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Beeswing

作者:
richard thompson
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歌词
上传时间:
2017-01-01

  I was nineteen when I came to town

  They called in the Summer of Love

  They were burningbabies burning flags

  The Hawks against the Doves

  I took a job in the STeamie

  Down on Cauldrum Street

  I fell in love with a laundry girl

  Was working next to me

  She was a rare thing

  Fine as a beeswing

  So fine a breath of wind might blow her away

  She was a lost child

  She was running wild she said

  As long as there's no price on love I'll stay

  And you wouldn't want me any other way

  Brown hair zig-zag round her face

  And a look of half-surprise

  Like a fox caught in the headlights

  There was an animal in her eyes

  She said young man O can't you see

  I'm not the factory kind

  If you don't take me out of here

  I'll surely lose my miind

  She was a rare thing

  Fine as a beeswing

  So fine a breath of wind might blow her away

  She was a lost child

  She was running wild she said

  As long as there's no price on love I'll stay

  And you wouldn't want me any other way

  We busked around the market towns

  And picked fruit down in Kent

  And we could tinker lamps and pots

  And knives wherever we went

  And I said that we might settle down

  Get a few acres dug

  Fire burning in the hearth

  And babies on the rug

  She said O man you foolish man

  It surely sounds like hell

  You might be lord of half the world

  You'll not own me as well

  She was a rare thing

  Fine as a beeswing

  So fine a breath of wind might blow her away

  She was a lost child

  She was running wild she said

  As long as there's no price on love I'll stay

  And you wouldn't want me any other way

  We was camping down the Gower one time

  The work was pretty good

  She thought we shouldn't wait for frost

  And I thought maybe we should

  We were drinking more in those days

  And tempers reached a pitch

  Like a fool I let her run

  With the rambling itch

  Last I hear she's sleeping out

  Back on Derby beat

  White Horse in her hip pocket

  And a wolfhound at her feet

  And they say she even marriend once

  A man named Romany Brown

  But even a Gypsy caravan

  Was too much settliing down

  And they say her flower is faded now

  Hard weather and hard booze

  But maybe that's just hte price you pay

  For the chains you refuse

  She was a rare thing

  Fine as a beeswing

  And I missher more than ever words could say

  If I could just taste

  All of her wildness now

  If I could hold her in my arms today

  Then I wouldn't want her any other way

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