LYRICS AND NOTES FOR ON WHITE HORSE HILL

All songs © Ali Cooper 2018.
All arrangements, instruments, recording, production by Ali Cooper.
 
1. White Horses – guitar, mandolin, octave mandola, brass strung harp.
There are many white horses carved into the chalk downland in the south of England. While the Uffington horse is dated to the Bronze Age and others appear more recent, it is possible there were more chalk figures during the Bronze and Iron Ages.
 
See them on the ocean dancing
Waves that never reach the shore
Carve their image on the mountain
Keep their spirit evermore
 
White horses on the water
White horses on the hills
I would be a chieftan’s daughter
Heal the land of all her ills.
 
Stones are in a circle standing
Swords are cast into the mire
Bronze is glinting in the sunlight
Iron flashes in the fire
 
White horses on the water…
 
As the dusky shadows darken
As the hazy moon appears
Hear them gallop through the night-time
Wind for breath and rain for tears
 
White horses on the water…
 
Times of wealth and times of plenty
Times of famine and of flood
Times of safety on the hilltop
Times of trouble, war and blood
 
White horses on the water…
 
See them on the ocean dancing
Waves that never reach the shore
Carve their image on the mountain
Keep their spirit evermore
 
White horses on the water…
White horses on the water…
 
 
2. Blodeuwedd – guitar, nylon strung harp, brass strung harp.
In Welsh folklore, Blodeuwedd was made out of blossom, to be a bride for Lleu Llaw Gyffes, then turned into an owl when she and her lover tried to kill her husband. The same story is the basis for the Owl Service (YA novel) by Alan Garner.
 
I am flowers, I am grace,
See the beauty in my face,
Dressed in gossamer and lace
I am Blodeuwedd
 
I am blossom in the spring
Sweet with nectar for my king
I’m the one for whom birds sing
I am Blodeuwedd
 
And I never chose to play this part
Nor to pledge my heart
To another
And I would gladly tear this spell apart
For a mortal start
With my lover
 
I am daytime I am light
In the sun my life is bright
I’m the bride, the world is right
I am Blodeuwedd
 
I am magic I am charmed
From sweet petals I am formed
Of no earthly woman born
I am Blodeuwedd 
And I never chose to play this part
Nor to pledge my heart
To another
And I would gladly tear this spell apart
For a mortal start
With my lover
 
I am hatred I am frightI am banished from the light
Like a ghost that haunts the nightI am Blodeuwedd
 
I am silent on the wing
Only screech and no more sing
While the midnight church bells ring
I am Blodeuwedd
 
But I never chose to play this partWith the lonely darkFor my coverAnd I would gladly tear this spell apart
For the cold dead heart
Of my lover
 
Through the mist I softly glide
Gentle nighttime creatures hide
I’m no more the flower bride
I am Blodeuwedd
 
Velvet feathers, silent flight
Deadly beauty in the night
No good bird can bear my sight
I am Blodeuwedd
 
But I never chose to play this partWith the lonely darkFor my coverAnd I would gladly tear this spell apart
For the cold dead heart
Of my lover.
 
 
3. Gardner Island – guitar, xylophone, ocarina.
When I wrote this song, it was speculation. It is now accepted as fact that Amelia Earhart made an emergency landing onto Gardner Island, in the Pacific, where she lived as a Castaway until she died, probably a few months later.
 
Hello to my island, I’m only dropping by
On a bird that cried with hunger and could no longer fly
I’ve called for help each day and night, my rescue will be soon
Till then I’ll live in paradise on Gardner Island.
 
Here on my island the sun shines every day
The sea plays restful music, but I don’t want to stay
I dine on green sea turtle, and on fish and bird and clam
And then I sleep beneath the stars on Gardner Island.
 
Welcome to my island, this wasn’t meant to be
The lifeline to my homeland has sunk beneath the sea
With frigate birds for company, but not a ship in sight
I am a prisoner alone on Gardner Island.
 
Farewell to my island, you’ve served me well, I think
Now there’s water all around me, but not a drop to drink
I’m leaving for a different kind of paradise tonight
And there’ll be supper for the crabs on Gardner Island.
 
 
4. Lilies – brass strung harp, nylon strung harp.
Water lilies are synonymous with the nymphs who guard springs and pools, and lure handsome men to their doom. Particularly as depicted in Hylas and the Nymphs by John William Waterhouse.
 
Lilies reach above the waterJoin us, come and share our laughter
 
Heed
Beauty is our creed
The bread on which we feed
Satisfy our need.
 
Hylas, fairer than all other
Take us, come and be our lover
 
Save (Can you hear us calling?)
Give us what we crave (Have no fear of falling)
Innocent and brave
We’ll guide you to your grave.
 
Petals open gently for you
Touch us, we’ll not disappoint you
 
Share (Feel the water cool you)
All the love we bear (Let your senses fool you)
Beauty is your fare
We cannot compare.
 
