“I'd rather look in Dewhursts window - well I wouldn't really, but, you know, it's the same sort of display, you know: chops and loins.”
Site Statistics
 | 3054 registered |
 | 1 today |
 | 10 this week |
 | 8 this month |
 | Last: prettywoman86 |
Visitors: 1926850
Member Login
Online Now
We have 1 guest online| Go Little Swale |
|
|
|
|
Words & Music: Jake Thackray Click here to download guitar tab Go, lowly Swale: go headlong down, Down through your stony-faced meadows, Your scowling hills, your crouching towns. Go, little Swale, and I follow. The taciturn hill farmers patiently still Are pacing their hillside; The po-faced sheep stare as they go. The pinafored women go day after day Making their hay Down by the river edge where wagtails are trotting, By Booze, by Muker, by Gunnerside, by Crackpot. Go, little Swale: go headlong down, Down through your stony-faced meadows, Your scowling hills, your crouching towns. Go, little Swale, and I follow. The children are learning to leave you behind. (Old men have time to stare at the dead afternoons.) The up-country bus takes them slowly but surely Over the moorside. Over the poor bridges that hunch there, all crook-back, By Thwaite, by Grinton, by Healaugh, by Butter Tubs. Go, little Swale: go headlong down, Down through your stony-faced meadows, Your scowling hills, your crouching towns. Go, little Swale, and I follow. Go, lowly Swale: go headlong down, Down through your stony-faced meadows, Your scowling hills, your crouching towns. Go, little Swale, and I follow. Click here to download guitar tab |