Beeswing Lyrics - Richard Thompson

I was nineteen when I came to town, they called it the Summer of Love 

They were burning babies, burning flags. The hawks against the doves 

I took a job in the steamie down on Cauldrum Street 

And I fell in love with a laundry girl who was working next to me 

Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing 

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 and 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" 

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Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing 

So fine that I might crush her where she lay 

She was a lost child, 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 

And 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 bee's wing 

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" 

Photos 

We was 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 was drinking more in those days and tempers reached a pitch 

And like a fool I let her run with the rambling itch 

Oh the last I heard she's sleeping rough back on the Derby beat 

White Horse in her hip pocket and a wolfhound at her feet 

And they say she even married once, a man named Romany Brown 

But even a gypsy caravan was too much settling down 

And they say her flower is faded now, hard weather and hard booze 

But maybe that's just the price you pay for the chains you refuse 

Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing 

And I miss her more than ever words could say 

If I could just taste all of her wildness now 

If I could hold her in my arms today 

Well I wouldn't want her any other way