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paul roland - pavane (2003)

dark carnival

Mute in black mourning and coiled like a cobra
the Prince of the Underworld leans on his cane,
Dark dreams are his victuals, lost souls are his cargo
His fairground is coming to the town with no name.

On the back porch the barber sharpens his razors
sucking a bubble of blood from his thumb,

In the pulpit the preacher perched like a vulture
absolves absent sinners and drinks to each one.

Inside the mortician prepares rouge and powder
to bring a bloom to each porcelain mask,
He sits in the parlour, plays hymns on the organ
And bows to the mutes as he raises his glass.

Like a funeral procession, the parade winds down Main Street,
To a wheezing pipe organ the dark carnival comes to town.




The ‘Pavane’ album marked my return to music after a seven year absence while I helped raise my two sons with my wife Claudia and wrote a number of books and reviews and articles for British magazines. During those years I didn’t touch a guitar (in fact I had given away all my instruments and thrown my master tapes in the bin. I thought I was finished with making music). So when I received an invitation to play a goth festival at a castle in Berlin in 2003 I had to relearn all my old songs. But the break had given me a fresh perspective on what worked and what didn’t work so well.
‘Dark Carnival’ saw my return to a Ray Bradbury story (‘Something Wicked This Way Comes’) which had inspired an earlier song (‘Funhouse’) but this time I believe I got it right!


Oh Musette you’re my cruel addiction
Without you I cease to exist,
So I wear the smile of the pierrot
My fate is sealed with a kiss.

Oh Musette I am fatally wounded
You have dealt me a blow to the heart,
I never know which role you are playing
when the curtain falls and we must part.

Oh Musette you’re my secret obsession
I’d give all but I know that you won’t
Oh Musette I am damned if I love you
And you know I am damned if I don’t.





dice with the devil

I’ve wagered a fortune on a roll of the dice,
A pox on the fellow who won’t pay the price,
For whoring and gaming is the life my fine friend
And a jig on the gallows is how it must end.

Two whores at my graveside, bawds in black veils,
The Pallbearers will toast me in claret and ale.
I don’t want the preacher saying rites o’er me,
Pay the gravedigger to sing Annabelle Lee.

Two cards for my headstone, the King and the Knave,
No flowers, no tombstone, the dice mark my grave.

Lay me down easy, lay me down slow,
I’ll dice with the devil till I’m ready to go.




This raucous folk song was inspired by an old blues song about gambling whose title I forget, but there has been a long tradition of songs about dying unrepentant gamblers in the folk and blues field and I wanted to write one of my own being an unrepentant gambler myself (I used to cheat at cards when I was 5 or 6 but no one seemed to mind).

lucifer's servant

I come recommended, I was born into service,
I’m the soul of discretion, my references sound,
I give satisfaction in the best house in England,
For twelve guineas a year and ‘all found’.

I answer the door and if gentlemen callers,
I inform them the master’s not receiving today,
For we have no patience with tiresome tradesmen,
But we never turn ladies away.

I cook all his meals and it gives me great pleasure,
For I’ve a flair for cuisine and I’m a whiz with the wine,
My Flambee Cherise is the talk of all London,
You should see who is dying to dine.

The times I shine are the parties we give,
For the nobs, the swells, the toffs and the spivs,
Who better to know how the other half lives,
Than Lucifer’s servant – his nibs.

I’m Lucifer’s servant, I know how to please him,
You can see he’s a man of the world.




For anyone who read the ‘Shindig’ feature in the March 2019 issue (#88) this is the song I was recording when I ‘saw’ the ghost!

Note: ‘all found’ is an expression meaning that lodging and food are provided.


Once I knew a love divine,
But I knew not if this love was mine,
So I tried its constancy,
To see if this fair love was meant for me.

I feigned disdain and set her free,
To see if such a love was to be.
Alas my fears they did prove sound,
And thus I came to spill her life upon the ground.

At first my jest it did impress,
Now sorrow is my song, unceasing, on and on.
I am none and everyone,
A player plays his part while fools do heed the heart.

Oh, but you were my prettiest child.




I have an unfulfilled ambition to write and record an album of tragic romantic songs in a 17th century style (‘My Lady’s Lament’ and ‘Lord Halifax’s Ode On The Morning of his Execution May 1654’ et al) accompanied by lute, viol and harpsichord, but this is the only song I’ve written in that manner to date.


