The Song Collector

The Folk Society meet on Thursday nights
Clear their throats and put their coughs to flight
To sing the dusty cobwebs from the room
A repertoire both in and out of tune
Don't assume a singalong, or worse
This history in song and countless verse
Pays homage to the man who, long ago
Collected all the songs the singers know
Collected all the songs the singers know

Edward Alexander, man of action
Armed only with his reel-to-reel contraption
One hundred years ago in mac and boots
Set out to faithfully preserve the region's roots
And every night in some small village inn
Fortified with fortitude and gin
Mr Alexander, for a shilling
Would thus record your song, if you were willing
Would thus record your song, if you were willing

So word got round, and soon there formed a queue
And the line of willing singers grew and grew
Brass for oohs and aahs? You can't go wrong
When there's someone paying a shilling for a song
When all his tapes are filled up, Edward leaves
There's a history preserved, so he believes
But all the so-called singers back inside
They know they took a city scholar for a ride
They know they took a city scholar for a ride

For they shook the man for every coin he'd got
With words and tunes all made up on the spot
Invented tales not twenty minutes old
So history, like ale, is bought and sold.
The old contraption's packed away and boxed
And a century is marked upon the clock
So tradition holds that Edward's great collection
Is honoured with a weekly resurrection
Honoured with a weekly resurrection

And now the old Society sing the songs
Word for word, and kept where they belong
As once again, they eulogise the past
You can hear the ghosts of history laughing last
You can hear the ghosts of history laughing last

Похожие новости.

Longer Gone

Honey, honey Honey you still prey on my mind I tried thumbin', freight train jumpin' Baby nothin' leaves you behind So I jump up, find me a mountain Shake of the sheep I been countin' Chase

Мой Друг Рэй Чарльз

Мой друг Рэй Чарльз, говорят, снова играет в барах. Говорят, он снова в форме, и не такой уж старый. Говорят, он слеп, как и прежде, все в тех же очках. И на его

Совет

Я в восточной вере ни черта непонимаю Я и в нашей то вере признаться не очень силен Мне приятель книжку про Кришну прочесть предлагает Но я боюсь что таким же смурягой стану как

Slow Down

I said slow down (slow down) and live my friend Take time (take time) to understand The things (the things) you hope to win Before (before) your journey's end Slow down (slow down) and

Обещанный День

Сегодня самый замечательный день О нем написано в тысяче книг Слева небеса, справа пустота А я иду по проволоке между них Спетое вчера осталось вчера В белой тишине белые поля Нечего желать, и