Lyrics
It's over', that's all I read in the letter
Cancel all the betting and sentiment
No gleam on the teeth, no star in the eye, no hand in mine
The gala parade I'm afraid was all a charade this time
In the folded over envelope
Over land and a-wayward to me
These tired hands that want for work
Lie idle inside the cold bedclothes
No corn in the rig and no sunny sky, no bairns in the lane
The atmosphere I was fearing is rearing up again
In the folded over envelope
Over land and a-wayward to me
Written by: Christopher Rollen
