The South Country
When I am living in the Midlands
That are sodden and unkind,
I light my lamp in the evening:
My work is left behind;
And the great hills of the South Country
Come back into my mind.
The great hills of the South Country
They stand along the sea;
And it's there walking in the high woods
That I could wish to be,
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Walking along with me.
The men that live in North England
I saw them for a day:
Their hearts are set upon the waste fells,
Their skies are fast and grey;
From their castle-walls a man may see
The mountains far away.
The men that live in West England
They see the Severn strong,
A-rolling on rough water brown
Light aspen leaves along.
They have the secret of the Rocks,
And the oldest kind of song.
But the men that live in the South Country
Are the kindest and most wise,
They get their laughter from the loud surf,
And the faith in their happy eyes
Comes surely from our Sister the Spring
When over the sea she flies;
The violets suddenly bloom at her feet,
She blesses us with surprise.
I never get between the pines
But I smell the Sussex air;
Nor I never come on a belt of sand
But my home is there.
And along the sky the line of the Downs
So noble and so bare.
A lost thing could I never find,
Nor a broken thing mend:
And I fear I shall be all alone
When I get towards the end.
Who will there be to comfort me
Or who will be my friend?
I will gather and carefully make my friends
Of the men of the Sussex Weald;
They watch the stars from silent folds,
They stiffly plough the field.
By them and the God of the South Country
My poor soul shall be healed.
If I ever become a rich man,
Or if ever I grow to be old,
I will build a house with deep thatch
To shelter me from the cold,
And there shall the Sussex songs be sung
And the story of Sussex told.
I will hold my house in the high wood
Within a walk of the sea,
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Shall sit and drink with me.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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From an Outpost
I've tramped South England up and down
Down Dorset way, down Devon way,
Through every little ancient town
Down Dorset way, down Devon way.
I mind the old stone churches there,
The taverns round the market square,
The cobbled streets, the garden flowers,
The sundials telling peaceful hours
Down Dorset way, down Devon way.
The Meadowlands are green and fair
Down Somerset and Sussex way,
The clover scent is in the air
Down Somerset and Sussex way.
I mind the deep-thatched homesteads there
The noble downlands, clean and bare.
The sheepfolds and the cattle byres,
The blue wood-smoke from shepherd's fires
Down Dorset way, down Devon way.
Mayhap I shall not walk again
Down Dorset way, down Devon way,
Nor pick a posy in a lane
Down Somerset and Sussex way.
But though my bones, unshriven, rot
In some far distant alien spot,
what soul I have shall rest from care
To know that meadows still are fair
Down Dorset way, down Devon way.
poem by Leslie Coulson
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At the Melting of the Snow
There's a sunny Southern land,
And it's there that I would be
Where the big hills stand,
In the South Countrie!
When the wattles bloom again,
Then it's time for us to go
To the old Monaro country
At the melting of the snow.
To the East or to the West,
Or wherever you may be,
You will find no place
Like the South Countrie.
For the skies are blue above,
And the grass is green below,
In the old Monaro country
At the melting of the snow.
Now the team is in the plough,
And the thrushes start to sing,
And the pigeons on the bough
Sit a-welcoming the Spring.
So come, my comrades all,
Let us saddle up and go
To the old Monaro country
At the melting of the snow.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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South Africa Is Also My Country
From my birth South Africa is my own country
and my people can flee to an island
but my own culture and language stays holy
although this place is not safe,
I still trust on a much higher hand,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
even if the struggling government gives me resistance,
do oppress me with unfair laws,
even if nothing can stop the disintegration,
even if I am not safe against the onslaught,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country,
even if some act with effrontery against my people
I come from a noble heritage,
I am proud on my Afrikaner lineage,
even if people and buildings are set alight,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
with no other place I have such a deep bond
and even if here I will never have any job,
I believe in God and a Christian church,
God himself still keeps my ways intact,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
poem by Gert Strydom
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In The Wide Brown Country
To the wide brown country the Seasons come and go
South in South Australia where the Murray flow
Through the wide brown country where the brown dust fly
When the gales are rushing down the southern sky.
In the wide brown country woods not there to see
Where the mighty Murray crawls on towards the sea
Through the bone dry paddocks that are never green
Mother Nature in this landscape in her brown only seen.
