| PJ Harvey – On Battleship Hill Lyrics | 3 years ago |
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it reminds me of this poem by Seamus Heaney (especially when you reach the last line). Nature has no sympathy for the dead no matter how cruel, unjust or barbaric that death iccured. by Seamus Heaney The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley... No kitchens on the run, no striking camp... We moved quick and sudden in our own country. The priest lay behind ditches with the tramp. A people hardly marching... on the hike... We found new tactics happening each day: We'd cut through reins and rider with the pike And stampede cattle into infantry, Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown. Until... on Vinegar Hill... the final conclave. Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon. The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave. They buried us without shroud or coffin And in August... the barley grew up out of our grave. |
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| Richard Thompson – Beeswing Lyrics | 6 years ago |
| @[seamusb:31734] Ah yes the US use of Napalm in Vietnam. | |
| Richard Thompson – Beeswing Lyrics | 6 years ago |
| @[seamusb:31733] | |
| Richard Thompson – Beeswing Lyrics | 6 years ago |
| I have loved this song from the first time I heard it. i wonder could “burning babies” be referring to the legalisation of abortion in Britain in 1967 (The Summer of Love). “White Horse In Her Hip Pocket” . I always assumed that this was referring to a bottle of Vodka or some other alcoholic drink. The Wolfhound to me was simply her dog. She was probably begging and sleeping rough. | |
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