(P. Simon/A. Garfunkel)
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Are you going to Scarborough Fair:
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Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
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Remember me to one who lives there.
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She once was a true love of mine.
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On the side of a hill in the deep forest green.
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Tracing of sparrow on snow-crested brown.
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Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain
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Sleeps unaware of the clarion call.
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Tell her to make me a cambric shirt:
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Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
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Without no seams nor needle work,
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Then she'll be a true love of mine.
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On the side of a hill a sprinkling of leaves.
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Washes the grave with silvery tears.
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A soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
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Sleeps unaware of the clarion call.
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Tell her to find me an acre of land:
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Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
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Between the salt water and the sea strand,
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Then she'll be a true love of mine.
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War bellows blazing in scarlet battalions.
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General order their soldiers to kill.
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And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten.
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Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather:
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Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
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And gather it all in a bunch of heather,
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Then she'll be a true love of mine.
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Scarborough Fair / Canticle
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| Art Garfunkel |
