
Date of issue: 14.04.2011
Song language: English
Cornwall |
As the hound obeys the hunters' horn call |
So I’m called back home to Cornwall |
For that’s where my heart lies buried |
'Neath the standing stone |
Where a white cross on a black field standing |
Proudly waves above the landing place |
Beneath the rugged cliffs of Cornwall, my true love |
Broken images of memories awaken in my bones |
When I do recall the land I left behind that was my home |
Sailing out from Falmouth bay way back in nineteen-eighty-three |
Green behind the ears, just fifteen years of age, well that was me |
Like a fool searching for freedom, roving further far and wide |
I set out but I did not return upon the running tide |
Where the timeless cliffs resound with mournful echoes of the cries |
Of fearless seabirds chasing storm clouds though the silver sky |
From the all-night clubs of west Berlin to lonely Pyrenees |
From chaotic squats in Amsterdam to New World 'cross the sea |
From the forests of New Hampshire to the streets of London Town |
Though I loved each place, I could not stay, forever homeward bound |
Where the gorse and foxglove dance and sway upon the rolling moors |
And the sea wind blow her emerald kiss from north to southern shore |
Where a song of stone sings out in-tune to transatlantic waves |
If I could but hear that song again, my soul it would be saved |
When I die as we must do one and all |
Send my body home to Cornwall |
Place my bones down with my heart |
Beneath the standing stone |
Put white cross on black field standing |
On my coffin then I’ll finally rest in peace |
Within the arms of KERNOW, my true love |