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letra de eastfield - archie fisher

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twas the third of november in 79
when i crossed bowden moor in a flurry of snow
and the heat of the warm [?] in the old transit truck
and the fuel gauge leaned over on low

away to the southwest the winter rolled in
a swirl of white flakes caught the pale evening glow
and the pinpoint of light from the farm on the hill
flickered bright through the trees and the snow

’cause many’s the pillow where i’ve lain my head
from a bunk on a ship to my coat on the ground
and there’s many the door that i’ve closed at my back
from a shack to the best place in town

but there’s a feeling you get when you’re heading for home
be it ten thousand miles or a trip to the town
and it came to me then as the winter sun set
and the curtain of twilight came down

the more that you win then the more there’s for losing
the more that you love then the more you’ve to fear
and i changed down to third as i climbed to the farm
trying to silence that voice in my ear

’twas the 15th of march, 83 was the year
on the west headland motorway spattered with rain
in a beat-up old volkswagen headed for north
when i next heard that voice once again

i remembered the hopes that had been in my heart
when i crossed bowden moor back in 79
and the years in between that had ripped me apart
and the lightning that struck down the pine

i numbered each fence-post from roadside to berm
and counted each rock in the dry sandstone wall
and i numbered the golden-coiled [?] flowers on the winds
and i counted the autumn beads fall

i looked to the northerly yewden hills crest
and south to the crags of the rubislaw crown
and i heard the black crows flying in from the west
as the farm in my dreams tumbled down

the more that you lose then the more there’s for gaining
the less that you ask for the more you don’t mind
any road that you travel’s a long lonely way
when you know you’ve left nothing behind

i came down from a grandmother bound to the land
on a west island croft on the battersea sh-r-
and was named for a grandfather went to the see
and now i must wander once more

and there isn’t a trade where i won’t try my hand
there’s never a hill i’m not ready to crime
and there isn’t a grief that i don’t understand
as i empty the fullness of time

and still when the autumn’s glow silvers to frost
and the sweet scent of wood smoke is sharp in the air
i remember the loves and the hopes that i lost
and a part of me wants to be there

so now when i cross bowden moor in the snow
and the light beckons me there’s a game that i play
i pretend to the crossroads that it’s homeward i go
and i turn to the east and away

the more that you win then the more there’s for losing
the longer you love then the more you’ve to fear
the more of the choice then the more of the choosing
and the voice that rings in the gale [?]

- archie fisher

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