
Date of issue: 30.12.1969
Song language: English
Our Mother the Mountain |
My lover comes to me with a rose on her bosom |
The moon’s dancin' purple |
All through her black hair |
And a ladies-in-waiting she stands 'neath my window |
And the sun will rise soon |
On the false and the fair |
She tells me she comes from my mother the mountain |
Her skin fits her tightly |
And her lips do not lie |
She silently slips from her throat a medallion |
Slowly she twirls it |
In front of my eyes |
I watch her, I love her, I long for to touch her |
The satin she’s wearin' |
Is shimmering blue |
Outside my window her ladies are sleeping |
My dogs have gone hunting |
The howling is through |
So I reach for her hand and her eyes turns to poison |
And her hair turns to splinters |
And her flesh turns to brine |
She leaps cross the room, she stands in the window |
And screams that my first-born |
Will surely be blind |
She throws herself out to the black of the nightfall |
She’s parted her lips |
But she makes not a sound |
I fly down the stairway, and I run to the garden |
No trace of my true love |
Is there to be found |
So walk these hills lightly, and watch who you’re lovin' |
By mother the mountain |
I swear that it’s true |
Love not a woman with hair black as midnight |
And her dress made of satin |
All shimmering blue |
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Fare Thee Well, Miss Carousel | 2018 |
St. John the Gambler | 2016 |
Don't Take It Too Bad | 2006 |
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St. John and the Gambler | 2005 |
Honky Tonkin' | 1996 |
Highway Kind | 1996 |
High, Low And In Between | 1996 |
Blue Ridge Mountains | 1996 |