Pennies from heaven
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Don't make me laugh
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Here all you'll get
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Is the pattering rain
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Or yon two crows up over the hill
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Looking for winterkill
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Always at your boots
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The mud behind the byre
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With its clammy hold
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Would mock you up a grave
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Here in the mire of a wrecked sheepfold
|
|
And all you'll bring to this
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Is muscle and grit
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Persistence, that's just about it
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What made you think
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There'd be a living in sheep?
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Eat, work, eat, work and sleep
|
|
Duck under the eaves
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Of the bothy
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To sit here, caged by rain
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Somewhere to go conjure
|
A next move
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When I have to think again
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The dog lifts his gaze to plead
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Believes the wizard has a magic stick
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Leans his weight into my tweed
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I give an unholy hand to lick
|
|
I take a swig of sheep dip
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From my flask
|
And once again I ask
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What made you think
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There'd be a living in sheep?
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Eat, work, eat, work and sleep
|
|
They were at this game
|
Two hundred years ago
|
Had thirty ways
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Of dying young, poor souls
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Laid to rest in their soggy rows
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Rain on their holy books
|
Blood and whisky
|
On the tongue
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And no-one watching over anyone
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No-one left but your stubborn one
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And the crows and rooks
|
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Ah, the dying young
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Well I'm not done
|
You watch me and I'll watch thee
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I can still work for two men
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And drink for three
|
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And I raise my flask
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To the clearing skies
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To you, sweepers
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You carrion spies
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To scavenge and survive
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If you can do it so can I
|
|
-----------------
|
Yon Two Crows
|
| Mark Knopfler |
