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Description
This is a "folk metal" version of the Scottish border ballad "Twa Corbies". The lyrics are traditional, based on those found in Sir Walter Scott's collection Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, and the music is largely based on a traditional Breton tune called "An Alarc'h" ("The Swan"); these are the same sources that inspired versions by Steeleye Span and Boiled in Lead among others. The short bridge-like riff that occurs after a few of the verses is my own composition. The style is ... eh, sort of "latter-day Sabbath". ;)
This version is yet-another-mix trying to improve on earlier versions (v1 & v2), trying to get things a little clearer than in previous versions. But I know almost nothing about the art of mixing though, so your mileage may vary! ;)
This version is yet-another-mix trying to improve on earlier versions (v1 & v2), trying to get things a little clearer than in previous versions. But I know almost nothing about the art of mixing though, so your mileage may vary! ;)
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Lyrics
As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
And t'ane untae the t'other say-o,
Where sall we gang and dine to-day-o?
Where sall we gang and dine to-day?
In behind yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there-o
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair-o,
His hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate-o,
So we may mak our dinner sweet-o,
We may mak our dinner sweet.
O you sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue een.
Wi' many lock o his golden hair-o
We'll theak our nest when it grows bare-o,
Theak our nest when it grows bare.
O many a one for him makes mane,
But nane shall ken where he is gane.
Oer his white banes, when they are bare-o
The wind shall blow for evermair-o,
The wind shall blow for evermair.
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
And t'ane untae the t'other say-o,
Where sall we gang and dine to-day-o?
Where sall we gang and dine to-day?
In behind yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there-o
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair-o,
His hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate-o,
So we may mak our dinner sweet-o,
We may mak our dinner sweet.
O you sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue een.
Wi' many lock o his golden hair-o
We'll theak our nest when it grows bare-o,
Theak our nest when it grows bare.
O many a one for him makes mane,
But nane shall ken where he is gane.
Oer his white banes, when they are bare-o
The wind shall blow for evermair-o,
The wind shall blow for evermair.
great guitar sound, i like it very much!