Horse On The Hill

Ooh, that horse on the hill,

to you go tramping, I will,

it’s many the drop of blood I’ve spilt,

for you that horse on the hill.

Even the dawn of the day,

could no lighten the way,

the way that I ached when I heard you say,

“You are the dawn of my day”.

I became a man before I saw myself a boy,

and that’s a badge I wear with anything but pride,

but I know of not one god who could baptise me in such joy,

as the joy I felt embrace me on that night,

when I couldn’t see the darkness for the light.

Well, the valley came alive that night and thanked us for the song,

and it cut me like a spade’ll cut the soil,

and I tried to sell my soul to stop the evening marching on,

on the land on which my mother’s father toiled,

serene and endless as a serpent coiled.

Horse on the hill, how I know your name,

the course of your canter as you run through my veins,

you sharpen my passion, you shun my shame,

when you darken my door, you number my days.

Will my song be sung when I must leave this world behind,

or will I go on nameless as a slave?

Like the empty-handed hunter, this thought stumbled through my mind,

and it felt like someone stepped over my grave,

but I was a fool to think that I could not be saved.