كلمات Shantell

On the blue-green rising, falling tide Breathing in the pebbles Sighing out the salt breeze Chaff is blowing from the stubble fields Leaving the dried earth land it threads the gate Tunnel hedges Old man's beard Sticking to the wild plums Old man's beard And follows the pot-holed tracks That lead to Shaletown The ox-man's soul forever turns around And ploughs the stubble field Caught in the lonely mile Between the roads to Shaletown He watches the chaff leave his dry brown eye And swing over rose-hip stile To Shaletown Under bronze-red sunset, cobweb clouds Dipping to the shadows Dancing through the dead trees Over carts that struggle up the hills Sticking into the sweat and blistered hands Nailed sacks flap