Lilies draw you to the water
Willing as a lamb to slaughter
 
Heed
Beauty is our creed
The bread on which we feed
Satisfy our need.
 
 
5. Porthminster Lament – guitar.
In memory of Jon, who left us too soon, to spend eternity on the beach at his beloved St Ives.
 
You’re out in the cold, time has called you awayThere are stories untold that you’ll never say
Though footprints in the sand may fade away
Still the rolling sea brings you closer each day
 
You’re out in the cold in the dark of the night
But the memories we hold keep on burning bright
The shadows and the darkness fade from sight
And the rolling sea brings you into the light
 
Ride the breeze like a bird
Fly in the sky and know that you are free
Run in the sand catch the surf
Be whomever you would choose to be, till eternity
 
You’re out in the cold but there’s nothing to fear
As the future unfolds we will hold you dear
The ocean light makes all the answers clear
And the rolling sea brings you closer each year.
 
 
6. King of the Autumn – guitar, mandolin, octave mandola.
Inspired by Angela Carter’s folk tale interpretation of the ancient story of the Erl King.
 
Deep in the woods where the sun cannot reachIn a house made of moss and elder and beech
He sits by the door with a fox at his knee
Calls to the birds, calls to me
There by the light of an oak log fire
His green eyes gleam like a treacherous mire
I step inside quite willingly
He’s a full-bloom flower and I’m the bee.
 
The King of the Autumn
Is calling me, won’t let me be
And the birds in their cages sing joyfully
And I’m lost in his love and the dead falling leaves.
 
He pins me down with his piercing stare
Peels off my clothes like he’s skinning a hare
I welcome his love in the warmth of the fire
My only fear my own desire.
There’s a violin that has no strings
Birds in baskets beating their wings
A milk-white goat with trusting eyes
Love is not a gift but a sacrifice.
 
The King of the Autumn
Is calling me, won’t let me be
And the birds in their cages sing joyfully
And I’m lost in his love and the dead falling leaves.
 
He draws me back again and again
To shelter from the cold and the wind and the rain
Touches me with his big broad hands
Touches my soul, I’m at his command
He’s weaving a basket of withy and briar
As he puffs on his pipe by the oak log fire
The birds all cry out sorrowfully
The song they sing is warning me.
 
The King of the Autumn
Is calling me, won’t let me be
And the birds in their cages sing melancholy
And I’m lost in his love and the dead falling leaves.
 
I see the birds that can never depart
The robin’s red wound where it’s given its heart
The basket will be a prison for me
Those he loves are never free.
And as he dreams by the oak log fire
I look at the basket of withy and briar
Twist his hair in a silken twine
Bind his throat and he is mine.
 
The King of the Autumn
Once called to me, wouldn’t let me be
Now the birds sing for joy as I set them free
And the King lies dead beneath the falling leaves.
 
 
7. The Wolf Within – English concertina.
Inspired by the wolf tales of Angela Carter, particularly the idea that, rather than fearing Mr Wolf, some women may desire him!
 
Beware the beast with razor clawsSword-sharp teeth in fearsome jawsBut it’s handsome eyes and silken skin
That well disguise the wolf within
 
Well she met him at the harvest dance
And admired his charm and noble stance,
His handsome looks and shapely thighs
And the dangerous sparkle in his eyes
 
Well the local men on the marriage list
Were deadly dull with spots and cysts
So when he asked her for a dance
She very quickly took the chance
 
Beware the beast…
 
They promenaded hand in hand
And she thought of his body, strong and tanned
Into the middle and back to back
And wondered what he’d be like in the sack
 
Well they danced a jig and they danced a reel
And he thought of having her for a meal
A stately waltz and a jolly gavotte
And tenderly braising her in the pot
 
Beware the beast…
 
He said he’d travelled far and long
To care for his Granny who wasn’t strong
Of one thing he was very sure
She wouldn’t last a month or more
 
And they’d both enjoy her company,
He said, as he asked her round for tea,
To the house in the wood by the ancient oak.
She wore her best dress and a bright red cloak (with a hood)
 
Beware the beast…
 
Well truth be told, the clues were there
The scorching smell off singeing hair
‘Granny’s gone out with an elderly squire,’
He said, as he threw some bones on the fire.
 
Well the bones might be the legs of a pig
And the burning hair a discarded wig
But would Granny go out on a red hot date
With her dentures melting in the grate?
 
Beware the beast…
 
‘Come in,’ he said, ‘it’s all prepared,
Take off your cloak and don’t be scared.’
‘First,’ she said, ‘before we sup,
I must adjourn and freshen up.’
 
Well he licked his lips and chomped his jaws
Granny for starters, now the main course
But as she walked back through the door
He got more than he bargained for…
 
Behold a beast with razor claws,
Sword-sharp teeth in fearsome jaws
For she had shed her human skin
And joined him as the wolf within.
 