Come right in for we are almost set,
Rest assured you will have no regrets,
So many lads now lie in Flanders Fields,
And not every wound can be healed.

Move in close and meet the camera’s eye,
Make believe and give in to the lie,
That death is but a dimming of the light,
And we slip like shadows into the night.

Welcome friends for it is almost time,
Dim the lamps and I will draw the blinds,
I sense the dear departed drawing near,
Have you a message, friend, for someone here?

I have journeyed long and I have journeyed far,
from a fair country where the fair things are,
But ask no more, I say, no more of me,
We are in need of rest, so let us be.



As I don’t tend to write about everyday life or human relationships (others do it so much better than I ever could anyway) I rely on films, books and other people’s music to spark a theme or idea. ‘Phantoms’ was inspired after watching an obscure film called ‘Photographing Fairies’ which began with an elderly couple having their photograph taken. Afterwards the image of their dead son was added by the photographer using an old photograph of the young man to create a family portrait. Apparently this was a common practice after the First World War and I found it very poignant.

easter 1916

“Tell me, dear brother, where do you go,
on this bright Easter morning, is it best I don’t know,
in your fine uniform with your brass buttons polished to shine?”
Says he, “it is duty and this day I will do mine.”

“I’m off to stand with the brave volunteers,
With Plunkett and Clarke, with Connolly and Pearce,
So that all sons of Ireland may cast off their chains and be free,
We’ll lay down our lives for the sake of our beloved country.”

“The scholars and poets will lay down their pens,
And they’ll take up arms with the bold Fenian men,
For Ireland unfree shall never, said he, be at peace,
Till Ireland’s united our struggle it never will cease.”

Though they’ve 10,000 Tommies and 40 pound guns,
We’ll make them pay dear before this day is done,
And though the Four Courts are burning and the old GPO is in flames,
We’ll never surrender until we’re a nation again.

A terrible beauty is born from the flames of fair Dublin city,



I have a special feeling for Ireland - and Dublin in particular - as my mother took me there every summer when I was a child to visit her family. I remember watching the parade commemorating the 50th anniversary of the Easter Rising as a six year old in 1966 and watching a TV dramatisation that made a profound impression on me. Only now I realise that in that parade must have been men who actually took part in the rising against the British.


Oh Lord, hear my prayer, have mercy on my soul
Absolve me of the sins committed in thy name.
For five and forty years I observed and kept the faith,
But my transgressions they accuse me once again.

Oh Lord, hear my prayer, don’t turn your face from me,
For of late at Evensong I sense a presence near,
Now I fear for myself, the final reckoning,
Something disturbs the air and chills the atmosphere.

I’ve shared the sacrament, the suffering of my Lord,
I’ve endured the wounds from the thorns that formed the crown,
I’ve tended to my flock, from the cradle to the grave,
Save for those who wretched lie in unconsecrated ground

And at the fatal hour what if the angels come not with tenderness
but with black and burning wings,
Until that fatal hour I fear each passing day,
when the scratching starts and the whispering begins.
And now I find myself alone
And now I fear I am alone.




One of the very few songs I have written on and for the keyboard (in this case a small pipe organ). It was inspired by a story written by the Edwardian scholar M R James long before I had the idea to write a whole album based on his atmospheric ghost stories. I was rather shocked when someone commented that they thought it was a song about my own religious beliefs!

voodoo doll

These waters are dark, these waters are deep
Deep as the glowering sky,
Its shimmering sheen is not what it seems,
The stars have come here to die.

We’re men with no name, taken in chains,
And fed to the great white whale,
Swallowed up whole, body and soul
Then disgorged where the white ship sails.

Dumbala knows, Dumbala sees, Dumbala hears our cry,
We’ve come from the sun to a sorrowful place
Where the stars are cast out of the sky.

White is the wax, keen is the blade,
Blue is the softening flame,
Walk at my will, speak when I say,
Come when I call your name.

Bring me a soul to make her whole, a skin for dancing in,
Cut me a robe from toe to lobe and we’ll hear the spirits sing.

Verse: Am F Am F
Chorus: C Em C Em C Em Am Coda: F Am G



I don’t know why I have an enduring fascination with voodoo – perhaps it is the idea of a white man finding himself confronted by the supernatural in a culture alien to his own – but this was the second song on that theme. The lyrics are a mixture of William Seabrook’s ‘The Magic Island’ (1929) and imagery from Jacques Tourneur’s B movie ‘I Walked With A Zombie’ (1943) with a chorus lifted from one of Hammer’s finest offerings ‘The Witches’ (1966).


paul roland - re-animator (2004)

Paul Roland - Re-Animatorreanimator

Even now I shudder to recall how far and fast from grace that I could fall
A prey to pride, like Lucifer, his unwitting servitor
as I sought the sacred mysteries of life
from grave to gallows with the needle and the knife.

