The Mountain Wayfarers
from The Wiser Moon by A.p. Harbor
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Compact Disc (CD) + Digital AlbumCompact disc in a sturdy jewel case featuring artwork from Robert Gaunce and Wesley Hunt.
Includes unlimited streaming of The Wiser Moon via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.ships out within 7 days$12 USD or more
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lyrics
I know when I grow old
I'll grow like hazel in the cold, wet snow.
I did not foresee a lonesome soul,
who'd melt me even when the cold wind blows.
A voice as deep as the river runs,
he told me, “Sir, I've lost my gun,
I've lost my home and my stores are none.
I'm wayfarer with the waning sun.”
Well, I said, “Friend, please come this way,
to the camp where my daughters wait.
We've come to trawl at the river's base.
We're wanderers too, these days.”
He came with me in the shade of night,
a pair of mossy eyes in the moonlit pine,
a lion's mane and a tender smile.
“Got the wild of the mountain in you, child.”
My youngest ne're did leave his side.
My eldest grew to be his pride,
for a vacancy he did subside.
We met beneath the wintertide.
On our fifteenth winter year,
he said to me, “my darling dear,
you must retire and leave me here,
for a dreadful wind is approaching near.”
Our children too soon had aged,
when we plucked a hazel bloom bouquet,
knelt at ease near a quiet grave,
wherein my finest memories lay.
I know when I grow old,
I'll grow like hazel in the cold, wet snow.
There I met a lonesome soul,
and I still melt when the cold wind blows.
I'll grow like hazel in the cold, wet snow.
I did not foresee a lonesome soul,
who'd melt me even when the cold wind blows.
A voice as deep as the river runs,
he told me, “Sir, I've lost my gun,
I've lost my home and my stores are none.
I'm wayfarer with the waning sun.”
Well, I said, “Friend, please come this way,
to the camp where my daughters wait.
We've come to trawl at the river's base.
We're wanderers too, these days.”
He came with me in the shade of night,
a pair of mossy eyes in the moonlit pine,
a lion's mane and a tender smile.
“Got the wild of the mountain in you, child.”
My youngest ne're did leave his side.
My eldest grew to be his pride,
for a vacancy he did subside.
We met beneath the wintertide.
On our fifteenth winter year,
he said to me, “my darling dear,
you must retire and leave me here,
for a dreadful wind is approaching near.”
Our children too soon had aged,
when we plucked a hazel bloom bouquet,
knelt at ease near a quiet grave,
wherein my finest memories lay.
I know when I grow old,
I'll grow like hazel in the cold, wet snow.
There I met a lonesome soul,
and I still melt when the cold wind blows.
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Mar 2024 -
Dec 2023 -
Aug 2023 -
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Apr 2022 -
Jul 2021 -
Jul 2021
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