Cover di From the Witchwood

From the Witchwood
Album - 1971 - Debaser id 94872

di The Strawbs

01
A Glimpse of Heaven (03:53)
The Strawbs • From the Witchwood
The hillside was a patchwork quilt
Neatly stitched with tidy hedge
And crumbling grey stone wall
The trees were bare, but Spring was near
To conjure up its endless strings
Of green magic handkerchieves

Could you only see what I've seen
You would surely know what I mean
I think I must have caught a glimpse of heaven.

A string of diamonds formed a stream
That tumbled down the daunting cliff
To sparkle bright on the beach.

New born lambs that sweetly played
Speckled eggs all newly laid
But for you I would have stayed
I think I must have caught a glimpse of heaven.
Il tuo voto:
02
Witchwood (03:25)
The Strawbs • From the Witchwood
I dropped down in the witchwood
To see what I could find
The trees had taken time out
To blow away my mind
All that I could hear there
Was the sound of my own voice
But the music it was making
Was nothing of my choice.

The interwoven branches
Were laden deep with snow
A rainbow shone so softly
To show which way to go
I observed its many colours
Till my eyes were rimmed with frost
I tried hard to trace my footsteps
For I feared I might get lost.

The witchwood started singing
With a strange unearthly sound
My fingers grew like branches
I stood rooted to the ground
And the spell is still unbroken
I am still her bidden slave
Till a casket from the witchwood
Bears my body to the grave.
Il tuo voto:
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06
Sheep (04:16)
The Strawbs • From the Witchwood
July the fourth in the market town
Farmers have come for miles around
Bringing their wives and children.

A farmer stands with his youngest son
Watching their sheep driven from the pen
The slaughterhouse is waiting.

Look they're turning back
They're frightened
Dogs are snapping at their heels
Jumping on each other's backs
Hear their squeals.

The young boy stands looking quite dismayed
How can they know they're just animals
Come pull yourself together.

The farmer tells him to look inside
Row after row of raw carcasses
Their blood runs in the gutters.

Listen to their silly bleating
Farmer beats them with his stick
Milling by the open door
Don't be sick.

The young boy
Takes a look around
See people watching blankly
And he pities them
For they too
Look like sheep
And he tells himself
When he grows up
When he becomes a farmer
He will just plant seeds of love
He will just plant seeds of love
He will just plant seeds of love
And he will harvest peace.
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