Lyrics

There's a fair-haired laddie goes Through the market begging succour With a pair of greylag wings Etched into a saucer He reminds me of my own boy Lost in Flodden's claw From the bowing legs to the mole Which sits atop his nose Daybreak finds me in my pots Coaxing out the hidden flavour Of the perch I lifted clear From the evening river I mend the collar and the cuffs Of an empty woollen coat In the pocket place a mitten From a piebald ferret sown Half a bar of tallow soap Gains me entry to the courtyard Where accused men ply their trade Or waste away the day Hungrily I scan the faces Only to be found By the tired eyes of an old man Stricken on the ground "Have you seen a fair-haired lad With a mole atop his nose?" "Aye, if I am not mistook The very same went free this morning" How my heart goes leaping Like a hare at cloudburst Upon the revelation To rock he is returning Hold my hand and sit you up Drink a good long draught from my cup Dip a clump of pandemain And wrap this coat around your shoulder Take this jar of pickled herring They'll hear your belly groan And light this faggot when you arise To thaw your icy bones It's not the seven corporal acts Or the fear of purgatory Which behest me to maintain A generous refrain I know that if my boy were in trouble And I were far away I'd wish there was somebody there To help him To sing to this song is ever so hard I wish that I could sing it better Now we've nearly reached the end We can start to listen again