Insensible to fear and to my friends I pursued my passion to its dreadful end
Until one unholy night by heaven’s unforgiving light
I beheld the creature born under the knife.
An abomination, a mockery of life.

As the fluid coursed up through its veins, the vital signs returning once again
it opened one dull vacant eye, parted parchment lips and cried
and tried in vain convulsions to control
cried, “You and I are men without a soul.”

Verse: Am Em x 2 + F Am F Dm
Chorus: Am Em M8: F Em F Em



I read H P Lovecraft’s story many times to find the key phrases and archaic expressions that would add authenticity to this song. Frequently the lyrics for the funny songs come pouring out faster than I can write them down while the serious ones can take quite a lot of ‘research’ and crafting until I get them right. I remember that this was a particularly tough song to crack, but I was very satisfied with the result. By the time I came to record the ‘Re-Animator’ album I felt that I wanted to make an album that was more than just another collection of songs, but finding 12 songs that all had suitable music proved impossible so I settled for an album with 4 songs based on Lovecraft stories or characters plus one based on Poe (‘Valdemar’) and the remainder provided the aperitif, so to speak.

chain gang

We’re breaking rocks in the midday sun
We sweat ‘n’ strain till our work is done
Bound at the ankle by a ball and chain
a hammer in our hand and sin’s its name.

Bitter is the harvest that the sinner sows
I’m going down Moses and I’m going down slow
I looked over Jordan and what did I see
A band of angels saying ‘set the boy free’.

But Satan don’t sleep nor his strong right hand
our backs bear his mark, it’s the devil’s brand,
And we say, ‘hey Satan won’t you cut some slack?’
But he says ‘sorry boys’ and the whip goes crack.

Satan he walks just like a man
and he’ll take you down if you give him your hand
Have mercy on me, can’t you hear me lord,
Send down your angel with the flaming sword.

Up in the morning when the black cock crows
Swing that pick and haul that load.

The road we’re laying is long and straight
every day leads us further from heaven’s gate
and we say, “hey Satan, won’t you cut some slack?”
But the whip goes crack right across our backs.

Verse: Am F Em
Chorus: C G Am M8 E Am




I read the lyrics to some old gospel songs to find the evocative phrases that gave this lyric the authentic flavour. It’s a rare writer who can rely entirely on their own imagination and it really pays off to do a little ‘research’.
I almost lost this song having forgotten about it then one day I found a rough home demo in an old box of cassettes. This was the last album that I had someone else play keyboards. After ‘Re-Animator’ I felt confident enough to play all the keyboard parts myself and as the quality of the samples improved, it meant I could add strings, woodwind, retro organ and even 60s guitar sounds to my own records.


Strip down and smell the damp earth
it’s your belated rebirth
Loosen up and be a real man.
Embrace the Mother Goddess
No time to be modest
Loosen up and free the young god Pan.

Your heart and pulse rate quickens
You’ll shed your inhibitions
Dig your hooves in and paw the ground
To hell with convention
Give in to self-expression
Get down and make like a rabid hound.

There’s nothing like original sin
To satisfy the satyr within

Your palms itch and your mouth dries
As you sense the sap rise
Loosen up and be a natural man






‘I am old, frail indeed and I quiver like a reed’,
sang the fair Taliesin
What made me bitter made me wise,
now I prize love over lies’, sang the fair Taliesin.

‘So lay down your swords and foreswear the art of war’, implored Taliesin
‘Then I will braid seven strings,
seven strands from seven kings for my lyre’, sang Taliesin

‘Before I was born I assumed many forms
A fox and a hare, a stag and a bear’

‘When the wild geese fly I must bid thee goodbye
Now my song it is sung and a new one begun’

If an echo remains of my song
then your names will live on
Though you sleep ‘neath the ground
you will wake to the sound of my song’.




Although I could now play rudimentary but effective parts on most songs, I always got a buzz when an exceptional musician added their own personality to one of my tracks. On ‘Taliesin’ I was privileged to have Geoffrey Richardson from Caravan play violin (he also played on ‘Assassins/Cthulhu’ and the bonus track ‘Death of A Clown’) while Caravan’s James Leverton played bass (a man who had also jammed with Hendrix and played with one of my favourite singers Steve Marriott)


Hush, don’t try to speak
My friend this is not sleep
Poised upon a single breath
Suspended between life and death.