Where the black tribes fished and hunted centuries ago
Little of their culture others seem to know
Through the wide brown country they travelled far and wide
And theirs was a great culture but their culture with them died.
In the wide brown country wildering flowers are rare
And the sun parched paddocks always looking bare
And where only the hardiest can hope to survive
Emu, wombat and wallaby and grey roo seem to thrive.
In the wide brown country where the Murray flow
Onwards towards the ocean onwards ever slow
And the grass is growing brown even where the rains have been
In that brown old country that man has failed to green.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sussex
GOD gave all men all earth to love,
But since our hearts are small,
Ordained for each one spot should prove
Belovèd over all;
That, as He watched Creation’s birth,
So we, in godlike mood,
May of our love create our earth
And see that it is good.
So one shall Baltic pines content,
As one some Surrey glade,
Or one the palm-grove’s droned lament
Before Levuka’s Trade.
Each to his choice, and I rejoice
The lot has fallen to me
In a fair ground—in a fair ground—
Yea, Sussex by the sea!
No tender-hearted garden crowns,
No bosomed woods adorn
Our blunt, bow-headed, whale-backed Downs,
But gnarled and writhen thorn—
Bare slopes where chasing shadows skim,
And, through the gaps revealed,
Belt upon belt, the wooded, dim,
Blue goodness of the Weald.
Clean of officious fence or hedge,
Half-wild and wholly tame,
The wise turf cloaks the white cliff edge
As when the Romans came.
What sign of those that fought and died
At shift of sword and sword?
The barrow and the camp abide,
The sunlight and the sward.
Here leaps ashore the full Sou’west
All heavy-winged with brine,
Here lies above the folded crest
The Channel’s leaden line;
And here the sea-fogs lap and cling,
And here, each warning each,
The sheep-bells and the ship-bells ring
Along the hidden beach.
We have no waters to delight
Our broad and brookless vales—
Only the dewpond on the height
Unfed, that never fails—
Whereby no tattered herbage tells
Which way the season flies—
Only our close-bit thyme that smells
Like dawn in Paradise.
Here through the strong and shadeless days
The tinkling silence thrills;
Or little, lost, Down churches praise
The Lord who made the hills:
But here the Old Gods guard their round,
And, in her secret heart,
The heathen kingdom Wilfrid found
Dreams, as she dwells, apart.
Though all the rest were all my share,
With equal soul I’d see
Her nine-and-thirty sisters fair,
Yet none more fair than she.
Choose ye your need from Thames to Tweed,
And I will choose instead
Such lands as lie ’twixt Rake and Rye,
Black Down and Beachy Head.
I will go out against the sun
Where the rolled scarp retires,
And the Long Man of Wilmington
Looks naked toward the shires;
And east till doubling Rother crawls
To find the fickle tide,
By dry and sea-forgotten walls,
Our ports of stranded pride.
I will go north about the shaws
And the deep ghylls that breed
Huge oaks and old, the which we hold
No more than Sussex weed;
Or south where windy Piddinghoe’s
Begilded dolphin veers
And red beside wide-bankèd Ouse
Lie down our Sussex steers.
So to the land our hearts we give
Till the sure magic strike,
And Memory, Use, and Love make live
Us and our fields alike—
That deeper than our speech and thought,
Beyond our reason’s sway,
Clay of the pit whence we were wrought
Yearns to its fellow-clay.
God gives all men all earth to love,
But since man’s heart is small,
Ordains for each one spot shall prove
Beloved over all.
Each to his choice, and I rejoice
The lot has fallen to me
In a fair ground—in a fair ground—
Yea, Sussex by the sea!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Run of the Downs
The Weald is good, the Downs are best---
I'll give you the run of 'em, East to West.
Beachy Head and Winddoor Hill,
They were once and they are still.
Firle Mount Caburn and Mount Harry
Go back as far as sums '1l carry.
Ditchling Beacon and Chanctonbury Ring
They have looked on many a thing,
And what those two have missed between 'em
I reckon Truleigh Hill has seen 'em.
Highden, Bignor and Duncton Down
Knew Old England before the Crown.
Linch Down, Treyford and Sunwood
Knew Old England before the Flood;
And when you end on the Hampshire side--
Butser's old as Time and Tide.
