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


En écoute

 

 

Des photos, des vidéos... tout sur le bouc !

Les musiciens

Blandine Moraweck  voix~flûtes~bodhràn

 

Michel Boudet
guitare~banjo~bouzouki

 

Martin Jaillet
violon~voix~whistle

 

Richard Posselt

accordéon