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Discography

The Tain

Released March 2004

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  1. Part I

    Part I

    Crone:  Here upon this pillow
    Made of reed and willow
    You’re a fickle little twister
    Are you sweet on your sister?
    Your fallow won’t leave you alone.

    And granted for their pleasure
    Possessions laid to measure
    She’s a salty little pisser
    With your cock in her kisser
    But now she’s a will of her own.

  2. Part II

    Part II

    Husband:  Damn your ankles and eyes wide
    From your fingernails to your ponytails too.
    King of the insects and the M5
    Over charlemagne in a motorcade too.

    And baby needs a new prize
    Baby needs a new and shiny prize.

    Captain:  In this place called heavenly
    You were born here.
    This place called heavenly
    You were born here.
    You were born here.

    Husband:  And now all the marchers descend from high
    I will dedicate all of my awakenings to this.

    And damn all the angles that opress my sight
    I will bleed your heart through a samovar soon.

    Captain:  In this place called heavenly
    You were born here.
    This place called heavenly
    You were born here.
    You were born here.

  3. Part III

    Part III

    Soldier:  They settled dust in your hair
    To watch you shake and shout it out.
    With our armaments bared
    We shed our bags and travel-alls.

    From the lee of the wall
    He comes in chain and chariot
    And all his eunuchs in thrall
    Can scarce lift his line and lariat.

    Here come loose the hounds
    To blow me down.

    Chorus of waifs:  Blow me down.

    Soldier:  On this stretch of ground
    I’ll lay me down.

    Chorus of waifs: lay me down.

    Soldier: to sleep.

    Chaplain: And now stricken with pangs
    That tear at our backs like thistledown
    The mirror’s soft silver tain
    Reflects our last and birthing hour

    Soldier:  Here come loose the hounds
    To blow me down.

    Chorus of waifs:  Blow me down.

    Soldier:  On this stretch of ground
    I’ll lay me down.

    Chorus of waifs:  Lay me down.

    Soldier:  To sleep

  4. Part IV

    Part IV

    Widow:  O the wind is blowing, it hurts your skin
    As you climb up hillside, forest and fen.
    Your arms full of lullabies, orchids and wine
    Your memories wrapped within paper and twine.

    The room that you lie in is dusty and hard
    Sleeping soft babies on piles of yards
    Of gingham, taffeta, cotton and silk
    Your dry hungry mouths cry for your mother’s milk.

    When the dawn comes to greet you, you’ll rise with clothes on
    And advance with the others, singing old songs
    Of cattle and maidens and withered old queens.
    Let the music carry you on.

    The room that you lie in is dusty and hard
    Sleeping soft babies on piles of yards
    Of gingham, taffeta, cotton and silk
    Your dry hungry mouths cry for your mother’s milk.

  5. Part V

    Part V

    Woman: Darling dear what have you done?
    Your clothes are town, your make-up runs.

    Daughter:  I ran through brambles, blooming thistle
    I washed my face in the river when you whistled me on.

    Woman:  Darling dear, what have you done?
    Your hands and face are smeared with blood.

    Daughter:  The chaplain came and called me out
    To beat and to butcher his mother’s sow

    Woman:  But darling dear, they found him dead
    This morning on the riverbed.

    But hush now darling, don’t you cry.
    Your reward’s in the sweet by-and-by.
    Hush now baby, don’t you cry.
    Your reward’s in the sweet by-and-by.

    Crone:  And now we’ve seen your powers
    Softly stretch the hours
    You’re a fickle little twister
    Are you sweet on your sister?
    As now you go wandering home.