Lyrics from Fern Knight s/t (2008, VHF #110)

Bemused

Folks have gathered here from miles
To see the pines that grow so wild
Rocks that hold up houses
Lichens, ferns and mosses

The same scientists
Study the science of the sea
Never sleeping, never waking
The moon is pulling, ever pushing
Me

Lapping sea foam with your fingers that stretch circumference around

Silver Fox

Through the woods and briars to the boat upon the shore
We leave the tents and endless eyes for something more
Once across the lake we'll find an empire of our own
We can make a garden where we'll finally be alone

Planted in a field of darkness reflecting the white
Glowing moon, the wax, the wane, until this very night
Now your head's so close to mine creates a breeze so sweet
That I had never felt before the chance we had to meet

My needles made a blanket and a canopy
How can something be so pointed yet so softly
I whispered to new ears my gentle swaying song
That now the day has dawned upon a scene that seems so wrong

My shrewd eyes had spotted you traveling miles away
I could have hidden from you so easily by day
But I am orange and silvery, so bright against the green
So obvious am I, I guess I wanted to be seen

Will you take the oar again and join me in out boat
I can feel the barker's chain encircling our throat
I can't row it on my own -- I'll need your consenting arm
We can't survive out here amidst the winter's storm

Sundew

Listen to Sundew

(Inspiration drawn from Lord Whimsy's elvin impressions of the Pine Barrens of New Jersey)

Fiddleheads and pitcher plants will be our umbrella
Cedar roots our island and the bog our new sea
Dining on berries with flowers like cranes
Afterwards we'll turn in on beds made of moss

I'll lay on my back on one lily pad of many
Hoping to chance upon the mother of all lilies
Listening to the song of the tree frog
Their music is strange and it enchants my ear

Loch Na Fooey

Counting all the sheep is such a dream with all our fingers warm
One is white, the other black, surrounded water falling 'round
And down the hillside now I know what cloven toes are for
Counting all the sheep is such a dream with all our fingers warm

On the loch as smooth as glass the sky is mirrored, blue meets green
Boats upon the beach meet the edge where gold has come ashore
Mountains alien alight in the glow of the two moons
On the loch as smooth as glass the sky is mirrored, blue meets green

Counting all the sheep is such a dream with all our fingers warm

Hawk Mountain

A river of stones flowed out to sea and left the mountain dry
Formed by a glacial tide that pushed it up to the sky
Peaks were made for resting talons, hooves or feet

Glinting edge of wing
Caught by the last rays of sun
Preying and circling
Take cover before you've begun
To ready your winter home
Warmed by the last rays of sun

Synge's Chair

Went down to the glen
In search of Synge's chair
And at the bend in the road
Came upon a baby lamb
"No, nary a trace of Synge's chair could be seen
No, nary a trace would be seen."

Then to the craggy cliffs
My love and I did pass
A sea of rocks against the green
Each one a jewel for thee
"No, nary a trace of Synge's chair could be seen
No, nary a trace would be seen."

And as the sea did swell
It reached the height of the cliff
If the storm Synge's chair did take
And bore it out to sea
"Then nary a trace of Synge's chair could be seen
No, nary a trace would be seen."

Went 'round to every door
With a question on our lips
All eyes were bright, the faces smiling
But no answer to be had
"No, nary a trace of Synge's chair could be seen
No, nary a trace would be seen."

And at our journey's end
We asked the good bartendress
If she had seen hide nor tail
Instead she served us whiskey
"No, nary a trace of Synge's chair could be seen
No, nary a trace would be seen."

Magpie Suite:

Prelude

(From Milton's 'Paradise Lost')
Into the womb of neither sea nor shore
Into this wild abyss

Part II

All is lost
All will run
Waking nightmare

Orange-red
Flaming ball
From our window

We will watch
As our world
Counts down to the end

Part III

All is lost
And all will run
Over graying ground
To the rays of the sun

Orange-red
And flaming ball
Over graying ground
To the rays of the sun

Frozen seeds and running deer
Trample on the graying ground, rising sun
Orange-red and flaming sky
Tonight the sound of the choir
Will be heard alongside illuminations

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