1. |
|
|||
2. |
Hills Of Slain
04:49
|
|
||
|
Breakdown the constant city ring
I am Boundel – I am everything
Tear down the walls and let ‘em in
We took the last punch on the chin
Days are calling
Nights are drawing in
And we are falling down like soldiers in the dark parade
The lights are blinding
The colours draw us in
And we are floating down like leaves in the falling rain
On nimbus hill I walk
Amongst the Norse and the silent men
And through the gutter trench I crawl
Aghast at standards blazing red
Oh, I will holler.
Oh, I will sympathise
A million answers crawl into our lives
Upon the hills are slain
A gunshot sounds, the sky begins to grey
A hunter’s sky in silhouette
Against a tide of fallen men
Days are calling
Nights are drawing in
And we are falling down like soldiers in the dark parade
The lights are blinding
The colours draw us in
And we are floating down like leaves in the falling rain
|
||||
3. |
|
|||
|
Brighton
|
||||
4. |
Loki Had Been Drinking
06:19
|
|
||
|
Coalwood/Welbourn
|
||||
5. |
Ran-Tan-Tan
02:39
|
|
||
|
Coalwood
|
||||
6. |
Lights Over Tothill Wood
03:57
|
|
||
|
Lead me to Tothill - where the five paths meet.
Where a whisper of solemn marshmen gather in evening blaze.
Sparks will fly, and sacred vessels will overflow.
In recognition of the foregone child.
There are lights over Tothill Wood.
A jumble of silhouettes and shadows merge.
Nocturnal celebrations of the orgiastic, flowering oak.
Where a poacher's smile can evoke a baleful slumber.
Beware the Ides of June!
The luckless bride and her forlorn husband stumble over bracken torn.
On moot hill above terrestrial Eau; observe.
A beguiled, prosaic ceremony of waifs, strays and tortured souls.
Tonight there were strangers in Tothill Wood.
Their myriad of lanterns cast shadows into dark recess.
But now awaken; the agitated trees flex in morning light.
For the marshmen of the parish have returned to their fold.
|
||||
7. |
|
|||
|
Coalwood
|
||||
8. |
Up On Julian Bower
03:47
|
|
||
|
Coalwood/Welbourn
|
||||
9. |
|
|||
|
A Scrapbook on a future day
Lies open on a sandy beach
Pages bleached by raging tide
Tell tales on those that choose to hide
Haunted trees in brilliant light
Reflect in silent rivers clear
Rage against the undertow
Lost again in the reeds below
A weary traveller now am I
A shining guest of long lost lands
We will raise our glasses high
And fire dance in fading light
|
||||
10. |
Midnight Mask
03:28
|
|
||
|
A scrapbook on a future day
Lies open on a sandy beach
Pages bleached by raging tide
Tell tales on those that choose to hide
Hey, Hey,
Below the ridge
Hey you,
With the Foxhole Glance
Beneath a sky of shooting stars
Behind the midnight mask
Haunted trees in brilliant light
Reflect in silent rivers clear
Rage against the undertow
Lost again in the reeds below
Hey, Hey,
Below the ridge
Hey you,
With the foxhole glance
Beneath a sky of shooting stars
Behind the midnight mask
Hey, Hey,
On silent nights
Hey you,
Our fortunes change
Beneath a sky of shooting stars
Behind the midnight mask
A weary traveller now am I
A shining guest of long lost lands
We will raise our glasses high
And fire dance in fading light
Hey, Hey,
Below the ridge
Hey you,
With the foxhole glance
Beneath a sky of shooting stars
Behind the midnight mask
Hey, Hey,
On silent nights
Hey you,
Our fortunes change
Beneath a sky of shooting stars
Behind the midnight mask.
|
||||
11. |
Sheep Fair
02:41
|
|
||
12. |
|
|||
|
I said I went to Dry Doddington to try to sell a pig
To sell a pig!
A Smelly pig!
