Richard Thompson - Beeswing

From a BBC Late Show Feat. Roots Based Artists.I was nineteen when I came to town, they called it the Summer of LoveThey were burning babies, burning flags. The hawks against the dovesI took a job in the steamie down on Cauldrum StreetAnd I fell in love with a laundry girl who was working next to meOh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wingSo fine a breath of wind might blow her awayShe was a lost child, oh she was running wildShe said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.And you wouldn't want me any other way"Brown hair zig-zag around her face and a look of half-surpriseLike a fox caught in the headlights, there was animal in her eyesShe said "Young man, oh can't you see I'm not the factory kindIf you don't take me out of here I'll surely lose my mind"Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wingSo fine that I might crush her where she layShe was a lost child, she was running wildShe said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.And you wouldn't want me any other way"We busked around the market towns and picked fruit down in KentAnd we could tinker lamps and pots and knives wherever we wentAnd I said that we might settle down, get a few acres dugFire burning in the hearth and babies on the rugShe said "Oh man, you foolish man, it surely sounds like hell.You might be lord of half the world, you'll not own me as well"Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wingSo fine a breath of wind might blow her awayShe was a lost child, oh she was running wildShe said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.And you wouldn't want me any other way"We was camping down the Gower one time, the work was pretty goodShe thought we shouldn't wait for the frost and I thought maybe we shouldWe was drinking more in those days and tempers reached a pitchAnd like a fool I let her run with the rambling itchOh the last I heard she's sleeping rough back on the Derby beatWhite Horse in her hip pocket and a wolfhound at her feetAnd they say she even married once, a man named Romany BrownBut even a gypsy caravan was too much settling downAnd they say her flower is faded now, hard weather and hard boozeBut maybe that's just the price you pay for the chains you refuseOh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wingAnd I miss her more than ever words could sayIf I could just taste all of her wildness nowIf I could hold her in my arms today Well I wouldn't want her any other way

Channel: Music
Uploaded: September 8, 2006 at 4:33 pm
Author: patzu

Length: 05:05
Rating: 4.89
Views: 142150

Tags: Anne  Beeswing  Briggs  Richard  Thompson  

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