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Description
An English folk song dating back to medieval times in one form or another ... it's a slightly creepy song about talking to the dead, but is essentially about loss and not knowing when to let go. I've tried to give it a modern setting but stuck firmly on its folky roots.
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Lyrics
Cold blows the wind to my true love
And gently drops the rain
I only had but one true love
In greenwood he lies slain
I'll do as much for my true love
As any young maid may
I'll sit and mourn all on his grave
For twelve months and one day
When twelve months and one day was past
The ghost began to speak
Why sit you here all on my grave
And will not let me sleep?
There's one thing that I want, sweetheart
There's one thing that I crave
And that is a kiss from your lily white lips
Then I'll go from your grave
My lips they are as cold as the clay
My breath smells earthly strong
And if you kiss my cold grey lips
Your days they won't be long
Go fetch me water from the desert
And blood from out of a stone
Go fetch me the milk from a fair maid's breast
A young man never has known
'Twas down in yonder garden
Where you and I would walk
The fairest flower that ever I saw
Is withered to a stalk
The stalk is withered and dry, sweetheart
And the flower will never return
And since I lost my own true love
What can I do but yearn?
When shall we meet again, sweetheart
When shall we meet again?
When the oaken leaves that fall from the trees
Are green and spring up again
Weep not for me my own true love
Mourn not for me, I pray
But make yourself content my love
Till God calls you away
And gently drops the rain
I only had but one true love
In greenwood he lies slain
I'll do as much for my true love
As any young maid may
I'll sit and mourn all on his grave
For twelve months and one day
When twelve months and one day was past
The ghost began to speak
Why sit you here all on my grave
And will not let me sleep?
There's one thing that I want, sweetheart
There's one thing that I crave
And that is a kiss from your lily white lips
Then I'll go from your grave
My lips they are as cold as the clay
My breath smells earthly strong
And if you kiss my cold grey lips
Your days they won't be long
Go fetch me water from the desert
And blood from out of a stone
Go fetch me the milk from a fair maid's breast
A young man never has known
'Twas down in yonder garden
Where you and I would walk
The fairest flower that ever I saw
Is withered to a stalk
The stalk is withered and dry, sweetheart
And the flower will never return
And since I lost my own true love
What can I do but yearn?
When shall we meet again, sweetheart
When shall we meet again?
When the oaken leaves that fall from the trees
Are green and spring up again
Weep not for me my own true love
Mourn not for me, I pray
But make yourself content my love
Till God calls you away
I havn't heard the original, but your version is very good.
You have an excellent voice, and I thought the acoustic
guitar was a very good touch. I wasn't sure about the club
beat at first, but it seemed to fit after a while.
Nicely done!