1. |
Feast
02:37
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Tonight we feast and dance within this hall
With wine and mead; our bellies growing full
We’ll roast the boar and burn the candles bright
And you, new friends, will be our guests tonight
Pour the wine, fill my flagon to the brim
Light up the fire, don’t let the flames go dim
Our welcome guests will lead us in a dance
Across the floor and spin a merry trance
Take my hand my lord and circle ‘round
The pipes and drums, they beat a merry sound
The night is dark, the music quickens pace
Pounding as blood begins to race
Throw back the doors and out into the night
Between the trees to follow candle light
Our fate is sealed as deep within the woods
We gaze on sights no mortals ever should
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2. |
The Knot Garden
03:52
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Night falls heavily over the twists
Of a garden set ‘neath the walls
Between the hyssop and cold widow’s mist
She works steadily at her toil
And in her hands, a wreath of black nightshade
Weaving in for the fall of the father
And in her eyes, unbroken sleepless gaze
Staring out o’er fields t’wards the harbourside
For her lady she sits through the night
With the branches strewn at her feet
Weaving a tapestry, gold, green and white
Spinning silken twist from the leaves
And in her hands, a wreath of black nightshade
Weaving in for the fall of the father
And in her eyes, unbroken sleepless gaze
Staring out o’er fields t’wards the harbourside
Her Fingers reddening, stained from her work
Her blood runs cold to freeze in his veins
Choking, noxious vapours coiling
‘Round like water in water scarlet stains
Crushing monk’s blood, hensbane, sweet hemlock
As her fingers race with the dawn
Sewing steadily, twisting a knot
Of the Tudor rose with a thorn
And in her hands, a wreath of black nightshade
Weaving in for the fall of the father
And in her eyes, unbroken sleepless gaze
Staring out o’er fields t’wards the harbour
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3. |
Sacrifice
04:22
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Fields full of barley, of wheat ears and corn
Fruit growing ripe by the light of the sun
Our bountiful harvest keeps suffering away
Yet the land gets more barren with each passing day
And our days are growing few
The soil once fertile now sticks in the plough
Once plentiful berries grow scarce on the bough
As the land gets more hostile we hope and we pray
As our crops wilt and fail we look to the old ways
And our days are growing few
And a sacrifice is due
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4. |
Leonora
08:55
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She joins the crowds as the watch with awe
The soldiers marching home from war
They beat the drums and they blow their horns
Victorious they have returned
The children run to their fathers arms
Their wives relieved they’re safe from harm
Leonora’s joy to anguish turns
Her William has not returned
My child may God look down on thee
Her mother says to sooth her grief
Oh mother! Mother! He is gone
I know not how to carry on
I curse the God whom with wilful malice
Took my sweet William from me
Does he heed my grief? Can he comprehend
Of the pain that he’s made me feel?
God please have mercy on this child
And forgive her for this sin
She knows not what she means Lord
As her anguish is so strong within
She hears the steady drum of hooves outside
And then she hears her William’s voice
My darling ride away with me tonight
For love our marriage bed awaits
One hundred miles must we ride tonight
Before the first light of the dawn
Our marriage bed has room for both of us
Four sides, a bottom and a lid
So charging onward through the night
The sparks spurt, up the stones run round
And as they hurried through the gates
Her William’s armour fell away
Gone were the eyes that she fell in love with,
Gone the lips she longed to kiss
Now stands a morte with a grinning skull,
Draped in a cloak that hangs like mist
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5. |
The Weald
03:38
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The brightening sunrise creeps it’s way in
As gently old branches sway in the wind
Conducting a chorus thousands strong
In deafening whispers offer their song
Venturing deeper, lose the way
Well-trodden footpaths melt away
To crumbling banks of mud and soil
Serpentine roots that writhe and coil
The limpid, green ceiling blots out the sky
Branches like arches holding it high
Trunks; twisted columns, strong and tall
Verdant moss carpet covering all
Can’t shake the feeling I’m not alone
Am I being watched by eyes unknown?
Trespassing in this wild place
Unwelcome guests should leave with haste
Out of place, out of time
Out in the weald
No way back, losing track
From the world concealed
The strong arms of branches bar your path
The chirping of song birds, mocking laugh
Daylight is fading, trees closing in
Lost in the forest, trapped deep within
The light growing darker, air turns cold
Noises surround me, panic takes hold
Glinting reflections, eyes in the night
Growing in number, take your flight
Out of place, out of time
Out in the weald
No way back, losing track
From the world concealed
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6. |
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7. |
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A cry from the birds, marks the dawning of the day
The huntsman moves with cat-like grace searching for his prey
Finding the trail of a beast he means to claim
The hunting party fall behind and follow in his way
They hear not a sound save the whisper of the breeze
As Herne moves silent as a ghost, stalking through the trees
Soon closing in on a proud and noble stag
Signalling his king to chase and join in the attack
Cornered and desperate, the stag turns to fight
Between king and quarry Herne gives his life
As the party tends to him a stranger moves towards the king
Ancient wizard of the wood before the monarch now is stood
Boundless knowledge, sylvan sage, the wisdom from a bygone age
I can help him cheat this death, this need not be his final breath
You must follow what I say, cut the antlers from your prey
Fix them to the hunters brow and he will not die here and now
With the antlers fixed to his forehead Herne resists death’s cold embrace
Taking on a new found vigour, light of foot and quick of pace
Grateful is the king, his master, for Herne’s noble sacrifice
He receives a royal blessing, favoured in his monarch’s eyes
Hunting in the Windsor woodlands he’s the master of this domain
The other hunters envious as his favour grows and theirs doeth wain
Putting pressure on the king they move to have poor Herne dismissed
Herne released from royal service, shame replacing pride and bliss
Despair, depression takes their hold the mighty oak becomes his gallows pole
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8. |
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One night wandering lost and lonely through the Windsor woodland parks
I heard the spectral huntsman’s horn, the drum of hooves the hounds that bark
Running through the bush and bracken, terror fuels my racing heart
The crack of thunder overhead his hunting party’s closing fast
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