Weaver - Richard Dawson.lrc

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[00:00.000] 作词 : Richard Dawson
[00:01.000] 作曲 : Richard Dawson
[00:52.053]I steep the wool in a cauldron
[01:00.082]Of pummelled gall-nuts afloat in urine
[01:08.613]Add river-water thrice-boiled with a bloodstone
[01:16.392]Then let it breathe
[01:18.649]Under the beams
[01:20.907]While I prepare the lichen
[01:25.925]Half a fist of wizardbeard and rock-tripe
[01:30.192]Yields a dye enough the whole town to paint
[01:34.958]Lavenders an echo of the beeswing
[01:39.229]Dazzling foxgloves ashake in the salty wind
[01:47.009]It looks like a thundercloud
[01:51.526]Suspended from the gables
[01:54.941]High above the bobbing heads
[01:58.204]Which now and then look up to see what's dripping on them
[02:04.110]So we begin
[02:06.117]Feeding it in
[02:08.125]Combing through the fibres gently
[02:10.489]Searching for a yarn to spin
[02:38.608]My lady takes a nasty tumble
[02:46.890]Down the crumbled steps of the merchants guild
[02:55.924]Precipitating the early onset of labour
[03:04.341]There is a crab
[03:07.353]Caught in her hair
[03:09.862]Stretchering through the market
[03:16.883]Fearful are the bellows to behold
[03:21.903]Even with the spindle firmly clenched between her teeth
[03:26.168]With a snap the baby's head emerges
[03:30.432]Onto the sodden eiderdown bedpages
[03:38.462]Even though the new born child
[03:42.979]Is not my kin
[03:44.986]And still lies dangling by a string
[03:48.247]I ken the rising mystery of love
[03:52.762]My very ancient friend

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作词 : Richard Dawson
作曲 : Richard Dawson
I steep the wool in a cauldron
Of pummelled gall-nuts afloat in urine
Add river-water thrice-boiled with a bloodstone
Then let it breathe
Under the beams
While I prepare the lichen
Half a fist of wizardbeard and rock-tripe
Yields a dye enough the whole town to paint
Lavenders an echo of the beeswing
Dazzling foxgloves ashake in the salty wind
It looks like a thundercloud
Suspended from the gables
High above the bobbing heads
Which now and then look up to see what's dripping on them
So we begin
Feeding it in
Combing through the fibres gently
Searching for a yarn to spin
My lady takes a nasty tumble
Down the crumbled steps of the merchants guild
Precipitating the early onset of labour
There is a crab
Caught in her hair
Stretchering through the market
Fearful are the bellows to behold
Even with the spindle firmly clenched between her teeth
With a snap the baby's head emerges
Onto the sodden eiderdown bedpages
Even though the new born child
Is not my kin
And still lies dangling by a string
I ken the rising mystery of love
My very ancient friend