I said I went to Dry Doddington to try to sell a pig
But I couldn't find a man who would buy one
I said I went to Dry Doddington to try to dump a fridge
To dump a fridge!
A Smelly fridge!
I said I went to Dry Doddington to try to dump a fridge
But I left it in a Lane near Marston
Four pence, three pence, two pence, one
I can't sell a pig to anyone
Four pence, three pence, two pence, one
I can't sell a pig to anyone
I said I went to Dry Doddington to try to sell a pig
To sell a pig!
A Smelly pig!
I said I went to Dry Doddington to try to sell a pig
But I couldn't find a man who would buy one
|
||||
13. |
Where The Two Paths Meet
02:50
|
|
||
|
Mayday! Mayday!
There is a cuckoo in the nest!
A bird on a Wing, an envoy from Tir na nOg?
Rude, evening sunlight illuminates the red-land
And a rutted path cast a spiral shadow that I will follow
There is morning chatter amongst the trees
From Robin-a-tip-toe to Borough Hill
Stare through the steely Eye Brook Gap To fish-stews and beyond
A natural theatre on a priestly hill
Provides a platform of convenience
Where ancient red-land games reveal the names
Of those now cast adrift in a chaotic Welland babble
A forlorn mother without a church
Casts out a goggle-eye over a graze of northern fields
The garlands and the reeds ignite inadvertent Heathen memories
Of a springtime drone that echoes the cuckoo's call
In a land where the two paths meet
|
||||
14. |
|
|||
15. |
|
|||
16. |
|
|||
17. |
Sodden Dogs
04:47
|
|
||
|
“Better late than never comrade,” the mighty stumble, into view.
In silted ditches filled with trauma - I am calling you.
The marksman’s cry, a stella dance, projected on a winter’s sky.
I am running into sunlight, from a room without a view.
From Hubbard’s Hills to Donna Nook,
through wire-grass in sand dunes high.
The fickle and the hunted call – the knot becomes untied.
A constant drone – an ancient tongue?
The scabbard falls into the breach.
A relic found on cirrus ridge reflects against my eye.
Beside, a brittle campfire burning, sparks ignite the paper sky.
It is here that I retold the stories, of my other life.
Of sodden dogs and blind, winged-horses and other tales that I recall.
I sit and watch their silent faces, afraid that I will fall.
Of sodden dogs - and blind, winged-horses. And other tales that I recall. Sodden dogs - and blind, winged-horses. I will remember you.
|
||||
18. |
I Dream Of Shony
03:25
|
|
||
19. |
Fen
01:37
|
|
||
|
Down the long road feeling hungry and cold
In freezing rain I breathe again
Out through the sheets of ice and snow
Into a land where no one would ever choose to go.
I’m out in the marsh with the open sky
The hooded men they pass me by
A Trinity bridge in a market square
The river it spans is no longer there.
The towering walls where the black crows fly
The shifting soil blows the flat lands dry
A future time not too far away
Just barren lands of lifeless clay.
I’m out in the Fen with a dancing bear
A mid-winter scene in a market square
A forgotten town of strength and strife
The burnings here bring forth new life.
|
||||
20. |
Riding The Stang
05:08
|
|
||
21. |
|
|||
22. |
The Sandbagger
02:16
|
|
||
|
Tinker
Jester
Joker
Straw Man
Meddler
Charlatan
Swindler
Mischief Maker
Trickster
Prankster
Beguiler
Holy Fool
Joker
Sandbagger
Mischief maker
Pied Piper
Tinker
Jester
Joker
Straw Man
Meddler
Charlatan
Swindler
Mischief maker
|
||||
23. |
|
|||
24. |
Ghosts At Moggs Eye
02:26
|
|
||
|
Engrossed in the death-throes of a savage, winter's day.
A fine dusting of snow covers petrified sand at Moggs Eye.
And a lone fisherman casts blindly, deep into Doggerland.
The sodden peat beneath his feet: concealing memories of a land now lost.
On the beach a bonfire burns.
Floating embers litter the brittle sky.