Hush my friend, be still
You are under my will
Within the seal of Solomon
The accursed Necronomicon

Hush for death draws near
My voice is all you hear
Descend through depths of dreamless sleep
Submerge to black fathomless deep
Return my friend Reveal to me
the secret cosmic alchemy.




The source for this song was Poe’s ‘The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar’ and specifically the film adaptation in Roger Corman’s ‘Tales of Terror’ (1962) though I couldn’t resist bringing in the Necronomicon just to allude to Lovecraft’s unseen presence.

swamp girl

Swamp girl she give me fever
Swamp girl can’t ever leave her
She’s as mean as a bayou alligator
There’s no man alive seen fit to tame her

Swamp girl she making hoodoo
Swamp girl some kind of voodoo

Swamp girl she going hogwild
Swamp girl she’s a real wild child

She is skinning snakes and alligator
There’s no man alive seen fit to tame her
What you cooking girl, a mess of gumbo?
Messing with my head you work your mojo.







Allah abides in every being
The light of dawn, the dusk of evening
Blessed is the all and knowing, Allah.

His is the glory without ending
His Will is firm it is unbending
Our sacrifice it is our blessing,
Hassan I Shabba we’re angels of death for Allah

We renounce all earthly treasures
We will taste the fruits of pleasure
His splendour without measure, Allah



I was noodling about on the guitar in the studio waiting for someone to tune up or something and this simple but exotic little phrase popped out, so I made something of it there and then and we recorded it.

charles dexter ward

My name it is Charles Dexter Ward
I am a man of singular tastes
Exquisite sin is etched in my face

My name it is Charles Dexter Ward
I suffer, I’m told, from a rare malady
I have declined to age gracefully

My name it is Charles Dexter Ward
These thoughts are not mine, they’re alien to me
Another, I fear, has possession of me.



When I released this on the Italian prog/metal label Black Widow this was the opening track, but when I had the chance to revise the running order for the German release, I moved the title track to the front to give it a more dramatic opening. I was particularly pleased with the drum pattern that Simon Jeffrey came up with for this song. He was always good at suggesting rhythms and patterns that made the songs come to life. And on the next album he suggested adding a passing chord in ‘Edgar Allen Poe’ that the song really needed.


The years they’ve wrought a change in me. I’m not the man I used to be
I can’t go back to Arkham
I sense a vague and lurking fear, a dank unwholesome atmosphere
I should return to Arkham

And still it calls to me

A clammy chill pervades the air. Strangers are not welcome there
But I won’t speak ill of Arkham

Wake me from my dreamless sleep

Arkham’s soul is sick with sin,
the sullen houses brooding on the grim, dark crimes of Arkham
Fearful faces turn away and blinds are drawn at close of day
When I return to Arkham

Among the churchyard’s mouldering stones I recognise a name – my own
I have come home to Arkham.

Verse: Bm sus G Bm
Chorus Dm F C G M8 Em Bm A



I needed another song for the album after we had finished recording it and an acoustic track was particularly welcome. I wrote the words to this one very quickly on a glorious summer day while lying on the lawn with my young son Michael sitting on my back reading. Evidently you don’t always need to be in a dark cobwebbed crypt to write ghost stories.


In the ruins of a sunken city great Cthullu he waits
In the sunken cyclopean city great Cthullu he wakes
In dreams I haunt the spectral city and its great cathedrals of stone
Gliding soundless through vast vaulted chambers I come before his dark throne

We will worship a graven image, a winged beast from the skies
And call upon great Cthullu, spread your wings and arise

The sun dimmed and died, stars closed their eyes
And as prophesied we took to the skies.
And if we should travel far, way out far beyond the stars…

When wickedness thrives offending thine eyes as prophesied we’ll take to the skies.



