Tiller's Folly: Music

• MP3 short clip, hi-fi play (broadband)

The Title track of bruce's new solo CD that Nolan and I both love. We are really enjoying playing these songs

This song was extracted from, and founded on an all-too-familiar experience; the widley famed and fearfully dreadedMorayshire Scotch-over.  Those afflicted with this particular malady will attest to it's devastating effects, the cause and cure of which are one in the same. The "her" refferred to in the first chorus is not an actual woman, but a euphamism for uisge beatha, or water of life.

I woke at dawn; nearby, a bell was ringing
Somewhere a bird was singing; I don't know
I could hear, lorries grinding gears
In a roar that echoed from the high street below

And like a drum, my head was beating
A not-so-gentle reminder of the night before
I shook my head, and set the world to turning
With thoughts of daylight burning; places to go

These are the days I wish I'd known better
A repentant sinner in the cold light of dawn
I should have learned, sooner than later
But love her, or hate her, I should leave her alone

I splash my face in water, cold and clear
The day drab and drear, but I don't care
Sharp as a thistle, I hear a kettle's whistle
The smell of breakfast frying, drifts up the stair

These are the thoughts that set me thinking
And these are the words as they came to my mind
I could live the life of a tinker
As a poet and a drinker among people so kind

The nights are long, the hours are filled with laughter
The nights are stronger than whisky-o
Down the lane, somewhere a fiddle's playing
Somewhere the dancers swaying to and fro

Bend my ear with a well-weathered story 
Sing me your songs of the wide-open road
Tell me your tales of long-ancient glory
Of heroes or highwaymen, or battles of old

It's half of four; the drink's got the best of me
Devil take the rest of me in these small hours
It won't be long, till morning comes along
And I'll be up and gone and on my way

I'd spend the days, a minstrel in Moray
If I had my choice, I might be there today
I'd sing the charms, Findhorn to Portknocky
Of the banks of the Lossie or the banks of the Spey