The Ghost Of A Tree Lyrics - The Glass Trunk - Richard Dawson

Riding through Yorkshire, 

we come upon the ghost of a tree at Buttertubs Pass 

Golden and green, flapping its leaves, 

Though it is winter and there is no breeze. 

Seven little sparrows pale as soldiers 

Hopping in amongst the curling boughs 

Then comes a shout from one of our party 

Old Albert Bousefield's fallen down a hole 

Hope upon hope, fastened to a rope 

Not able to ascertain how deep it goes. 

"Albert can you hear me? Make a sound! 

If you can't make a sound then clap two stones" 

Leaving behind our friend in the lime pit 

We hurry on in quiet dread 

Into the fog, smothering the Dales 

The raindrops are falling like the bars of a jail 

Buried in the arsehole of the world 

A row of burned out huts we made our beds 

Lying awake looking up through the black wooden beams 

I can see the Milky Way 

Comes there a scream out of the sky 

A great ball of fire goes hurtling by 

Everyone's awake now. What the hell 

is happening today? It's all so queer 

Rising at dawn to find Thomas Knox 

has not from his sleep been summoned forth 

Face like a mask, fixed in a gasp, 

We wrap him in blankets and we cover him with grass 

Onward with our journey through Tow Law 

Over Headley Hill, past Hanging Stone 

Called on an inn to fill our bellies 

With dark bloody meat and sour black beer 

There we were warned never to stray 

Far from the road through Kayo Bog 

Several of the children from the village 

Disappeared last month without a trace 

Three hours later we go in single 

file through a maze of moaning soil 

Reeking of dung, droning of flies 

The moss on the trees glows as we pass by 

There is something awful alive in this place 

We are most relieved to leave behind 

The moon is a peach in the brown fields of Kibblesworth 

It won't be long 'til we get home 

Cramp in our guts, bile in our throats 

Mischief undulating through our bones 

Suddenly the city lights around us 

Disappearing up into the clouds 

Seven little sparrows pale as soldiers 

Hopping in amongst the curling boughs