It is important to me that I do justice, as we say, to the original author of any story or film that inspires me and not merely namedrop a character or place and hope that it will ‘carry’ the song which is something I feel I wasn’t able to do when I was younger (‘Captain Blood’ being one particularly disappointing example as far as the lyric goes). Dropping a few names or key words is never enough to evoke the atmosphere of the story or the literary quality of the writer’s style in my opinion. And that is one thing that I try to do to distinguish my lyrics from the kind of ‘horror rock’ that gives heavy metal a bad name. This was particularly important to me when seeking to recreate the Edwardian world of H G Wells who I admired as much for the choice of his language as for the content of his stories and I would say the same for Lovecraft.
Although there isn’t much to this song (by which I mean it wouldn’t charm anyone if played on an acoustic guitar), the arrangement, instrumentation and production make it one of the most pleasing tracks I have recorded, at least they do for me. I remember being insistent that the little bass phrase at the end was added as I heard it as a track rather than a song and I wanted to ‘fix’ every element, so it was just right. I’m sure the presence of the mellotron had much to do with it.


paul roland - nevermore (2009)

Paul Roland - Nevermore

edgar allen poe

There’s no more haunted man than me save Edgar Allan Poe
For I have lived vicariously like Edgar Allan Poe
I fear I’ve loved and lost in vain like Edgar Allan Poe
Only laudanum can ease the pain as it did for Poe

My nerves are taut as harpist strings
My heart weeps like a violin

There’s a black hole where my soul should be
A smouldering ember of self-pity

I’m just a husk of my former self
My bruised heart bottled on the shelf
There’s a black hole where my soul should be
A smouldering cinder of self-pity

My empty clothes sit in this chair
While my spirit takes the evening air.


There is something about this track that I am particularly fond of, though I rarely listen to my own albums after I’ve released them. The ‘trick’, if I can call it that, is to get the balance right between appealing ‘pop-rock’ and a hint of the supernatural in the lyric. Anything too explicit will suffocate the music and anything too flippant will make it sound like a novelty song of the kind recorded by Screaming Lord Sutch or something by someone who likes horror movies but can’t capture the essence of what makes them so appealing.

captain nemo

File:20000 squid Nautilus door.jpg - Wikimedia CommonsThe Nautilus she sails upon the morning tide
A leviathan of the seas with gleaming sides
Captain Nemo stands, the wheel under his hand
And issues the command ‘full steam ahead’.
“Gentlemen”, he says, as if taking to the stage
“May I present the wonder of the age”.
Addressing us as one while leaning on the rail
He declares the age of sail is all but dead

In the belly of the beast the heaving pistons pound
We are underway and outward bound.

Captain Nemo says, “And so it seems my friends
For now at least, our voyage is at an end
I will leave the world to its own affairs
The sea it is my realm and they have theirs.”

Verse: D Am C Em + F Am
Chorus: Bm A Em G


I really struggled to find the right subject for this song and worked all through the night on a lyric about Marshall Ney, one of Napoleon’s generals who was said to have retired to live a quiet life as a schoolmaster. But by dawn I had to admit that while the verses worked, they were nothing special and that subject would have to be set aside for another song. And then something came into my mind to remind me of Jules Verne’s ’20,000 Leagues Under the Sea’ and I knew I had the perfect subject for this wistful melancholic music.

the wreck of the nautilus

“Save yourselves”, I heard the captain cry
“All on deck and we may yet survive or we’ll go down”
“Set a course and we will steer for shore
Hold your nerve or we are done for sure then we’ll go down”

What cruel fate had beckoned us to our graves
Lured on the rocks, not a soul could be saved we went down.

She broke her back seven leagues from shore
Down she went and was seen no more. We’ll go down.

Five fathoms deep where the souls of sailors sleep
We will sleep we will sleep in a whitened winding sheet.


I hope I won’t be spoiling the effect by revealing that this song was originally called ‘The Wreck of the Elizabeth Dane’ (the same ship that was crewed by the leprous ghosts in John Carpenter’s ‘The Fog’) and that I only changed the title (and therewith the context) by pairing it with ‘Captain Nemo’ and writing an instrumental interlude in collaboration with Nico Steckelberg) that brought the three pieces together to comprise a short suite.
That interlude was my first serious attempt at writing cinematic scenes. I provided the chord sequence and gave Nico some guidelines and left him to create the track which was greatly enhanced by sea siren Joran of German fantasy folk band Elane.


