Sea Song to a Phantom Fiddler    

                              

 Sea Song to a Phantom Fiddler

Links to Lyrics 

SEA SONG

SEASIDE B SIDE ~ (instrumental)

       LOVELORN BLUES ~ (instrumental)

       THE CREATION OF THE WORLD

RETURN OF THE BIG BAD TWO-TOED STEREOPHONIC  SLOTH

GUANTANAMO BAY BLUES

ATLANTIS SHANTY

HOLY SHUFFLING BANJOS BATMAN! IT'S THE PILGRIM! ~ (instrumental)

A PHANTOM FIDDLER'S MAD TUNE

MOUNT BERMO TIMBO'S LAMENT

[Links  below, for Ogg Vorbis Downloads]

SEA SONG


 

one day I took a walk down to old harry

          where craggy fangs jut from the sea.

legions of gulls flocked all over those cliff tops

          whitened the green cliffs I walked o'er

why were they staring at me

          yea crying off at my approach.

when hordes might fly at me

          dig claws in my flesh

peck at sight's wincing orbs

          carry remains of a man over oceans

o'er punishing surges,

          to swell of the billows to wails from the deep

Chorus

to the sea to the sea

  the sea which is coming to me

it tells me you're paying the price

  it tells me you're paying my price

to the sea to the sea

  the sea which is flooding up to me

you're paying the price for the sunrise

  for after the sunset comes darkness

darkness darkness darkness

  darkness darkness darkness

 


 


  

making my way to a place called caerfai

    where a red sandstone gash veins the stone

further along the sands two rocky pillars

    one forms a natural throne

sitting high up there I wonder

    has anyone sat here before

a celtic coast watchman

    who scanned the horizon

for long ships of sea wolves

    afloat on caresurges

suddenly out on the curve of the whalesway

    a snarling beaked prow might appear on the sea

Chorus

on the sea on the sea       

  the sea which is coming to me

it tells me you're paying the price

  it tells me you're paying my price

to the sea to the sea

  the sea which is flooding up to me

you're paying the price for the sunrise

  for after the sunset comes darkness

darkness darkness darkness

  darkness darkness darkness


 

  

                                                                      

i took a stroll down to caerbwdy bay

    where purple stones basked on the beach

cathedral cliffs carved in aztec slab features

    stood just beyond the sea's reach

there at the edge of the tide line

    which frolicked and lapped at my feet

this melody freely ran into my head

    as phantom white sea horses

rose up, then vanished deep

    wed to the glistering skin of the flood

while the sound waves I heard

    in my blood, could be seen

in cannon pulsed breakers of musical sea

Chorus

in the sea in the sea

  the sea which is coming to me

it tells me you're paying the price

  it tells me you're paying my price

to the sea to the sea

  the sea which is flooding up to me

you're paying the price for the sunrise

  for after the sunset comes darkness

darkness darkness darkness

  darkness darkness darkness

SEASIDE B SIDE ~ (instrumental)

LOVELORN BLUES ~ (instrumental)

 

                  

                              

 

 

THE CREATION OF THE WORLD

   (and the ensuing eternal torment of Mount Bermo Timbo) ~ (poetry and drums)  

the rising sun posts a sunbeam in a letter the letter discusses

  how to square the circle the letter also contains the moon &

  stars the missive is delivered to the world bird who nests

    above jupiter jupiter has several moons who have a

        discussion in which they decide to create a new world

          these creative moons take a dollop of class one

            nothing wearing a bowler hat from out of a black

          hole all things are possible in this best of all

        possible universes these crazy moons mix a soupcon of

    darkness from the unshaved face of the deep they toss it

  about a bit on the horns of the sacred cosmic cow and oop la

animals birds fishes and green plants materialise from the

  bowels of the void as if by magic or japanese technology

    encouraged by their success the animated moons fashion man

        out of sacred cosmic cow dung and follow up this coup

          with woman beautiful breasts but no peanus soon fishes

            dance in thin air and its fun fun fun on planet

          earth until the serpent is rolled out from the last

        stale  scrap of cosmic cow pat the serpent is the

    archetypal free market entrepreneurial spiv who unbalances

  the cosmic equation to see how he can exploit suffering and                                    

                                                                      

chaos on a global scale he is found wanting more as god appears

  on the scene as a great shiny robot when the seventh sunrise

    explodes in golden glory uplifted from below the horizon on

        the back of a gigantic turtle man and woman make love

          which is an experience as good as it is evil and so

            god sends down one of his angelic hit men to evict

          them from paradise for neglecting safe sex they are

        expelled cast out into the brutal world to earn their

    bread by standing on their own two feet and cultivating a

  viable marketable image not surprisingly they relapse into the

forbidden joys of sex the serpent now consigned in perpetuity to

  a burning fiery pit laughs his fangs off millions of people

    arrive in a wing beat of the world bird in the form of

        children the world is beautiful lush green hills

          broiling seas gods and greenery next the white mans

            civilisation appears like acne on the face of the

          planet leaving slimy trails of pollution from its

        armour plated snails of destruction soon after the start

    of bourgeois history the clapped out old poet and wastrel

  mount bermo  timbo dies and plummets into the gas flames of hell the

assembled demons demand that his latest hit single the return of

  the big bad two toed stereophonic sloth be performed non stop

    an enthusiastic audience they howl jeer gibber and cavort

        demanding endless encores so the poor old sod has

          perforce to perform throughout all eternity his red

            hot jaws harp blistering his lips perpetual

              performance is hell

 

