I was 18 when I came to town they called the summer of love
They were burning babies, burning flags, the hawks against the doves
I took a job at a steamy, way down on Caltrim Street
And I fell in love with a laundry girl who was working next to me
She was a rare thing fine as a beeswing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
A lost child, she was running wild
She said as long as theres no price on love I’ll stay
You wouldn’t want me any other way
Brown hair zig zagged around her face and a look of half surprise
Like a fox caught in the headlights, there was animal in her eyes
She said to me Oh can’t you see I’m not the factory kind
And if you don’t take me out of here, I’ll surely lose my mind
She was a rare thing fine as a beeswing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
A lost child, she was running wild
She said as long as theres no price on love I’ll stay
You wouldn’t want me any other way
We busked around the market towns fruit picking down in Kent
We could tinker pots and pans or knives wherever we went
We were camping down the Gower one time, work was pretty good
She wouldn’t stay for the harvest, I thought we should
I said that we should settle down, get a few acres dug
Fire burning in the hearth and babies on the rug
She said oh man, you foolish man that surely sounds like hell
You might be lord of half the world you’ll not own me as well
She was a rare thing fine as a beeswing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
A lost child, she was running wild
She said as long as theres no price on love I’ll stay
You wouldn’t want me any other way
We were drinking more in those days, tempers reached a pitch
Like a fool I let her run away when she got the rambling itch
The last I heard she was sleeping rough, back on the Derby beat
A bottle of white horse in her pocket, a wolfhound at her feet
They say she even married once to a man named Romanie Brown
Even a gypsy caravan was too much settling down
They say her rose has faded, hard weather and hard booze
Well maybe thats the price you pay for the chains that you refuse
She was a rare thing fine as a bees wing
And I miss her more than ever words could say
If I could just taste, all that wildness now
If I could hold her in my arms today
I wouldn’t want her any other way
From Cork, Ireland, Lewis Barfoot writes mystic, majestic songs derived from regional folk, with an ambient music aura. Bandcamp New & Notable Dec 11, 2023