My, my child you’re just skin and bone
Sweet young things shouldn’t hitch alone
Southern boys don’t mean no harm
Just grew up twisted down on mama’s farm
Running down the hall gonna tan your hide
Thicker than flies on a hog’s backside

He ain’t mean, jus’ misunderstood
A red neck runt from an inbred brood
Don’t pay no heed, it’s just kin disease
Poor sweet boy’s trying hard to please
Running down the hall gonna tan your hide
Thicker than flies on a hog’s backside

Hush now girl don’t you fuss ‘n’ fight
He’s a mean mother hubbard but he don’t bite
Hush yer mouth no yakety yak
Or bubba’s gonna give yer 40 whacks
Running down the hall gonna tan your hide
Thicker than flies on a hog’s backside


Among cult horror fans it may be sacrilege to say so, but I prefer the glossy southern swamp look of the 2003 remake of ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’. I also found the film an absolute hoot and just had to write this song with my tongue firmly in my cheek. I love horror movies, but I couldn’t take this or ‘The Exorcist’ seriously.

the great deceiver

I am the great deceiver, legions at my command
I smote the unbeliever, brought discord to this land
I do not seek forgiveness, I answer to no man
I am the scourge of heaven. I am his strong right hand
I hear no cries for mercy, I see no suffering
So kneel, beg absolution, redemption for your sins.


Contrary to what someone assumed this is not about the Devil, but the medieval church and its self-righteous persecution of those who would not recognise its authority.

eight little whores

Eight little whores worked the streets of Whitechapel
One little whore stayed at home
This little whore carved just for jolly
Gutted right down to the bone

Don’t tell me that you’re lonely ‘cause I know you’re only little whores

Seven little whores sold themselves for a shilling
A fumble for a finger of gin
One little whore was ever so willing
This little whore saved from sin

Eight little whores stitched up so pretty
Eight little whores said their prayers
Eight little whores all laid out like paupers
And none with a sovereign to spare

Eight little whores went like sows to the slaughter
Eight little daughters of joy.


I came across original Victorian street songs while writing ‘The Crimes of Jack The Ripper’ and thought that I might write something along similar lines. I had two mixes of this track by the time we had finished the album – one with a vocal on the middle 8 and one with the vocal muted so the instruments alone would carry that segment. I’m usually very certain of what I want on a track but this was one rare occasion when I couldn’t decide which I preferred and I don’t like to wait months before releasing an album so I didn’t give myself a chance to put it aside and listen a few months later. In retrospect I now prefer the mix with the vocal all the way through which appeared on ‘Professor Moriarty’s Jukebox’, an album of rarities and unreleased tracks.

ghost dance

Our mother’s the red earth we’re formed from, our father is the sky
This land is the lodge we live in, here we were born and here we’ll die

We were told the great sky spirit speaks no words with man
So he sent the buffalo and eagle that we might understand

The earth it hums a sad and low sound, a mother’s mournful song
We can hear it softly keening for we have listened long.

We walk in footprints of our fathers across the wounded plains
Where the spirits speak as four winds and their tears they fall as rain


I hadn’t written about native Americans before and didn’t expect to do so, but the rhythm of this song just called for that subject so I relented.


My name is of no consequence. I’m a man of no significance
I have but a beggar’s eloquence to speak of Abramelin

I came an orphan to his door, he sheltered me from winters raw
And when at last there came the thaw I stayed with Abramelin

I learnt of nature’s mysteries, the secret art of sorcery
Of magic and magistery with white haired Abramelin

All I have is all I need on this my friend we are agreed
Let’s smoke the aromatic weed and talk of Abramelin

Every day’s a dying star, a grain of sand inside a jar
And it’s for us to know we are all sons of Abramelin.


It may seem a minor point and one hardly worth mentioning, but I like ambiguity in lyrics when more than one interpretation can be equally valid. Here the phrase ‘he sheltered me from winters raw’ could be heard as ‘he protected me from very severe winters’ or ‘he protected me from winter’s roar’ (ie the sound of the bitter wind).

tell-tale heart

Father I must make a full confession
I fear I have an unnatural obsession
The old man has the evil eye
For that alone he must die. I fear it’s so.

I had no feelings for or against him
It was his filmy eye that did condemn him
It followed me incessantly
It truly would not let me be and that’s no lie

I lay awake at night and I confide sir
I heard him creep and scuttle like a spider
Up and down the winding stair
Searching for what I know not where and that’s the truth.

I could end this suffering with just one blow
A merciful release and then no one need know
If this was you, you would be tempted too

I laid him out as befits an elder
And treated him both respectful and tender
But now I wake with quite a start
I hear the beating of his heart. It’s on and on.


I like this track not only because I played all the instruments, but because it has one of those quirky little passages that appeals to me (the ‘If this was you..’ line in this case).

sam hall (trad.)

foggy dew (trad.)




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