Be Glad For the Song Has No Ending lyricsCome With Meby Robin WilliamsonI have a ship both sleek and fineI point her bows wherever I willThe seven seas they all are mineI call the windsI call the winds her sails to fillIf you will flee away with meAnd bid farewell to the land you knowI'll show you marvels presentlyAnd wondersAnd wonders that the earth does showThe shouting mountains- 0 speak on sirThe diamond valleysThe caves where sleep the stars by dayEve's clouded bowerAdam's gardenThe secret land that love does seeo come with meI will come with theeThe gentle spring rains will lave your face- 0 sweet watersThe winds will bear your trainThe morning birds will sing your songThe earth will call your nameThe stars will be your canopyThe sun your candle flameThe greeny~gold wheat your incense sweetMy heart your windowpaneO come with meI will come with thee

All Writ Downby Mike HeronI fully understoodThat you'd leave when your ship come byAnd l fully understoodYou had a purpose more highThan to give a little schoolboyTo give a little schoolboy his first loveBut oh did I cryAnd did I cryFor I thought that those daysWould just fade and dieBut every cell in my body has it all writ downEvery smile and every frownAnd oh those good-time girlsOh those good-time girlsThat book ft sometimes makes me gladThat book ft sometimes makes me sadBut oh - it don't read badI cursed you to your faceWhen you turned to goBut I see now that you did just rightAnd I bow to you lowFor you gave a little schoolboyYou gave a little schoolboy his first love...


Veshengroby Robin WilliamsonMoon of the berries is waning to clayBavol the wind leap on the whale's waySing for Veshengro, oak ash and mayI will not flash the day glance on the strongking's shieldNor yet the moon glance on the frightened manBring her sweet peace ere she rests on thebreast of GodWith the nutrnegs and oak-apples of her rosaryThat counts the praying sandWho cradles earth and water in the hollow of her handI was a wasp on a nettled hillTen thousand brothers in a nest of fungus paperAnd every sopping apple held its cider sweet for my thin tongueI was a swineherd at the court of FionnI wore the coat of patches with Jalal beneath the starsSang at the black court of AinI baked sweet pastries for the Quenn of SpainI hid my alchemy beneath the stone of liesBurned at the post my boiling brainMade craters of my eyesThe mystery of history it is not revealedWe hear not clear but only with hope and fearAnd the pomp of crime, and the pride of the timeI was a monk repelled by a woman's smellI sailed in Darwin's ship, a mouse that gnawed the grainTrapped by the cook on one dark dayI have spoken with the Thames in much sweeter timesAnd with the Medway where she rolls her wavesThe snake-weed is hissing the wind of the mornThe mountains are mouthing where Albion is bornThe light rays are gathering where Horus is shownSing for Veshengro. oak ash and thorn.


Waiting For Youby Robin WilliamsonI've been wearing faces in the strangest placesJust to make a dream come trueThe dawn is sweet but it's incomplete and l'm waiting for youThe breeze is blowing and my hair is growingForgotten everything my mother knewThe day is young and spring is sprung and I'm waiting for youMust you bring that horse in here Miss Jones(although your snowshoes do look terrific)Yes they all come from out of the sky you knowI'm waiting for the dove that never came homeI'm waiting for the painter when his colours were goneIÕm waiting for the soldiers at the war, IÕm waiting for a royal decisionI'm waiting for the sun to snoreI'm waiting for a rumble from Jericho, waiting for the world to beginI'm a bareback rider, I'm an outsider and love to dance the boogalooI'm a turnip head, I'm a lately wed and I'm waiting for youMore tea vicar? (Hold that tiger)Yes, the hydrangeas do look divine this time of the yearI'm wailing for the angels to put on their smilesIÕm waiting for the judges to come to trialIÕm waiting for the aeroplane, IÕm waiting for the graves to openI'm waiting to be sold in chainsI'm waiting for a signal from the trapdoor queenWaiting for the world to beginI'm a snake charmer, I'm a guava farmerI'm a goose to me don't ever say booLet the universe roll, I'm a simple soul and I'm waiting for youOh it sounds so sweet when you play it me like that..(that tiger really doesnÕt want to be held)IÕm waiting for the signs to point a different wayIÕm waiting for God to take a holidayI'm waiting for night in the mineI'm waiting for the hills to grow steeperI'm waiting for the man they call ShineI'm waiting for Willie the Weeper to wake,waiting for the world to beginI'm off to market with an old straw basket singing dodeodeodoGreen cloth to wear in the spring, in the April breezes how it will blowI'm going to introduce to you now thepersonalities who compose the Jim Spiggatt Occult Quart.Over there on my left we have Miss Cynthia de Monfort-Jones on her silvery tonedmandoline, and just a little further over the left we have that famed Oriental bass playerMiss Fenola Bumgarner (first time in captivity folks!)On the pounding batterie and coterie wehave that well known bricklayer's labourer from Pilton,Mr Jack McMarker- and perhaps we just have time to devastate your synaesthesiawith one more searing chorus from Black Jack Davy on the steam organ. That's all.