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Альбом Traffic


John Barleycorn Must Die (1970)
1970
1.
Glad
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
Backstage & Introduction
10.
11.
Glad (live)
. . .

Glad

[Нет текста]

. . .


Like a hurricane around your heart
When earth and sky are torn apart
He comes gathering up the bits
While hoping that the puzzle fits
He leaves you
He leaves you
Freedom rider

With a silver star between his eyes
That open up at hidden lies
Big man crying with defeat
See people gathering in the street
You feel him
You feel good
Freedom rider

When lightning strikes you to the bone
You turn around, you're all alone
By the time you hear that siren sound
Then your soul is in thelost and found
Forever
Forever
Freedom rider

Here it comes

. . .


Found someone who can comfort me, but there are always exceptionsAnd she's good at appearing sane, but I just want you to knowShe's the one makes me feel so good, when everything is against mePicks me up when I'm feeling down, so I've got something to show
Staring at empty pages, centered 'round the same old plotStaring at empty pages, flowing along the ages
Often lost and forgotten, the vagueness and the mudI've been thinking I'm working too hard, but I got something to show
Staring at empty pages, centered 'round the same old plotStaring at empty pages, flowing along the ages

Staring at empty pages, centered 'round the same old plotStaring at empty pages, flowing along the ages
Often lost and forgotten, the vagueness and the mudI'd been thinking I'm working too hard, but I got something to showYour loveFound someone who can comfort me, but there are always exceptionsAnd she's good at appearing sane, but I just want you to know

. . .


I Just Want You to Know
I Just Want You to Know
I Just Want You to Know
I Just Want You to Know
I Just Want You to Know
I Just Want You to Know
I Just Want You to Know
I Just Want You to Know

. . .


(Winwood/Capaldi)

Struggling with confusion, disillusionment too
Can turn a man into a shadow, crying out from pain

Through his nightmare vision, he sees nothing, only well
Blind with the beggar's mind, he's but a stranger
He's but a stranger to himself

Suspended from a rope inside a bucket down a hole
His hands are torn and bloodied from the scratching at his soul
------------------------------------------------------------------------
F.S. Music Ltd (PRS) & Island Music Ltd. (PRS)
All rights on behalf of F.S. Music Ltd. admin by
Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp (BMI)

. . .


There were three men came out of the West,
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn must die.

They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in,
Threw clods upon his head,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn was dead.

They've let him lie for a very long time,
Till the rains from heaven did fall,
And little Sir John sprung up his head,
And so amazed them all.

They've let him stand till midsummer's day,
Till he looked both pale and wan,
And little Sir John's grown a long, long beard,
And so become a man.

They've hired men with the scythes so sharp,
To cut him off at the knee,
They've rolled him and tied him by the way,
Serving him most barbarously.

They've hired men with the sharp pitchforks,
Who pricked him to the heart,
And the loader he has served him worse than that,
For he's bound him to the cart

They've wheeled him around and around the field,
Till they came unto a barn,
And there they made a solemn oath,
On poor John Barleycorn.

They've hired men with the crab-tree sticks,
To cut him skin from bone,
And the miller he has served him worse than that,
For he's ground him between two stones.

And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl,
And he's brandy in the glass;
And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl,
Proved the strongest man at last.

The huntsman, he can't hunt the fox,
Nor so loudly to blow his horn,
And the tinker he can't mend kettle nor pot,
Without a little Barleycorn

. . .


(Winwood/Capaldi)

Once again I'm northward bound, on the edge of sea and sky
Tomorrow is my friend, my one and only friend
We travel on together searching for the end

(Chorus:)
I'm a traveling soul and every mother's son
Although I'm getting tired I've got to travel on
Can you please help, my god? Can you please help, my god?
Can you please help, my god? I think it's only fair

Once again I'm northward bound, on the edge of sea and sky
Together we will go and see what waits for us
A backdoor to the universe, that old moondust.

(Chorus)

------------------------------------------------------------------------
F.S. Music Ltd (PRS) & Island Music Ltd. (PRS)
All rights on behalf of F.S. Music Ltd. admin by
Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp (BMI)

. . .


(Winwood/Capaldi)

Sittin' here thinkin' of my love
Sittin' here thinkin' of my love
Wonderin' if she's thinking, or maybe if she's drinking
Sittin' here just thinkin' of my love

Never felt as low as this before
Never felt as low as this before
In the evening when I'm sleeping
When I wake up I'm weeping
Never felt as low as this before
No, I never felt as low as this before

Sittin' here thinkin' of your love
Sittin' here thinkin' of your love
Wonderin' if it's growing since we both stopped cryin'
Sittin' here just thinkin' of your love

Never felt this way before
Never felt inseparable for sure
In the evening I am sleeping
When I wake up I'm weeping
Never felt inseparable before
No, I've never felt inseparable before

. . .

Backstage & Introduction

[Нет текста]

. . .


(Winwood/Capaldi)


We are not like all the rest, you can see us any day of the week
Come around, sit down, take a sniff, fall asleep
Baby, you don't have to speak
I'd like to show you where it is but then it wouldn't even mean a thing
Nothing is easy, baby, just please me, who knows what tomorrow may bring?
If for just one moment you could step outside your mind
And float across the ceiling, I don't think the folks would mind
------------------------------------------------------------------------
F.S. Music Ltd (PRS) & Island Music Ltd. (PRS)
All rights on behalf of F.S. Music Ltd. admin by
Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp (BMI)

. . .

Glad (live)

[Нет текста]

. . .


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