The Incredible String Band - Veshengro lyrics
[The Incredible String Band - Veshengro lyrics]
Moon of the berries is waning to clay
Bavol the wind leap on the whale's way
Sing for Veshengro, oak ash and may
I will not flash the day glance
On the strong King's shield
Nor yet the moon glance on the frightened man
Bring her sweet peace ere she rests
On the Breast of God
With the nutrnegs and oak-apples
Of her rosary that counts the praying sand
Who cradles earth and water in
The hollow of her hand
I was a wasp on a nettled hill
Ten thousand brothers in one
Nest of fungus paper
And every sopping apple held it's cider
Sweet for my thin tongue
I was swineherd at the court of Fionn
I wore the coat of patches
With Jalal beneath the stars
Sang at the black court of Ain
I baked sweet pastries for the Queen of Spain
I hid my alchemy beneath the stone of lies
Burned at the post my boiling brain
Made craters of my eyes
The mystery of history it is not revealed
We hear not clear but only with hope and fear
And the pomp of crime
And the pride of the time
I was a monk repelled by a woman's smell
I sailed in Darwin's ship
A mouse that gnawed the grain
Trapped by the cook on one dark day
I have spoken with the Thames
In much sweeter times
And with the Medway where she rolls her waves
The snake-weed is hissing the
Wind of the morn
The mountains are mouthing where
Albion is born the light rays are gathering
Where Horus is shown
Sing for Veshengro, oak ash and thorn
Bavol the wind leap on the whale's way
Sing for Veshengro, oak ash and may
I will not flash the day glance
On the strong King's shield
Nor yet the moon glance on the frightened man
Bring her sweet peace ere she rests
On the Breast of God
With the nutrnegs and oak-apples
Of her rosary that counts the praying sand
Who cradles earth and water in
The hollow of her hand
I was a wasp on a nettled hill
Ten thousand brothers in one
Nest of fungus paper
And every sopping apple held it's cider
Sweet for my thin tongue
I was swineherd at the court of Fionn
I wore the coat of patches
With Jalal beneath the stars
Sang at the black court of Ain
I baked sweet pastries for the Queen of Spain
I hid my alchemy beneath the stone of lies
Burned at the post my boiling brain
Made craters of my eyes
The mystery of history it is not revealed
We hear not clear but only with hope and fear
And the pomp of crime
And the pride of the time
I was a monk repelled by a woman's smell
I sailed in Darwin's ship
A mouse that gnawed the grain
Trapped by the cook on one dark day
I have spoken with the Thames
In much sweeter times
And with the Medway where she rolls her waves
The snake-weed is hissing the
Wind of the morn
The mountains are mouthing where
Albion is born the light rays are gathering
Where Horus is shown
Sing for Veshengro, oak ash and thorn