Bert Jansch

There lay a dying sailor weeping
So far he'd wandered from the south,
As he lay upon the burning sand
The children gather to watch his passing.

He'd swum the seven seas before him
And danced upon the stormy breakers.
But now dying alone is all that's left for him
And death a shining slowly beckons.

And rolling in last veil of sunshine
Sheds light upon his dying hours.
But still strong in his urgent will to live
For he tries again to reach the water.

And turning away still ring the voices
Of children laughing o'er the murky waters,
And somewhere I hear the silent singing
Calling on the wayward child.

There lay a dying sailor weeping
So far he'd wandered from the south,
As he lay upon the burning sand
The children gather to watch his passing.

He'd swum the seven seas before him
And danced upon the stormy breakers.
But now dying alone is all that's left for him
And death a shining slowly beckons.

And rolling in last veil of sunshine
Sheds light upon his dying hours.
But still strong in his urgent will to live
For he tries again to reach the water.

And turning away still ring the voices
Of children laughing o'er the murky waters,
And somewhere I hear the silent singing
Calling on the wayward child.

I wish I had a photograph
To let you see the way you smile
Upon my foolish heart

The words I do not know enough
I hope that you will find my song
A pleasing to your ear

You step beneath the midnight moon
To gather dewdrops for the sun
A Waiting until morn

Oh if I was a branched tree
I'd be the oak tree fast and strong
To win your gentle heart

And If I was one grain of corn
I'd wait till you did come along
To throw me to the wind

And if I was one silken thread
Embroidered all in cherry red
Upon your breast I'd lie

And if I was the alder tree
I'd burn it fiercely over thee
Our love would surely last

And if I was the hawthorn bush
And you did shelter under me
I would not do you harm

And if I was one glass of wine
One sip from you would give me time
To take you by the hand

And all across the hills we'd go
In search of what no-one does know
Except for you and I

Sitting on the river bank
Watching the water flow
Sitting here thinking and wondering
Which way to go?
How the river sings the sweetest songs
in a million harmonies
But the sun shines brighter on the other side
That's where l want to be

So please mister ferryman
Won't you take me to the other side
Where the songbirds sing for me
Where life is led by the hand of fate
That's how it ought to be

When the evening shadows reach out
At the setting of the sun
Will l still be wishing and a-wondering
When the morning comes?
For l once could swim against the tide
Iike the salmon who swims for home
But I'll be happy now just to hitch a ride
And make it on my own

So please mister ferryman
Won't you take me to the other side
Where the songbirds sing for me
Where life is led by the hand of fate
That's how it ought to be

Well I'll take you says the ferryman
But if l should close my eyes
And fall asleep before we land
You must take these oars and forever more
Be at my command

Oh the January man,
He walks the road in woollen coat
And boots of leather;
The February man still shakes the snow from off his hair
And blows his hands;
Oh the man of March, he sees the spring
And wonders what the year will bring,
And hopes for better weather.

Through April rain the man
Goes down to watch the birds come in
To share the summer;
The man of May stands very still
Watching the children dance away the day;
In June the man inside the man
Is young and wants to lend a hand,
And grins at each new colour.

And in July the man,
In cotton shirt, he sits and thinks
Of being idle;
The August man in thousands takes the road
To watch the sea and find the sun;
September man is standing near
To saddle up and leave the year,
And autumn is his bridle.

And the man of new October
Takes the reins, and early frost
Is on his shoulders;
The poor November man sees fire and rain and snow and mist
And a winter gale;
December man looks through the snow
To let eleven brothers know
They're all a little older.

And the January man
Comes round again in woollen clothes,
And boots of leather,
To take another turn and walk along the icy road
He knows so well;
Oh the January man is here
For starting each and every year
Along the road forever.

Oh the January man,
He walks the road in woollen coat
And boots of leather;
The February man still shakes the snow from off his hair
And blows his hands;
Oh the man of March, he sees the spring
And wonders what the year will bring,
And hopes for better weather.

Through April rain the man
Goes down to watch the birds come in
To share the summer;
The man of May stands very still
Watching the children dance away the day;
In June the man inside the man
Is young and wants to lend a hand,
And grins at each new colour.

And in July the man,
In cotton shirt, he sits and thinks
Of being idle;
The August man in thousands takes the road
To watch the sea and find the sun;
September man is standing near
To saddle up and leave the year,
And autumn is his bridle.

And the man of new October
Takes the reins, and early frost
Is on his shoulders;
The poor November man sees fire and rain and snow and mist
And a winter gale;
December man looks through the snow
To let eleven brothers know
They're all a little older.

And the January man
Comes round again in woollen clothes,
And boots of leather,
To take another turn and walk along the icy road
He knows so well;
Oh the January man is here
For starting each and every year
Along the road forever.