 

RETURN OF THE BIG BAD TWO-TOED STEREOPHONIC  SLOTH

                       

  

the two toed sloth he stunts my growth

and never sleeps at night

he hangs from trees while eating leaves

and never rights quite write

he's slow and clumsy on his feet

and couldn't run a metre

Chorus

but i'm very much afraid he is destined to grow

WOW WOW WOW   CHA CHA CHA

like a tropical orchid in a bowl of snow

like an atomistic mystic in a Amazonian jingle

WOW WOW WOW   CHA CHA CHA CHA

and never rights quite write


  

  

my uncle had a tin robot

who used to cook him dinner

this fine machine fried bacon 'n' eggs

but no man could be rasher

one day it shorted at the stove

and ran off with a pylon

Chorus


 

my auntie had an orang-utan

living in her pear tree

this beast would throw down twigs and sticks

   on snarling arched backed pussies

banana mild shake kept him fit

for wrestling with the tax man

Chorus


  

GUANTANAMO BAY BLUES


 

How did our freedom founder,

As secret police smashed down another door last night?

Guantanamo Bay, I sing of Guantanamo Bay,

Guantanamo Bay, I got those Guantanamo Bay Blues

You say you’re saving us from terror,

  And that the war was not in error,

You say that things are not so bad,

  Try telling that to the people of Bagdad

Guantanamo Bay, I sing of Guantanamo Bay,  ...

You’ve been outsourcing torture.

  Yet your smile’s too nice for a torturer,

Suspects without trial sent in a covert plane

  To a land, where someone nasty inflicts all the pain.

Guantanamo Bay, I sing of Guantanamo Bay, ...

You say you’re saving us from terror,

  And that the war was not in error,

Were you saved from your alienated fright,

When secret police smashed down another door last night?

Guantanamo Bay, I sing of Guantanamo Bay, ...

So is Liberty hooded, and is she shackled like the truth,

  Are the scales of Justice blinded,

While summary imprisonment needs no proof?

Guantanamo Bay, I sing of Guantanamo Bay, ...

 

Habeas corpus,

Where are you habeas corpus,

Where can poor Freedom lurk, 

Shot down in the home, or on his way to work?   

  

Guantanamo Bay, I sing of Guantanamo Bay, ...

 

You’re saving us from terror.

Where are you habeas corpus?

Liberty is hooded,

Are the scales of Justice blinded?

Shot down in her home, or on his way to work?

You’re the fastest on the trigger,

When you shoot you shoot to kill.

So war was not in error,

Though your dossier shackled truth.   

You’ve outsourced waterboarding,

And that’s how our freedom foundered,

When secret police smashed down another door last night?

Guantanamo Bay, I sing of Guantanamo Bay,

Guantanamo Bay…

 I got those Guantanamo Bay Blues!

  

                                                   

  

           

ATLANTIS SHANTY


 

now i see the coast is clear, from the atlantic storm beach

        now at last the coast is free, i see atlantis rising high.


 

castles perched on precipice, emerging from a blue expanse,

        valleys decked with wheat and palm trees dreaming on her beaches.

  

if only it were true, i'd head out there with you.

  the third day that the cock crowed

the dreamer woke once more to be

  awake! betrayed! betrayed awake!

come down through the oil slick to the sea bed!


 

now i see the coast is clear, from the atlantic storm beach

        now at last the coast is free, i see atlantis rising high.


 

i look into my telescope and see the dancing peoples,

        whirling round their maypoles and their totems and their steeples.


 

if only it were true, etc.


 

now i see the coast is clear, from the atlantic storm beach

        now at last the coast is free, i see atlantis rising high.

i put my ear against the sands and hear flamencos singing free,

        from mosque and glittering minaret the fierce muezzin reaches me.

       if only it were true, i'd head out there with you.

       the third day that the cock crowed

       the dreamer woke once more to be

   awake! betrayed! betrayed awake!

come down through the oil slick to the sea bed!

 

                      

                                                        

 

HOLY SHUFFLING BANJOS BATMAN!

