Although I left this place
Part of me remains
I know this pebbly earth
Still runs through my veins
I love these wooded hills
And these dark dank pools
I love these knowing trees
My memories of them all
Cycling up here when we were kids
There were few cars around
We'd press up Lippit's Hill
And past the Owl
Now the forest sings to me
It is alive!
Accompanied by the bass
Of the M25
Old gangsters ride out here
From the East End
They dig the shallow graves
Of bedeviled men
It's no good saying that
You're too old to change
The forest changes all the time
Even if it looks the same
John Clare is wandering
On paths unseen
The Church of the Holy Innocents
Through gnarled hornbeams
He sees the forest queen
He hears the bell
He joins the gypsy train
Beside the well
He walks with Tennyson
Through beech and brook
He notes his visions down
In an old notebook
And by the talking oak
He finds his car
He puts the radio on
At the golden hour
He listens to football scores
It's 2-0 Spurs
His car is warming up
The engine purrs
Tea hut still standing here
On Rushey Plain
It's wood still painted green
All much the same
Bikers still gather here
As they always will
They'll watch the sea rise up
Over the hill
They'll watch the motorway
Become submerged
They'll watch the birch trees drown
The new beach emerge
Clare dried his sodden wings
Like gauze they grew
With a blinding flash of light
Away he flew
Clevelode - High Beech Lyrics
Clevelode - High Beech Lyrics
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If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
Although I left this place
Part of me remains
I know this pebbly earth
Still runs through my veins
I love these wooded hills
And these dark dank pools
I love these knowing trees
My memories of them all
Cycling up here when we were kids
There were few cars around
We'd press up Lippit's Hill
And past the Owl
Now the forest sings to me
It is alive!
Accompanied by the bass
Of the M25
Old gangsters ride out here
From the East End
They dig the shallow graves
Of bedeviled men
It's no good saying that
You're too old to change
The forest changes all the time
Even if it looks the same
John Clare is wandering
On paths unseen
The Church of the Holy Innocents
Through gnarled hornbeams
He sees the forest queen
He hears the bell
He joins the gypsy train
Beside the well
He walks with Tennyson
Through beech and brook
He notes his visions down
In an old notebook
And by the talking oak
He finds his car
He puts the radio on
At the golden hour
He listens to football scores
It's 2-0 Spurs
His car is warming up
The engine purrs
Tea hut still standing here
On Rushey Plain
It's wood still painted green
All much the same
Bikers still gather here
As they always will
They'll watch the sea rise up
Over the hill
They'll watch the motorway
Become submerged
They'll watch the birch trees drown
The new beach emerge
Clare dried his sodden wings
Like gauze they grew
With a blinding flash of light
Away he flew
Part of me remains
I know this pebbly earth
Still runs through my veins
I love these wooded hills
And these dark dank pools
I love these knowing trees
My memories of them all
Cycling up here when we were kids
There were few cars around
We'd press up Lippit's Hill
And past the Owl
Now the forest sings to me
It is alive!
Accompanied by the bass
Of the M25
Old gangsters ride out here
From the East End
They dig the shallow graves
Of bedeviled men
It's no good saying that
You're too old to change
The forest changes all the time
Even if it looks the same
John Clare is wandering
On paths unseen
The Church of the Holy Innocents
Through gnarled hornbeams
He sees the forest queen
He hears the bell
He joins the gypsy train
Beside the well
He walks with Tennyson
Through beech and brook
He notes his visions down
In an old notebook
And by the talking oak
He finds his car
He puts the radio on
At the golden hour
He listens to football scores
It's 2-0 Spurs
His car is warming up
The engine purrs
Tea hut still standing here
On Rushey Plain
It's wood still painted green
All much the same
Bikers still gather here
As they always will
They'll watch the sea rise up
Over the hill
They'll watch the motorway
Become submerged
They'll watch the birch trees drown
The new beach emerge
Clare dried his sodden wings
Like gauze they grew
With a blinding flash of light
Away he flew
Writer: Paul Newland
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid