The Ghost of Robb Donn
The ghost of Robb Donn sits with his head in his hands,
from the slopes of Foinavon he surveys the land
he counts out the houses that show no sign of life
or hold no human warmth on these cold winter nights.
In his sixty three years he'd wanderd these lands
from the strath at the Naver to the Sandwood bay sands
On Hope's high cattle pasture he'd compose his lines
that captured this beauty in simpler times
Now where he once drew the smoke from a welcoming fire
theres now shutters and boards behind strands of barbed wire
And on a rusting old plough that once turnes over the land
sits the ghost of rob Donn with his head in his hands
Oh Rob Donn oh Rob Donn are we past being saved do you twist do you turn as you lie in your grage
Do your cold bones rattle at every deal that gets made oh Rob Donn are we past being saved.
He began to remanice about Balnakiel Bay
with it's sun warmed sands at the end of the day
creating hot air currents that carry sea birds away, soaring with no beating of wings
Her staggering sunsets across the boundless sky, with the bleeding of the colours as the last rays die
Once reflected in the polished brass of the ships that had sailed, carrying dissposesed people whos best efforts had failed
He recited the names of the famlies who sailed
to Jamaica Carolina and New Found Land
Those proud people drived down to their knees
by the greed of a landlord they could never appease
Oh Rob Donn oh Rob Donn are we past being saved do you twist do you turn as you lie in your grage
Do your cold bones rattle at every deal that gets made oh Rob Donn are we past being saved.
In the land of two seasons now winters come early
no subtle change for the leafs on the tree
no autom gold in the september sunlight
just lengthning shadows as the migrants all leave
The ghost of Rob Donn takes one last long look
begins to fade from my view with each breath that he took
untill all that remained was a solitary tear
that had dripped from his eye
when he saw what was happening here.
Oh Rob Donn oh Rob Donn are we past being saved do you twist do you turn as you lie in your grage
Do your cold bones rattle at every deal that gets made oh Rob Donn are we past being saved.
coming soon May 3th - DOWNLOAD AN OLD RECORDING OF ROBB DONN WITH MORRIS PERT
ON KEYBOARD AND PERCUSSION Released on the cassette The Big Wave in 2000