A gentle breeze disturbs the ash creating a timeless, primeval setting.
The dark flakes fall, silent on a frosted strand.
Delicate cinders: quick to be quenched by racing tide.
What's that I hear? A labouring engine drones overhead.
Phantom lights ignite low, foreboding clouds.
Are these the echoes of flying boats or animal gods?
As smoke drifts across the dunes, a tangled kite flutters against a choked sand-fence.
Believe me. There are ghosts at Moggs Eye.
|
||||
25. |
Stenigot Whispers
01:19
|
|
||
26. |
Roadside Mound
04:06
|
|
||
27. |
John Dee: King Of Crows
03:59
|
|
||
|
John Dee is king of crows
A shaman in his parson’s clothes
Like a man possessed of the ancient hell
John Dee is king of crows
John Dee is king of crows
Arrives with gifts of cross and rose
As he walks the streets of Leadenham
He is your magic man
John Dee is king of crows
A druid of the Templar stone
Buried beneath the heath and sand
He is our magic man.
John Dee is king of crows
Elizabethan lord who knows
Who St. Swithun lost to Baphomet
John Dee is king of crows
John Dee is king of crows
His sign is carved in stone and snow
Above the heath of Leadenham
He is our magic man
John Dee is king of crows John Dee is king of crows
John Dee is king of crows John Dee is king of crows
John Dee is king of crows John Dee is king of crows
|
||||
28. |
|
|||
29. |
|
|||
30. |
The Drift
06:31
|
|
||
|
Mr. Hugo walks at dawn,
Along ‘The Drift’, on through the wind and rain.
His vision of a city, that ancient maps reveal,
I can’t recall its name.
A quest to seek upon this green lane,
Reveals to me, a long lost magic spell.
Beware the long nights, and the coldness of the morn,
Adrift, in exile friend. Adrift in exile I fear.
Chorus.
I camp beside a silent bunker, I’m drowning in a silted, spirit-ditch.
Through the woods, and beneath the trees.
An ancient laid to rest under silent, falling leaves.
When I move and shift, all along The Drift.
Na’er cast-a-clout on this spring day,
A broken path of, rutted, bitter thorns,
My waking dream - exposed in brittle light, A stoic test I fear.
Drop down into bunkers,
Where ghosts of airmen plan and plot,
And the echoes of generals still conspire, An ancient laid to rest in ’The Tent’ nearby, Provides a more ancient reminder,
A testimony of how the might fall.
Mr. Hugo walks alone,
Was ‘The Drift’ a mirage or a game?
His vision of a city, that mind-maps will reveal,
A trick of light my friend. A trick of light I fear?
|
||||
Duir! Nottingham, UK
DUIR! is a musical collective based in the East Midlands, UK that utilise spoken word, music and song to bring alive the
folk memories of Lincolnshire and its environs. Their inspiration stems from myths, legends, folk-tales and topographic features of this rural country.
DUIR! comprise of, Simon Brighton, Stephen Coalwood and Terry Welbourn.
DUIR! photo by Andy Weekes
... more
Duir! recommends:
The Land and the Garden
by Vic Mars
This album is like looking through a window at an English summer landscape. Beautiful from start to finish.
go to album
Stunning album recorded live that takes you to another place in the universe.
go to album
Fierce and wild. German folk as authentic as you like!
go to albumIf you like Duir!, you may also like:
NO-FI ALIVE!
by Urthona Power Trio Quartet
supported by 6 fans who also own “Sodden Dogs And Blind, Winged Horses”
Glorious noise with plenty of tasty classic psyche riffs. A real journey and especially satisfying to blast on a clear sunny day
go to album
Urthona: Destruction Rules
by Urthona
supported by 5 fans who also own “Sodden Dogs And Blind, Winged Horses”
Because the mad genius Julian Cope is in here somewhere.
go to album
Enough as it Was
by Amos the Kid
Terrifically edgy guitar rock defines the latest from Amos the Kid, funneling country influence through a gritty indie aesthetic.
go to album
