Weaver Lyrics - Richard Dawson

I steep the wool in a cauldron 

Of pummelled gall-nuts afloat in urine 

Ad river-water thrice-boiled with a bloodstone 

Then let it breathe 

Under the beams 

While I prepare the lichen 

Half a fist of wizardbeard and rock-tripe 

Yields a dye enough the whole town to paint 

Lavenders an echo of the beeswing 

Dazzling foxgloves ashake in the salty wind 

It looks like a thundercloud 

Suspended from the gables 

High above the bobbing heads 

Which now and then look up to see what's dripping on them 

So we begin 

Feeding it in 

Combing through the fibres searching gently for a yarn to spin 

My lady takes a nasty tumble 

Down the crumbled steps of the merchants guild 

Precipitating the early onset of labour 

There is a crab 

Caught in her hair 

Stretchering through the market 

Fearful are the bellows to behold 

Even with the spindle firmly clenched between her teeth 

With a snap the baby's head emerges 

Onto these sodden eiderdown bedpages 

Even though the new born child 

Is not my kin 

And still is dangling by a string 

I ken the rising mystery of love 

My very ancient friend