to the leaves our pockets sag with lessening coin and in the chorus we all join to hell the battle of the Boyne you will find - a welcome kind- in The Roaring Donkey. The donkeys tethered to the rings and inside Mary serves and sings The fiddler tunes his old gut strings the last pub on the long road home The dark awaits a heavy sky and work that bends and cracks an eye Our beasts let out a hungry cry It's time to leave the beery foam. So up that hill etc… Turf glows red in the cast iron grate to warm our wives. The children wait for the creak of the old farm gate and the hee haw of the donkeys Now get the hay out of the barn We'll all be back and out of harm We've still got cash to save the farm or our mounts are just old monkeys So up that hill etc.

"Have you ever been to Liverpool?". "No John . No" "Well you should go to Liverpool." "John why should I go?" "Well it's party town together, no matter what the weather. The women dress so finely and the men are just so timely with their wit and friendliness. "Are you lost can I direct you? I think I can detect you need a bit of guidance to a bar or a high dance in the old town hall". "But I can get that in London John. So John, so why should I go?" " Well London is a city where the women are so pretty. But Liverpool's a tribe with its custom and its pride though the people too have come from everywhere. And though Liverpool is smaller, the folk somehow walk taller and they talk so everybody knows just what they say. And if you listen really closely, there's rhythm to their prose. See they're poets of the English. And a story they will finish with a punch line that gives us all a hoot. That crosses seas and nations. It's a rare combination and you'll hear the sound of Irish in there too. So get yer arse on a train and please do not refrain by thinking I'm some sort of fool. If you have half the time that I had and that won't be so half bad, you'll sing the praises of old Liverpool. So will you go to Liverpool?" "I might John so. But tell me more of Liverpool. I might go John go" . "The Beatles you have heard and their music has been shared around the world and back across the moon. But in Liverpool I will tell more than any rung church bell, you'll hear a song by them from morn till noon. And in the evening too from Crosby to the zoo there's a busker singing Help, Here comes the Sun, Yellow Submarine. See what I mean. You'll even hear An Octopus' Garden. There's statues to these musicians as if they were physicians, explorers, mounted generals going to war. But they're only John and Paul, George and Ringo just like us all. But the cream of every day folk lore. So you should go to Liverpool." "I think I'll go John so. I think I'll go to Liverpool and visit Penny Lane. I think I'll go to Liverpool. What time is the next train?"