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Mountain Men di Jethro Tull
|Crest of a Knave|
The poacher and his daughter throw soft shadows on the water in the night.
A thin moon slips behind them as they pull the net with no betraying light.
And later on the coast road, I meet them and the old man winks a smile.
And who am I to fast deny the right to take a fish once in a while?
I walk with them, they wish me luck when I ship out on the Sunday from the kyle.
And from the church I hear them singing as the ship moves sadly from the pier.
Oh, poacher’s daughter, Sunday best, two hundred brave souls share the farewell tear.
There’s a house on the hillside, where the drifting sands are born.
Lay down and let the slow tide wash me back to the land where I came from.
Long generations from the Isles
There’s a child and a woman praying for an end to the mystery.
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