The Downs are sheep, the Weald is corn,
You be glad you are Sussex born!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Heading South
Orbison/dees
I want to talk to folks back home again, to walk along a lonely country lane
To spend some time with that woman of mine, heading south, heading south
Things look bright and I feel alright yeah Im heading south
Heading south to see the sun go down on camp fire light,to join the singing at night
Heading south to cotton rows and honeysuckle bloom
Under the cumberland moon heading south, heading south
Give me room to travel on my way to a place where dreams all fade away
Where the river flows and tobacco grows heading south heading south
Cause the sun is hot and people love a lot yeah Im heading south
Heading south to see the sun go down on camp fire light, to join the singing at night
Heading south to cotton rows and honeysuckle bloom under the cumberland moon
Heading south, heading south
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Belloc
For every tiny town or place
God made the stars especially;
Babies look up with owlish face
And see them tangled in a tree;
You saw a moon from Sussex Downs,
A Sussex moon, untravelled still,
I saw a moon that was the town's,
The largest lamp on Campden Hill.
Yea; Heaven is everywhere at home
The big blue cap that always fits,
And so it is (be calm; they come
To goal at last, my wandering wits),
So is it with the heroic thing;
This shall not end for the world's end
And though the sullen engines swing,
Be you not much afraid, my friend.
This did not end by Nelson's urn
Where an immortal England sits--
Nor where your tall young men in turn
Drank death like wine at Austerlitz.
And when the pedants bade us mark
What cold mechanic happenings
Must come; our souls said in the dark,
"Belike; but there are likelier things."
Likelier across these flats afar
These sulky levels smooth and free
The drums shall crash a waltz of war
And Death shall dance with Liberty;
Likelier the barricades shall blare
Slaughter below and smoke above,
And death and hate and hell declare
That men have found a thing to love.
Far from your sunny uplands set
I saw the dream; the streets I trod
The lit straight streets shot out and met
The starry streets that point to God.
This legend of an epic hour
A child I dreamed, and dream it still,
Under the great grey water-tower
That strikes the stars on Campden Hill
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To Belloc
For every tiny town or place
God made the stars especially;
Babies look up with owlish face
And see them tangled in a tree;
You saw a moon from Sussex Downs,
A Sussex moon, untravelled still,
I saw a moon that was the town's,
The largest lamp on Campden Hill.
Yea; Heaven is everywhere at home
The big blue cap that always fits,
And so it is (be calm; they come
To goal at last, my wandering wits),
So is it with the heroic thing;
This shall not end for the world's end
And though the sullen engines swing,
Be you not much afraid, my friend.
This did not end by Nelson's urn
Where an immortal England sits--
Nor where your tall young men in turn
Drank death like wine at Austerlitz.
And when the pedants bade us mark
What cold mechanic happenings
Must come; our souls said in the dark,
'Belike; but there are likelier things.'
Likelier across these flats afar
These sulky levels smooth and free
The drums shall crash a waltz of war
And Death shall dance with Liberty;
Likelier the barricades shall blare
Slaughter below and smoke above,
And death and hate and hell declare
That men have found a thing to love.
Far from your sunny uplands set
I saw the dream; the streets I trod
The lit straight streets shot out and met
The starry streets that point to God.
This legend of an epic hour
A child I dreamed, and dream it still,
Under the great grey water-tower
That strikes the stars on Campden Hill
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Canada First
To home and Country shouts we raise I
For Home and Land to Heaven we cry !
In Home and Country let us live
For Home and Land we stand to die !
This Land us bred : these Hills are ours :
These Mighty Floods that seaward roll
We know no masters but ourselves
We know no bounds this side the pole !
God gave to us these Reaching Woods :
The Spreading Lakes we sail upon ;
We hold them for our children's right
And who is he intrudes thereon?
And we shall till the Rolling Plains
That reach into the setting sun ;
'Tis our Dominion to extend
To coasts that lave the Great Ocean.
To Home and Country shouts we raise !
For Home and Land to Heaven we cry !
In Home and Country let us live
For Home and Land we stand to die !
poem by Robert Kirkland Kernighan
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Armada
A nursery governess stood and stared
At a hundred and fifty ships,
That lay in the Harbour at Lisbon where
They loaded each Galleass,
They bristled with brass and iron guns
With cannon and shot to spare,
And thousands of Spanish soldiers, heading
For England, do or dare!
