Verse 1
Up before the sun,
Out on frozen ground,
Farmer’s breath like smoke,
The only living sound.
No time for song
When there’s seed to sow,
But wait for harvest home,
And hear the fiddle go.
Chorus
Bread before ballads,
That’s the way it goes,
First you work the land,
Then the music flows.
Even in the lean years,
Cupboards bare and cold,
Someone found a song
For the young and old.
Verse 2
Watched the shops go quiet,
Tills replaced by screens,
Painters cursed the camera,
Feared the new machines.
Every time it changes,
Someone says it’s wrong,
But the world keeps turning,
And it never stops the song.
Bridge
She stood on the stage,
Said it shouldn’t be,
Then thanked the keys
For the strings I’d see.
I smiled in the dark,
It was plain and clear,
We all borrow something
To say what’s dear.
Verse 3
Seventy years of living,
Writing what I’ve known,
Voice a little shaky,
But the voice is mine alone.
I’ll never feed a city,
Bring a harvest home,
But a song might reach a heart
That thought it walked alone.
Final chorus
Bread before ballads,
I know which comes first,
Fill the empty belly,
Then the deeper thirst.
When the work is over
And the lamps burn low,
There’ll always be a ballad
Wherever people go.
Lyrics Michael Forty
Voice Catherine Forty