Toutes les paroles du nouvel album LandMoon sont dans le livret avec le CD !
Home by Barna - trad.
In Scarlateglen there lived a lass
And every morning after mass
She would go and take a glass
Before going home by Barna
We won't go home along the road
For fear that we might tax the rogue
We won't go home along the road
We'll go home by Barna
We won't go home across the fields
The big thorn needles will stick in our heels
We won't go home across the fields
We'll go home by Barna
We won't go home the milk boreen
The night is bright we might be seen
We won't go home the milk boreen
We'll go home by Barna
We won't go home across the bog
For fear we might meet Kearney's dog
We won't go home across the bog
But we'll go home by Barna
We won't go home around the glen
For fear your blood might rise again
We won't go home around the glen
We'll go home be Barna
We won't go home along the bay
The tinkers' camp is on the way
We wont go home along the bay
We'll go home by Barna
We won't go home along the main
The swoogh is sure to rise again
We won't go home along the main
We'll go home by Barna
We won't go home along the shore
For fear we hear the banshee roar
We won't go home along the shore
We'll go home by Barna
We won't go home along the strand
We might disturb the fairy band
We won't go home along the strand
We'll go home by Barna
In Scarlateglen there lived a lass
And every morning after mass
She would go and take a glass
Before going home by Barna
We won't go home along the road
For fear that we might tax the rogue
We won't go home along the road
We'll go home by Barna
The Missing Mates - (B. Moraweck / M. Boudet / M. Jaillet)
they're leaving home, heading for the docks
hoping for a ship and a job this time
seven months at sea, skyline's the ocean,
warmth a memory, silence is the key
cold early mornings, gear up lures and rods
freezing fingers, no time for a groan
rowing with their mate in fishing boats,
they vanish in a freezing fog
the only music they'll hear are fishermen's songs
ships lost in the northern lights
maybe in dreams, they'll feel the white skin
of women left behind
the only music they'll hear are skories demanding
waves slamming and whales blowing
maybe in dreams, they'll hear the laughter
of children left behind
no thought for Muireall, no thought for Grandma,
not for the cattle, that were getting sick
no thought for the kids nor christmas eve, for my eyes are on the grey shining prize
cold early morning as we're heading back
bleary-eyed and relieved, not a farewell
to the missing mates in fishing boats
they vanished in a frozen hell
why did we choose this life, why don't we saw barley
wanting adventures, more than land could give
maybe in dreams, we'll feel the softness
of narwhal left behind
why did we choose this life, why don't we grow oats
wanting flying fortune, while seas are drying
maybe in dreams, we'll hear the wailing
of the missing mates we left behind
Silent Spine - (B. Moraweck / M. Boudet / M. Jaillet)
six o'clock cleaning
tiny women mopping
blue foam on the floors
ghost and muted doors
chorus:
Silent spine
all neatness and shine
breadwinners bowing
to the book
toe the line, stick in queue
Silent spine
all neatness and sheen
Silent
workers emotion
bitter end emulsion
been laid off like trash
no excuse nor cash
give in the market
manager on carpet
shakes retailers team
spilling coffee cream
it's only a good brew
till we refuse
Silent spine
all neatness and shine
breadwinners bowing to the book
toe the line, stick in queue
Silent spine
emerging surprise
Silent....
Waltzing Mathilda - Trad.
Once a jolly swagman camped beside a Billabong
Under the shade of a coolibah tree
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled
"You'll come a Waltzing Matilda, with me."
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me.
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled,
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me."
Down came a jumbuck to drink at the billabong,
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag,
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me".
Up rode the squatter mounted on his thoroughbred
Down came the troopers, one, two, three,
"Who's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?"
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me".
Up jumped the swagman, sprang into the billabong,
"You'll never catch me alive," said he,
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by the billabong,
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me."
Bedlam Boys - Trad.
For to see my Tom of Bedlam, 10,000 miles I'd travel
Mad Maudlin she goes on dirty toes, for to save her shoes from gravel.
Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live by the air,
And they want no drink nor money.
I went down to Satin's kitchen, for to beg me food one morning
There I got souls piping hot, all on the spit a turning.
There I picked up a cauldron, Where boiled 10,000 harlots
Though full of flame I drank the same, to the health of all such varlets.
Chorus
My staff has murdered giants, my bag a long knife carries
For to cut mince pies from children's thighs, with which to feed the fairies.
No gypsy slut nor doxy, shall win my Mad Tom from me
I'll weep all night, the stars I'll fight, the fray will well become me.
Chorus
It's when next I have murdered, the Man-In-The-Moon to powder
His staff I'll break, his dog I'll bake, they'll howl no demon louder.
So drink to Tom of Bedlam, he'll fill the seas in barrels
I'll drink it all, all brewed with gall, with Mad Maudlin I will travel.
Chorus