I love this song so much. Probably my favourite from the album. Shame it's not played as much (hardly ever) live in her concerts. I think there's a piano version too from a festival a while ago.
There is a spring, not far from here, The water runs both sweet and clear - both sweet and clear, and cold: could crack your bones with veins of gold. I stood, a-wagging, at the tap; just a-waiting on the lagging, rising sap. I held the cold tin ladle to my lip. At the Shrine of the Thousand Arms, I lowered my eyes to sip. What a beautiful day to catch my drift, or be caught up in it. You want your love, Love? Come and get your love; I only took it back because I thought you didn't. How my ears did ring, at the municipal pound, from that old hangdog to which I was bound: curled 'round the bottom rung - doesn't nobody want you? Well, come on, darlin. I could use someone like you around. I am not like you, I ain't from this place. And I do reserve the right to repeat all my same mistakes. And, in the night, like you, I certainly bite and chew what I can find, and never seem to lose the taste. What a horrible face I feel me make - For Pete's sake, what you have told me, I cannot erase! - (Though I keep on saying, and I do believe, it is not too late). All day, you're hassling me with trifles: black nose of the dog, as cold as a rifle, indicating, with a nudge, God, No God. God, No God. Sweet, appraising eye of the dog, blink once if god, twice if no god. My mama may be ashamed of me, with all of my finery: carrying on, whooping it up till the early morn, lost and lorn, among the madding revelry! Sure, I can pass. Honey, I can pass. Particularly when I start to tip my glass. I'll be a sport, and have a go at that old song, singing unabashed, about 'Them city girls, with their ribbon bows, and their fancy sash...' But, though I get so sad (could swear the night makes a motion to claim me, around that second verse), I reckon I've felt worse, and still held fast. But, later on, when I am alone, alone at last, well I take my god to task. I take my daggone god to task.
I love this song so much. Probably my favourite from the album. Shame it's not played as much (hardly ever) live in her concerts. I think there's a piano version too from a festival a while ago.
There are so many ways one could arrange this epic song. I would love to hear it with an orchestra!
There is a spring, not far from here,
The water runs both sweet and clear -
both sweet and clear, and cold:
could crack your bones
with veins of gold.
I stood, a-wagging, at the tap;
just a-waiting on the lagging, rising sap.
I held the cold tin ladle to my lip.
At the Shrine of the Thousand Arms,
I lowered my eyes to sip.
What a beautiful day to catch my drift,
or be caught up in it.
You want your love, Love?
Come and get your love;
I only took it back
because I thought you didn't.
How my ears did ring,
at the municipal pound,
from that old hangdog
to which I was bound:
curled 'round the bottom rung -
doesn't nobody want you?
Well, come on, darlin.
I could use someone like you around.
I am not like you, I ain't from this place.
And I do reserve the right
to repeat all my same mistakes.
And, in the night, like you,
I certainly bite and chew
what I can find,
and never seem to lose the taste.
What a horrible face I feel me make -
For Pete's sake,
what you have told me, I cannot erase! -
(Though I keep on saying,
and I do believe, it is not too late).
All day, you're hassling me with trifles:
black nose of the dog, as cold as a rifle,
indicating, with a nudge,
God, No God. God, No God.
Sweet, appraising eye of the dog,
blink once if god,
twice if no god.
My mama may be ashamed of me,
with all of my finery:
carrying on,
whooping it up till the early morn,
lost and lorn,
among the madding revelry!
Sure, I can pass.
Honey, I can pass.
Particularly when I start to tip my glass.
I'll be a sport,
and have a go at that old song,
singing unabashed, about
'Them city girls,
with their ribbon bows,
and their fancy sash...'
But, though I get so sad
(could swear the night
makes a motion to claim me,
around that second verse),
I reckon I've felt worse,
and still held fast.
But, later on, when I am alone,
alone at last,
well I take my god to task.
I take my daggone god to task.
Rawr! Welcome back to my place
:O
You mean it?