Song for six strings vol. II - Weather The Storm

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Song for six strings vol. II


Red and Gold
By Cropredy in Oxfordshire the Cherwell takes its course
And willows weep into the waters clear
My name it is Will Timms and it is here that I was born
And raised in faith my King and God to fear.

In 1644 the King in Oxford town did dwell
Though we'd heard that Cromwell's army was nearby
It did not occur to me that little Cropredy
Could be witness to a meeting of both sides.

Now on June the 24th that year I was about my work
I was cutting hedges someway from the stream
When my blade slipped, I cut my hand and my own dear blood did flow
Upon the brown earth and the corn still green.

Now it did distress me so to watch my own blood flow
And quickly soak into the greedy ground
In red and gold my colours swam and the sweat broke on my brow
And faint I knew that I must lay me down.

Now at first I thought the thundering was just inside my head
And I raised myself above the hedge to see
And watched as in a dream as two armies fought downstream
The battle for the bridge at Cropredy.

Now the Kings men they wore red and gold
Though Cromwell’s men were plainer
The blood they spilled was coloured just the same
From the hedgerow’s fragile cover I saw brother killing brother
And all this was done in Jesus’ name.

Red and gold are royal colours,
Peasant colours are green and brown
Green is the corn in the brown earth when it's growing
Red and gold when the harvest is cut down.

Now all that day and all the next the battle it was raging
Though when darkness came, I slipped away
But the crying of the dying kept me wakeful and just lying
In my bed until the dawning of the day.

And the dreams that I had were red and gold
And the little stream became a flood
From all of my brothers killing one another
Waking I did realise it was all my own dear blood.

Some were buried in our church and some right where they fell
With no marks to declare their place of rest
But the poppies they did grow where they were never sown
And to my mind they do declare it best.

And each year when the green corn once again turns into gold
And the poppies in the field they do remind me
Like this scar upon my hand and the blood spilt on this land
And the hungry earth so eager to confine me.

For red and gold they are the colours
One is blood and one is power
Though I may one day rest by Cropredy church
In golden fields forever blooms the poppy flower.

By Cropredy in Oxfordshire the Cherwell is still flowing
And the willows by its side still gently weep
But still in restless dreams by this most peaceful stream
The poppies do disturb my rightful sleep.

And the dreams that I have are red and gold
And the little stream becomes a flood
From all my of brothers killing one another
Till waking I realise it's all my own dear blood
And in golden fields forever blooms the poppy flower

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