A girl from a gentle Sussex home,
She thought of her father's fate,
A bluff, old-fashioned seafarer
Who had sailed with Francis Drake,
But this was surely the grandest fleet
That ever had put to sea,
Since Christ had walked on the water
On that lake, in Galilee.
She took up her parchment, dipped the quill
And wrote to a face unknown,
She knew that the King of Spain would seek
To usurp Elizabeth's throne,
Her countrymen must be forewarned
Must all be made to see!
She wrote: 'A massive Armada sails
To seize your good country! '
She thrust it into a bottle that
Had held fine Spanish wine,
Then sealed the top with a plug of wax
To keep the message dry.
She flung it over the nearest cliff,
It drifted out to sea,
A message, meant for Sir Francis Drake
And all his company.
The bottle had bobbed on the surface as
The governess knelt and prayed,
'Dear Lord, deliver me just one thing
That England might be saved!
I'm merely an English governess,
Not versed in tricks or guile,
But if I could save dear England, then
My life had been worthwhile.'
The bottle still bobbed in the Channel, then
Was swept due south and west,
Right out to the mid-Atlantic swell
It made its way, unblessed,
For thirty years it had bobbled about,
Remained unseen by man,
Then landed in Plymouth Harbour, and
Lay careless on the sand.
The tribe who discovered it couldn't read,
They thought that it was a sign,
The gods had sent them a message, locked
In a glass that smelt of wine.
The parchment lay in a curl inside
But nothing would set it free,
It said: 'A massive Armada sails
To seize your good country! '
There followed a ship with billowing sails,
And men with a paler skin,
The lettering spelt 'The Mayflower',
They just couldn't read it then.
They threw the bottle back into the sea
To rid the land of its curse,
But soon the others came billowing in,
The 'Mayflower' was the first!
While over in Sussex there lived a maid,
Who once was a governess,
For one great day in a humble life,
She thought, had seen her blessed!
She thought of the sailor who'd read her note,
Who'd plucked it out from the sea,
And routed the Spanish Armada - 'Thanks
To Francis Drake, and me! '
She never would know, the bottle was still
Afloat by the eastern coast,
For thirty years in the Caribbean
Her message floated, lost.
It came ashore at Spanish Town
Its message was there to see,
It said: 'A mighty Armada sails
To seize your good country! '
And then came the English buccaneers,
Port Royal, their pirate den,
The Spaniards lost Jamaica to
The Fleet of William Penn,
The bottle floated away once more
To travel the world around,
In Sussex, a humble governess
Was planted, there in the ground.
A hundred and thirty years went by,
The bottle had floated still,
Until it discovered that Southern Land
Of virgin green and hill,
It came ashore at Port Jackson, lay
Unheeded by the sea,
Was brought ashore by a warrior,
An Aborigine.
He never had seen its like, he tried
To understand its creed,
The message was plainly visible
If only he could read,
While back in Sussex, stood the stone
Now powdered where she lay,
A humble Sussex governess
Whose message ruled the day.
The First Fleet came in '88,
And drove them from the shore,
This seemingly great Armada that
Would launch Australia.
He threw the bottle back, in hopes,
This Aborigine,
That the ships would sail away again -
But this would never be!
That bottle, chipped and scarred by time
Went round the world once more,
A hundred and fifty years or so
Before it came ashore,
But then the Great Armada sailed
The greatest yet by far,
That final message was waiting there,
On a beach called 'Omaha! '
20 October 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Country Road
Take to the highway wont you lend me your name
Your way and my way seem to be one in the same
Momma dont understand it
She wants to know where I been
Id have to be some kind of natural born fool
To want to pass that way again
But you know I could feel it
On a country road
Sail on home to jesus wont you good girls and boys
Im all in pieces, you can have your own choice
I could seen a heavenly band full of angels
And theyre a comin to set me free
Dont know much about the wild wind
But I can tell that its bound to because I could feel it
On a country road
Guess my feet know where the want me to go
Walking on a country road
Walk on down, walk on down, walk on down
Walk on down, walk on down a country road yeah
La la la la la la la
Country road
Yeah walking on a country road
Country road
Yeah
Walking on a country road
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sussex sailor
O, once, by Cuckmere Haven,
I heard a sailor sing
Of shores beyond the sunset,
And lands of lasting spring,
Of blue lagoons and palm trees
And isles where all was young;
But this was ever the burden
of ev'ry note he sung:
"O, have you seen my true love
A-walking in that land?
