Clip vidéo

Apparaît dans

Crédits

INTERPRÉTATION
Celtic Woman
Celtic Woman
Interprète
Daragh O'Toole
Daragh O'Toole
Direction d’orchestre
David Brophy
David Brophy
Direction musicale
Megan Walsh
Megan Walsh
Chant
Chloe Agnew
Chloe Agnew
Chant
Muirgen O’Mahony
Chant
Tara McNeill
Tara McNeill
Violon folklorique
Kieran Leonard
Kieran Leonard
Bodhrán
Caitriona Frost
Caitriona Frost
Percussion
Brian Murphy
Brian Murphy
Guitare
Darragh Murphy
Darragh Murphy
Sifflet
Johnny Boyle
Johnny Boyle
Percussion
COMPOSITION ET PAROLES
Richard Thompson
Richard Thompson
Composition
Daragh O'Toole
Daragh O'Toole
Arrangement
PRODUCTION ET INGÉNIERIE
Daragh O'Toole
Daragh O'Toole
Production
Michael Manning
Michael Manning
Ingénierie
Simon Gibson
Simon Gibson
Ingénierie de mastérisation
Ger McDonnell
Ger McDonnell
Ingénierie de mixage

Paroles

I was nineteen when I came to town They called it the summer of love They were burning pages, burning flags The hawks against the doves I took a job in the steamie Down on Cauldrum Street I fell in love with a laundry girl Who was working next to me Oh she was a rare thing Fine as a Beeswing So fine a breath of wind might blow her away She was a lost child Oh she was running wild She said: As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay And you wouldn't want me any other way Brown hair zig-zag around her face, a look of half-surprise Like a fox caught in the headlights, there was animal in her eyes She said, young man, oh can't you see I'm not the factory kind If you don't take me out of here I'll surely lose my mind Oh she was a rare thing Fine as a Beeswing So fine a breath of wind might blow her away She was a lost child Oh she was running wild She said: As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay And you wouldn't want me any other way We busked around the market towns And picked fruit down in Kent We could tinker lamps and pots and knives wherever we went And I said that we might settle down, get a few acres dug Fire burning in the hearth and babies on the rug She said: Oh man, you foolish man, it surely sounds like hell You might be Lord of half the world, you'll not own me as well Oh she was a rare thing Fine as a Beeswing So fine a breath of wind might blow her away She was a lost child Oh she was running wild She said: As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay And you wouldn't want me any other way We were camping down the Gower one time, the work was pretty good She thought we shouldn't wait for the frost and I thought maybe we should We were fighting more in those days and tempers reached a pitch And like a fool I let her run with the rambling itch Oh she was a rare thing Fine as a Beeswing So fine a breath of wind might blow her away She was a lost child Oh she was running wild She said: As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay And you wouldn't want me any other way She said: As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay And you wouldn't want me any other way
Writer(s): Richard Thompson Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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