The wine it was drunk, the ship it was sunk,
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The shot it was dead, all the sorrows were drowned.
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The birds they were clouds, the brides and the shrouds
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And as we drew south the mist it came down.
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The wooded ravine to the wandering stream,
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The serpent he moved, but no-one would say.
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The depths of the waters, the bridge which distraught us
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And brought to me thoughts of the ill-fated day.
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The temples were filled with the strangest of creatures
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One played it by ear on the banks of the sea.
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That one was found but the others they went under.
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Oh the tears which are shed, they won't come from me.
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The methods of madness, the pathos and the sadness,
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God help you all, the insane and wise.
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The black and the white, the darkness of the night,
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I see only smoke from the chimneys arise.
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The pilot he flew all across the sky and woke me.
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He flew solo on the mercury sea.
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The dream it came back, all about the tall brown people,
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The sacred young herd on the phosphorus sand.
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-----------------
|
Late November
|
| Sandy Denny |