Or have you seen her footprints
Upon that shining sand?
Beneath the happy palmtrees,
By Eden whispers fanned...
O, have you seen my true love
A-walking in that land?"
And, once in San Diego,
I heard him sing again,
Of Amberley, Rye, and Bramber,
And Brede and Fairlight Glen:
The nestling hills of Sussex,
The russet-roofed elfin towns,
And the skylark up in a high wind
Carolling over the downs.
"From Warbleton to Wild Brook,
When May is white as foam,
O, have you seen my dearling
on any hills of home?
Or have you seen her shining,
Or only touch'd her hand.
O, have you seen my true love
A-walking in that land?"
And, once again, by Cowfold,
I heard him singing low,
'Tis not the leagues of ocean
That hide the hills I know.
The May that shines before me
Has made a ghost of May.
The valleys that I would walk in
Are twenty years away.
"Ah, have you seen my true love
A-walking in that land...
On hills that I remember,
In valleys I understand,
So far beyond the sunset,
So very close at hand,
O have you seen my true love
In that immortal land?"
poem by Alfred Noyes
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My Dog And Me
When life goes a stray and your poor old dog can’t sing the blues any more. You just have to start tapping with your left foot to the old southern tune. Life is like a road country road winding among the mountains. We want to get there but where never in hurry and when get there its most amazing thing you ever see. So you sit atop a mountain you and your dog a foot a tapping to the old songs of the south. You dog and your dog just look at each other with joy. There is nothing great than life, a man and his dog. So you sit upon a millions of stars gazing at life greatest wonders. I started to my play fiddle and you look at your dog. Your dog looks back and starts tapping his left foot again. A man his dog and life down past the mason Dixie line. So that old dog started howling and at the mid night train. It came rolling around the bend at a quarter to four. The sound of the whistle made my dog start doing the 2 step with old mis.jhonson. The dog and mis.jhonson danced all night to the whistle of southern train bound for Kentucky. I and mis.jhonson got married. So they live happy with their dog in the hills of the appalachaims. every time the train comes rolling around they smile and enbrance there love.
poem by Joe Hirsch
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To Doris
She said I come from a land flanked by the warmer seas
A flat brown land that stretch for miles with hardly any trees
In my dreams I see the big game parks and the open plains I see
'Oh' Africa my Africa I hear you calling me.
I hear the male lion cough and roar and the wild hyena scream
And the Natives dance before my eyes so real to me they seem
I hear them singing in the night and their drumming I too hear
And Africa close to my heart though miles away from here.
Doris accent is a give away as accents often are
You'd know that to get to this great Land that she's had to travel far
Her lovely South African accent one never should mistake
The migrant may live far from home but ties that bind are hard to break.
A farmer's daughter from South Africa her life story ought be told
A woman close to eighty years though she doesn't look that old
A teenager in the thirties the hard life she has been through
Her only brother a prisoner of war in Europe in world war two.
Her ill mother convinced her son had died lost the will to live on
And he returned home to the tragic news that his mum was dead and gone
There's sorrow blood and tears in war and tragedy as well
And for mums with sons on battlefields life must be living hell.
She raised five sons in South Africa and one died at twenty five
Brain damaged by measles as a child she helped him to survive
And Doris with great sadness says that her son's life was far too brief
There's ups and downs in life she says and there's happiness and grief.
With her son and daughter in law she lives east of Melbourne now by road off 'One Tree Hill'
A woman from a far Country and suppose she always will
Feel homesick for her home Country, I love Australia she say
But my homeland is South Africa the brown Land far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Starwood In Aspen
This song appears on nine albums, and was first released on the aerie album, then the country roads collection and the rocky mountain collection albums, and has also been rerecorded on the great
Its vol 1, john denver (italian), take me home, country roads and other hits, country classics and voice of america albums. a live version also appears on the live in london album.
