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Like Ducks On A Pond Floating
Well, here's the second ISB page. I think we knew from
the start that this would occur, after all there is so much to see and read, and if you put too much on a page it takes forever
to load, and many potential viewers lose interest and move on, so.....Here we are. More pictures, more snippets from the Incredible
String Band Compendium and most definitely some more lyrics from the pens of Robin Williamson and Mike Heron and all the others
that have made up the Incredible String Band throughout their long and colourful history
A long and merry road it has been, dancing, singing, laughing, finding,
as we have stated before oddities in remote corners of the internet, accompanied by so much music from many different
styles and sources, this we do, and the sacred spirit willing, this we will continue to do for the forseeable future. Stay
with us and carry on the glad dance, carry on the joyful singing....
Bright Blessings.
The Mad Hatter's song
Robin Williamson
Oh seekers of spring how could you not find contentment
In a time of riddling reasons in this land of the blind
By the joke of fate alone
it's sure that as the loved hand leaves you,
You clutch for the slip-stream, the realness
to find.
But do what you like, do what you like, do what you like,
do what you like, do what you like, do what you
can,
do what you can, live till you die
My poor little man.
For Jesus will stretch out his hand no more.
But
in the south there's many a waving tree;
Oh would that musky fingers move your pain;
In the warm south winds the lost
flowers bloom again.
And if you cried, you know you'd fill a lake with tears,
Still wouldn't turn back the years,
Since
the city has took you,
Mad Hatter is on my mind.
So sad, sad to see the way it grew
Those other people that I
knew
That have either fell or faltered.
Mad Hatter is on my mind.
And you must have to see clear some time.
Prometheus
the problem child,
still juggling with his brains
Gives his limping leopard's visions
to the miser in his veins.
Within
the ruined factory is the normal soul insane
As he sets the sky beneath his heel
And learns away the pain.
But
I am the archer the lover of laughter,
And mine is the arrowed flight.
I am the archer, and my eyes yearn after
the unsullied sight.
Born of the dark waters of the daughters of night,
Dancing without movement after the clear light.
Oh
Perithian fate be kind in the rumbling and trundling rickshaw of time.
Hooked by the heart to the king fisher's line,
I
will set my one eye for the shores of the blind.
The Minotaur's song
By Robin Williamson
Straight
from the shoulder
I think like a soldier
I know what's right and what's wrong
He knows what's right and what's wrong.
I'm
the original discriminating buffalo man
And I'll do what's wrong as long as I can
He'll do what's wrong as long as he
can
I live in a labyrinth under the sea
Down in the dark as dark as can be
I like the dark as dark as can
be
He likes the dark as dark as can be
I'll even attack you or eat you whole
Down in the dark my bone mills
roll
Porridge for my porridge bowl
Porridge for his porridge bowl
I'm strong as the earth from which I'm
born
He's strong as the earth from which he's born
I can't dream well because of my horns
He can't dream well because
of his horns
Moo
I'm strong as the earth from which I'm born
He's strong as the earth from which
he's born
I can't dream well because of my horns
He can't dream well because of his horns
A minotaur gets
very sore
His features they are such a bore
His habits are predicta-bull
Aggressively relia-bull, bull, bull
I'm
strong as the earth from which I'm born
He's strong as the earth from which he's born
I can't dream well because of
my horns
He can't dream well because of his horns
I'm the original discriminating buffalo man
And I'll
do what's wrong as long as I can
He'll do what's wrong as long as he can
The Dancing of the Lord of Weir
By Robin Williamson
Robin Williamson: Chanter, bironne, chinese flute, jew's harp, bazooki, gong and vocal.
In the third part of the year
when men begin to gather fuel against
the
coming cold
hear hoover ring hard on frosty ground
begins our song
for centuries we lived alone high on
the moors
herding the deer for milk and cheese for leather
and horn
humans came seldom nigh
for we with our spells
held them at bay
and they with gifts of wine and grain did
honour us
returning at evening from the great mountains
out
red hoods ring with bells lightly we run
until before our own green hill
there we did stand
she is stolen
she
is snatched away
through watery meads straying our lovely
daughter
she of the wild eyes
she of the wild hair
snatched
up to the saddle of the lord of Weir
who has his castle high upon a crag
a league away
upon the horse of air
at once we rode
to where Weir's castle lifts like a crippled claw
into the moon
and taking form of minstrels brightly
clad
we paced upon white ponies to the gate
and rang thereon
"we come to sing unto my lord of Weir
a merry song."
into
his sorry hall we stepped
where was our daughter bound near his chair
"come play a measure!"
"sir at once we will!"
and
we began to sing and play
to lightly dance in rings and faster turn
no man within that hall could keep his seat
but
needs must dance and leap
against his will
this was the way we danced them to the door
and sent them on their
way into the world
where they will leap amain
till they think one kind thought
for all I know they may be dancing
still
while we returned with our own
into our hall
and entering in
made fast
the grassy door.
from Robin Williamson's solo album
Myrrh
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| Robin, Mike, Likky, and Rose |
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| 1998 Sanctuary / Trojan |
165 of them!
January 27 1832 - January 14 1898
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