Song Without Warning II

The Carpenter’s Son (Housman-Harley)/Carpentry (Harley)

How To Say Goodbye (Harley)

Breathe, My Lute (Housman-Harley)

Let me lie easy (Harley)

Same Old Same Old (Harley)

Song of Chivalry (Harley)

True Confessions (by Don MacLeod and David Harley)

One Step Away (From The Blues) (Harley)

Her own way down (Harley)

Thomas Anderson (Harley, based on an article by Ron Nurse)

Hands of the Craftsman (Harley)

Young Hunting (words traditional arr. Harley – music by Harley)

Two is a silence (Harley)

Down To The River (Harley)

New Ends and Sad Beginnings (Harley)

Song Without Warning (Harley)

Tears of Morning (A.E. Housman – David Harley)

Sea Fret (Harley)

Can’t Sleep (CoastFM version) (Harley)

Hannah (Upcountry) (Harley)

Long Stand (Harley)

Moonflow II (Harley)

And a bonus track, since it’s been written since my last visit to Shrewsbury.

Wrekin (Harley)

If you’re familiar with the Welsh Marches Line, it probably won’t surprise you that the first draft of this was born on my way from Shrewsbury to Newport.

Wrekin (words and music by David Harley)

The Abbey watches my train crawling southward
Thoughts of Cadfael kneeling in his cell
All along the Marches line, myth and history, prose and rhyme
But those are tales I won’t be here to tell

The hill is crouching like a cat at play
Its beacon flashing red across the plain
Once we were all friends around the Wrekin
But some will never pass this way again

Lawley and Caradoc fill my window
Facing down the Longmynd, lost in rain
But I’m weighed down with the creaks and groans of all the years I’ve known
And I don’t think I’ll walk these hills again

The hill is crouching like a cat at play
Its beacon flashing red across the plain
Once we were all friends around the Wrekin
But some will never pass this way again

Stokesay dreams its humble glories
Glories that will never come again
Across the Shropshire hills, the rain is blowing still
But the Marcher Lords won’t ride this way gain

The hill is crouching like a cat at play
Its beacon flashing red across the plain
Once we were all friends around the Wrekin
But some will never pass this way again

The royal ghosts of Catherine and Arthur
May walk the paths of Whitcliffe now and then
Housman’s ashes grace the Cathedral of the Marches
He will not walk Ludlow’s streets again

The hill is crouching like a cat at play
Its beacon flashing red across the plain
Once we were all friends around the Wrekin
But some will never pass this way again

And I may never pass this way again

David Harley

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