Its a long way from la to denver
Its a long time to hang in the sky
Its a long way home to starwood in aspen
A sweet rocky mountain paradise
Oh, my sweet rocky mountain paradise
Springtime is rollin round slowly
Grey skies are bringin me down
I cant remember when Ive ever been so lonely
I forgot what its like to be home
Cant remember what its like to be home
But I think on my ladys sweet memories
I think on my childrens sweet smiles
I think on my home in starwood in aspen
All my friends and the snow covered hills
Oh, my friends are the snow covered hills
And I tell you Im happy to be here
To share and consider this time
For I see here the shadows of changes
And a feeling of new friends to find
And I see here some new friends to find
But its a long way from this place to denver
Its a long time to hang in the sky
Its a long way home to starwood in aspen
A sweet rocky mountain paradise
Oh, my sweet rocky mountain paradise
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Few Ole Country Boys
Not too many years ago
When dreams were coming true
I'd reach for inspiration
Sometimes it would be you
I'd hear you on the radio
I sure did like your sound
Say it's good to know there's still
A few ol' country boys around
From the smoke it's hard to tell
What's coming down the line
We heard you were a fast train
Coming out of Caroline
We wondered what you were haulin'
When you rolled into to town
Say it's good to know there's still
A few ol' country boys around
You must have felt that same old feeling
More than once or twice
Guitars pressed against our hearts
Under the neon lights
I've got to say that feeling is the best that I have found
Lord it's good to know there's still
A few ol' country boys around
There's a lot of truth you know
In our kind of songs
About the life you're living
And how love's done you wrong
As long as there's a jukebox
And a honky tonk in town
It's good to know there's still
A few ol' country boys around
It's good to know there's still
A few ol' country boys around
song performed by by Randy Travis, translated by George Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chanclebury Ring
Say what you will, there is not in the world
A nobler sight than from this upper Down.
No rugged landscape here, no beauty hurled
From its Creator's hand as with a frown;
But a green plain on which green hills look down
Trim as a garden plot. No other hue
Can hence be seen, save here and there the brown
Of a square fallow, and the horizon's blue.
Dear checker--work of woods, the Sussex Weald!
If a name thrills me yet of things of earth,
That name is thine. How often I have fled
To thy deep hedgerows and embraced each field,
Each lag, each pasture,--fields which gave me birth
And saw my youth, and which must hold me dead.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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She'll Drive The Big Car
She waited by the moon
She was sick with fear and cold
She felt too old for all of this
Of course she never showed
She lugged her suitcase to the bus
Melted home through the snow
North along riverside
She slips beneath the sheets
A husbands quiet devoted wife
But strangers sad and nervous
By the dawns early light
Loves lies like a dead cloud
On a shabby, yellow lawn
Up on riverside
She'll drive the big car
He'll sit behind
She'll keep an eye on Jessica
South along the Hudson
She'll turn the radio high
Find a station playing sad, sad soul
Just a little bit louder now
South along the Hudson yea
Just a little bit faster now
Just a little bit louder now
Just a little bit angry now
South along the Hudson, yea
And she'll drive the big car
And talk herself insane
Just a little bit louder now
Just a little bit angry now
Way back when Millennium
Meant racing to the light
He promised her a dream-life
He'd take her back to street-life
Away from violent water
With its Cormorants and leaves
Up on riverside
She'll drive the big car
But he'll sit behind
Bursting her bubbles of Ludlow and Grand
South along the Hudson
She'll turn the radio way up high
Find a station playing sad, sad soul
Just a little bit louder now
South along the Hudson
Just a little bit faster now
Just a little bit louder now
Just a little bit angry now
South along the Hudson, yea
Just a little bit faster now
Just a little bit louder now
Just a little bit angry now
South along the Hudson, yea
She'll drive the big car
He'll sit behind
She'll keep an eye on Jessica
Just a little bit faster now
Just a little bit faster now
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sleepwalkers
See them over there
See them moving down the road
Their arms held out ahead
And their eyes, their eyes are closed
Don't make any noise
Cry out loud or stamp your feet
You'll wake the girls and boys
Who are walking in their sleep
Every night they throw aside their blankets
Swing their feet down
Stand up and move out to the street
Like they're under a spell
And together they roam across the country
And they're walking in their sleep
You'll recognize them when you see
Their rumpled hair and stocking feet
It seems like they want something
But we don't know what it is
But here they come again
Yes, here they come again
Move aside and let the people go by
They don't see you
Thinking that they're home in their beds
They must not be disturbed
When they're wandering all across the country
And they're walking in their sleep
Perhaps when they awake
They'll remember everything
They'll think it was a dream
It will be forgotten then
But don't make any noise
Cry out loud or stamp your feet
You'll wake the girls and boys
Who are walking in their sleep
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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