Watch the Sweet Smoke of Winter.


Sweet laughter behind the hedgerows,
children playing with balls,
clothes made from curtains
and fences from curtain poles.
The men are at work in the meadow
and the village flag flutters over all.

Sweet life in the Summer I will bring to you,
sweet foods from the Harvest too,
sweet smoke from our logs in the Winter,
to warm the children through.

The men work in the meadow and the
children play with their ball,
the Lord sits on a high stool, watching
over it all.
Sweet times in the Summer,
hoarding for the Fall,
freezing in the Winter,
while that flag flutters over all.

Cellophane for jewellery I will bring for you,
rubber bands for the children to play with,
and old tins of sweet foods too.
The Lord takes over half our food
but there is no point in feeling bitter,
so we sit and inhale sweet smoke in the Winter.

And what job for our son, my love?
Farmer or carpenter's boy?
I hear there is some fighting.
Maybe he'll be our Lord's toy.

And what about our daughter, my love?
There's no tears can be so bitter
as to see her married off so young,
and her dead husband dragged home on a litter.
There's always someone fighting,
and we're all my Lord's toy.

While I can, I bring sweet foods of
the Summer to keep you,
and long arms in the Winter to hold you,
sweet smoke for the fire as it warms you,
and coloured glass pieces to charm you.