The Lyrics - Ye Olde Silent Inn - Part 2

The Old Clock on the Stairs

Based on a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Arranged/altered/adapted by Beck Siàn.

Acoustic guitar and vocals by Beck Siàn.

Special guest musicians 'Whalebone' (Guitar by Char Watson, guitar by Steve Downs and fiddle by Sarah Ibberson).

 

Somewhat back from the village street

Stands the old-fashioned country seat.

Across its antique portico

Tall poplar trees their shadows throw;

And from its station in the hall

An ancient timepiece says it all - 

"Forever - never!

Never - forever!"

 

Half-way up the stairs it stands,

And points and beckons with its hands

From its case of massive oak,

Like a monk, who, under his cloak,

Crosses himself, and sighs, alas!

With sorrowful voice to all who pass, -

"Forever - never!

Never - forever!"

 

By day its voice is low and light;

But in the silent dead of night,

Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,

It echoes along the vacant hall,

Along the ceiling, along the floor,

And seems to say at each chamber - door, -

"Forever - never!

Never - forever!"

 

In that mansion used to be

Free-hearted hospitality;

His great fires up the chimney roared;

The stranger feasted at his board,

But, like the skeleton at the feast,

That warning timepiece never ceased, -

"Forever - never!

Never - forever!"

 

From that chamber, clothed in white,

The bride came forth on her wedding night;

There, in that silent room below,

The dead lay in his shroud of snow;

And in the hush that followed the prayer,

Was heard the old clock on the stair, -

"Forever - never!

Never - forever!"

 

All are scattered now and fled,

Some are married, some are dead;

And when I ask, with throbs of pain,

"Ah! When shall they all meet again?"

As in the days long since gone by,

The ancient timepiece makes reply, -

"Forever - never!

Never - Forever!"

© Beck Siàn/Haunted Forest Productions 2012


Her Soul to a Highwayman

Music by Chris Gill

Lyrics and vocals by Beck Siàn.

 

He emerged from the dark trees

Paused in the moonlit clearing

Her feet moved forward

Magnetic pull

An old soul, she thought

An old soul

She had to touch him

Mesmerised by his eyes

Then only a breath between them

Those dark, dark eyes

Her sighs, her sighs

His head to the left

His teeth to her neck

Nipples tingling and hardening 

Mmmmmmmmmm

A string, rough hand

On her lower back

Another in her hair

Fingers through her hair

Then lips bruising lips

Mouths open, tongues colliding

Sighs from hips to fingertips

And she was crushed

Against his chest

His scent was wild:

Trodden leaves and earth and rain

And at his nape

Her fingers found leather

And tugged and pulled

A long black cascade tumbled around

Moonlit faces

All amongst the heather

All amongst the heather

© Beck Siàn/Haunted Forest Productions 2012

 

Top Withens

Acoustic guitar, music and vocals by Beck Siàn.

© Beck Siàn/Haunted Forest Productions 2012

 

Tales of a Wayside Inn

Words from a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Arranged/altered/adapted by Beck Siàn.

Music, acoustic guitar and vocals by Beck Siàn.

 

The windows of the wayside inn

Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves

With crimson curtains rent and thin

And woodbine hanging from the eaves.

 

A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall

Now somewhat fallen to decay

With weather-stains upon the wall

And old scents which won't fade away.

 

A region of repose it seems

And stairways worn, and crazy doors,

A place of slumber and of dreams

Of creaking and uneven floors.

 

The fire-light shedding over all

It crowns the sombre clock with flame

It gleams on wainscot and on wall

And flashes on the window-pane.

 

Before the blazing fire of wood

A bowing phantom musician stood

And ever and anon he bent

His head upon his instrument.

 

The shadows on the wainscot stirred

And from the harpsichord there came

Slipping forth through time was heard

A ghostly murmur of acclaim.

© Beck Siàn/Haunted Forest Productions 2012

 

The Mirror in the Deserted Hall

Music by Chris Gill

Lyrics and vocals by Beck Siàn.

 

A flicker in the mirror

Over the shoulder

A glimpse of white

Mist in flight

A glimmer of face

Gliding by, out of place

A displaced sigh

Shuffling by

A creak of boards

A scratch of mice

A groan of doors

And those watching unseen eyes...

Can I share this house with you?

Can we co-exist?

Me with haunted face by day

And you lost in the mist...

© Beck Siàn/Haunted Forest Productions 2012

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