Ballad by Simon Oak (Jan. 2023) describing an average Saturday of a traditional singing festival. To the tune of Simon’s Lofty Pheasant.
Lyrics
No better start of the day, the birds are singing, my alarm is ringing
I hurl the damn thing away, and I close my eyes for an hour or more
This morning no breakfast for me, I need some snoozing, the price of boozing
And singing till way after three, we just kept saying “One more song!”
And when you’ve sung your own last song
You don’t want to miss the following song
When all the last songs are sung, we’ll do another round
The man behind the bar that night
Is our hero, how could we be alright
If out throats were dry we could not make a sound
I hear an accordion play, an old sea shanty, I love this country
A jig and a reel what a day, a cup of coffee and I will survive
Then there’s a rush to catch the bus
I join the singers enjoying the lush
Of this great traditional singing festival thing
The stories alive in this mighty scene
Give a feeling of how the days might have been
And a deeper sense of what we actually sing
No better use of the day, to walk a path with two or three singers
And view the beautiful bay, the cliffs, the islands, the ocean breeze
At dinner time there’s social talk
But we are all aware of the clock
For the concert starts at 8 and we want to be there
The session that follows after that
Feels like our natural habitat
Each singing voice brings magic in the air
No better end of the day, to sit in a silent room and let
Another voice take you away, to unknown places and other times
Forgetting the end of the day
The songs keep coming, there’s no sense of time!
.
Leave a Reply