Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Beeswing, artist - The Futureheads. Album song Rant, in the genre Иностранный рок
Date of issue: 01.04.2012
Record label: Nul
Song language: English
Beeswing |
I came to town and they called it the summer |
I came to town and they called it the summer |
I was nineteen when I came to town |
And they called it the summer of love |
They were burning babies, burning flags |
There were hawks against the doves |
I got a job in the steamie down on Cauldrum Street |
Fell in love with a laundry girl |
Who was working next to me |
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee’s wing |
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away |
She was a lost child, oh she was a running wild |
She said, «As long as there’s no price on love |
As long as there’s no price on love |
As long as there’s no price on love, I’ll stay |
Wouldn’t want me any other way» |
I came to town and they called it the summer |
I came to town and they called it the summer |
Brown hair zig-zag around her face |
And a look of half surprise |
Like a fox caught in the headlights |
There was animal in her eyes |
She said, «Young man, can’t you see |
I’m not the factory kind |
If you don’t take me out of here |
I’ll surely lose my mind» |
We busked around the market towns |
And picked fruit down in Kent |
We could tinker lamps and pots |
And knives wherever we went |
And I said that we might settle down |
Get a few acres dug |
Fire burning in the hearth and babies on the rug |
She said «Oh man, you foolish man |
It surely sounds like hell |
You may be Lord of half the world |
But you’ll not own me as well» |
We was camping down the Gower one time |
And the work was pretty good |
She thought we shouldn’t wait for the drost |
And I thought maybe we should |
We was drinking more in those days |
And tempers reached a pitch |
Like a fool I let her run |
With the rambling itch |
On the last I heard she’s sleeping rough |
Back on the Derby beat |
White Horse in her hip pocket |
And a wolfhound at her feet |
And they even say she married once |
A man named Romany Brown |
But even a gypsy caravan |
Was too much settling down |
And they say her flower is faded now |
Hard weather and hard booze |
But maybe that’s the price |
You pay for the chains you refuse |