 
8. Hammock Song – mountain dulcimer, nylon strung harp.
Inspired by and adapted from a poem by a friend, and made into a song with her kind permission.
 
She swings beneath the shaking leavesCornflower sky above her
Turns her thoughts towards the breeze
The warm air is her lover
 
She thinks and dreams
Of him and them
Of what is
And what might be
Thinks and dreams
Of him and them
And what is yet to come
 
Ferns unfurling in the woods
Dew-damp earth is waking
Blossom becomes apple buds
That will ripen for the taking
 
She thinks and dreams
Of him and them
Of what is
And what might be
Thinks and dreams
Of him and them
And what is yet to come
 
A butterfly floats softly by
The meadow gently humming
With open heart to draw him in
As nectar turns to honey
 
She thinks and dreams
Of him and them
Of what is
And what might be
Thinks and dreams
Of him and them
And what is yet to come.
 
 
9. The Kissing Game – nylon strung harp, brass strung harp, guitar.
A nostalgic memoir of innocent mid teens, dedicated to the memory of Kevin Godfrey, aka Epic Soundtracks, whom the song is primarily about, singer/songwriter/pianist, and drummer with post punk bands, Swell Maps and the Jacobites.
 
There was nothing to explainThe night we played the kissing game
I only knew your given nameMaybe 
We painted how our lives would be
With innocent simplicity
And youthful possibility
Back in the time of maybe
 
We trod a path of endless choosing
Never thought of loss and losing
How we would survive the bruising
Falling, using, and abusing
 
Exploring creativity
With gentle sensitivity
I loved your shy humility
Back in the time of maybe
 
***
 
There was nothing to explain
The night we played the kissing game
But nothing can remain the sameMaybe 
Life was an experiment
Of incense and patchouli scent
And inspiration heaven sent
Back in the time of maybe
 
Even then the tides were turning
Harsher lessons for the learning
Childhood dreams turned into yearning
Breaking hearts and fingers burning
 
Deluded dreams and fantasy
Of how we thought the world could be
Seduced by unreality
Back in the time of maybe
 
***
 
There was nothing to explain
The night we played the kissing game
Before you went in search of fameMaybe 
Safely in our childhood homes
We grew our hair and dyed our clothes
Wore denim flares and Afghan coats
Back in the time of maybe
 
Then punks abandoned peace and love
For razor blades and acting tough
And angry and discordant stuff
Don’t give me that, I’ve had enough
 
Life was just a game to play
A practice for the fateful day
You’d gamble all your love away
Back in the time of maybe
 
***
 
Time moves forward all too fast
And memory rewrites the past
Of carefree days that couldn’t last
Maybe
 
And I just couldn’t comprehend
The way a life could change and end
Could I have been a better friend
Back in the time of maybe?
 
I didn’t understand your song
I thought I must have read you wrong
Now twenty years since you’ve been gone
You were that person all along
 
I wonder if we felt the same
The night we played the kissing game
A spark that could have been a flame
Back in the time of maybe.
 
 
10. Shadowtime – nylon strung harp, brass strung harp, guitar.
Night visiting by my old friend, Kev/Epic Soundtracks, after listening to his music and writing the Kissing Game.
 
Why have you woken when you should be sleeping?Was it my doing because I was weeping?
I wish you could stay, but know you are bound to the shadowtime.
 
You say you’re lonely, and came here to find me,
And all that you want is to lay down beside me
How can it be wrong, to comfort you now in your shadowtime?
 
All you are asking is for me to hold you
To reach out my arms and gently enfold you
How can I refuse, when I called you into the shadowtime?
 
Maybe a kiss – we’ve done it before
Would it break any rules, if there should be more?
Knowing soon you’ll be gone, but now you are here in the shadowtime.
 
You’re in the darkness before I am sleeping
But where do you go when daylight comes creeping?
And I’m here for you, but you’re only with me in the shadowtime.
 
Just for a moment our two worlds are meeting
But your time is passed, and with it our greeting
So gently move on, don’t linger too long in the shadowtime.
 
 
11. On White Horse Hill – guitar, xylophone.
The White Horse of Uffington and its magical surrounding landscape has much legend and folklore as well as archaeology.
 
On White Horse HillWhere time stands still
The ghosts of ages linger still
On White Horse Hill
 
So softly step into the mist
And breathe the air that the past has kissed
Ancestral voices on the breeze
Drift forward through the centuries
On White Horse Hill.
 
On moonlit nights
In silver light
Down to the manger She takes flight
From White Horse Hill
 
And if the Horse should cast a shoe
Then Wayland he will forge one new
Along the ridge She’ll gallop back
And leave Her hoof print by the track
To White Horse Hill.
 
A day will break
When Arthur wakes
On Dragon Hill She’ll dance and shake
By White Horse Hill
 
So set your child down to lie
On the sacred ground of the Horse’s eye
And call upon its ancient charm
To grant a life that’s free from harm
On White Horse Hill.