IT'S THE PILGRIM! ~ (instrumental)

 

A PHANTOM FIDDLER'S MAD TUNE


 

          when crickets play their leg mandolines

and bumble bees suck up to wild flowers

          a griddling fiddler's mad tune begins

hey diddle diddle grind and jar


 

          a pink carnation garlands each ear

a sherry bottle clenched in his fist

          he warbles tears for souvenirs

hey diddle diddle grind and jar


 

          passers by just give him the bird

and toss a copper after a jeer

          or turn a deaf ear or so I've heard

hey diddle diddle grind and jar


 

in past lives the fiddler played dances  for hours

 dionysiac girls pranced bare to his tunes

          bodies entranced alive to his powers

hey diddle diddle grind and jar


 

          no woman might resist the flèche

fired by the wanton purblind brat

          a gut stringed music to melt the flesh

hey diddle diddle grind and jar


 

          now hansoms pass and splash him with mud

gas lights lit cast ghosts in his face

                the sherry stiffens his body's thin blood

hey diddle diddle grind and jar       


 

          tight streets reek of gutter gin

booze doped babes awake begin

          to screech with starved cats to his violin

hey diddle diddle grind and jar

         

          his bow now wafts a foul bitter tune

as foam gobs drum on a brass spittoon

          a lean flanked cow stumbles over the moon

hey diddle diddle grind and jar

         

          as doom’s banjo thief clawhammers last dawn

the fiddler irradiates the still unborn

          a clown in a false white beard blasts the last horn

hey diddle diddle grind and jar


 

          when crickets play their leg mandolines

and bumble bees suck up to wild flowers

          a phantom fiddler's mad tune ...

 

                                                         

  

                                                                  

  MOUNT BERMO TIMBO'S LAMENT (Christmas 2008)


Mount Bermo Timbo's Yule Card
[In Mozilla, right click on image, and then left click on 'View Image', and the  'Print Preview'  to resize for printing]

Above the foothills’ bluebell wood,

        There beneath gaunt mountain trees,  

Clinging where wild rocks have stood

        Through countless human histories,

Mount Bermo Timbo dwells up there,

A Phantom fiddling with a ghost banjo,   

As languid buzzards bask on air,

        While crows chase after as they go,

 

Beyond the rock face at the peak

        The mountains of Snowdonia

The steam trains chuff chuff by the sea

        And whistle with melancholia.

 

This old man of the mountains sings

        To fauns and heedless voles and sheep

The wooded river valley rings

        Where liquid vocal echoes weep.

 

 

Just beneath an ancient rockfall,

        Stands his spectral canvas tent,

His spirit shelters as acid rainfall,

        Claims in vain it’s heaven sent

 

On his shoulder a snowy owl

        Speaks of Hegelian metaphysics,

The weather’s absolutely foul,

        For nature is more pricks than kicks.

 

 

Down by the sea the oyster catchers

        Skim the seas in close formation,

And herring gulls, greedy chip snatchers,

        Screech gross tabloid misinformation.

 

While one-arm bandits ride sad donkeys,

        Beneath stern distant Cader Idris,

And corrupt local power mad plonkers,

        Grease the palms of the arse they kiss.

 

And now the storms have finally fled

        From tower clouds that swag the blue,

Mount Bermo Timbo’s surely dead,

        Though no one’s sure if this is true.

 

A friendly buzzard picks his bones,

        The clamorous crows demand their fill,

Red ants grip their mobile phones

        And send out soldiers to the kill.

 

There crudely scratched on a knackered rock,

        Mount Bermo Timbo’s epitaph,

‘He had it coming; it’s not a shock!’

        The grey squirrels wrote this for a laugh!

 

In a thin oak tree squats his skeletonia.

The bony finger of the recent late

 Poet seems to point towards Snowdonia,

Saying ‘They also serve who sit and vegetate.’


 

Mount Bermo Timbo dwells up there, 

A  phantom  fiddling with a ghost banjo,    

As languid buzzards bask on air

        While crows chase after as they go.

 

This old man of the mountains sings, 

To fauns and heedless voles and sheep,       

The wooded river valley rings

        Where liquid vocal echoes weep.

 

Where liquid vocal echoes weep

        They also serve who sit and vegetate

 

       

       

 

 

 

 

       

prophet trousered records
   Mountain top, field recordings of left field roots music.
 A not for profit project, music distributed for free
*Entire project conceived, written, recorded and performed by Mount Bermo Timbo (T. E. Davies). The licence encourages you to copy and distribute the album freely as you find it, with the complete unedited text, music or  images on the web page.  You just say who the author is when you distribute the work.
*If there is a problem with download time, it’s fair use to send out a favourite picture, or a track or two, with its complete unedited web page and licence to friends.  
*The text is at the heart of the work, and I don't really distinguish between songs and poetry.  I'd really be pleased if the music is distributed with the lyrics and the  album images. I can't see why  anybody would listen to my stuff, if they weren't  interested in the lyrics.
*It's also fair, I feel, to copy and play your selection of tracks on your own portable MP3 player, if it supports the Ogg Vorbis format. I'd be very flattered if people wanted to download and distribute the entire work, with all the music and text, but it's not practical for everybody just for personal use! 
*The licence is about common sense, mutual respect and the non-commercial spirit of the thing: after all ultimately, it's supposed to be fun!
*Distributed by Mount Bermo  Timbo (T. E. Davies) 2008, on a Non-commercial Creative Commons Licence 2.0 [See below for conditions of distribution]
 
*Not for resale, materials may be distributed performed and enjoyed freely for love and not  money by  community, educational, therapeutic  or public spirited projects and people.
*[A  sister label Ragged Trousered Recordsexists for charitable fund raising  projects.]  

     



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