Wow, I can't adequately express my gratitude to you for posting this. You know how music can be so exquisitely beautiful that it makes you feel a type of sacred pain? This one does it for me. Sometimes I have to tap out so that I can avoid sobbing while driving😍.
Great cover by a great singer/songwriter of an amazing song. Nick did his version by his own way, that's what make some renditions awesome. Thanks for uploading.
The producer of Pink Moon said “Nick played his guitar like a metronome….“”…I cannot think of anybody else I’ve ever recorded, with that little studio experience and at that age, who had that ability. It was extraordinary.” (He was 23)
Corrected lyrics : - From faded newsprint used to wrap a fish Inscrutably the muse selects your face While I sit drinking namelessly in a nameless bar Five thousand miles and thirty years away With all the usual ceremonial you were crowned one night King of the field where doctors nail the cows To make of the cock's quill the rights of language And the pricking heart a sword against the hours Let smirking scholars writhe in their favoured bondage To hold you plaintiff to the charge of art Exhibit A: he falls on legendary lines Singing mother I want a bullet in the heart The judge in me sucks eggs and jerks the sacred meat But the boy in me still dreams in Milk Wood town Like two provincial bastards playing the galleries I hold your photo to the mirror upside down As bacon wafts through hungry streets, your ghost pervades Just like an old ex-boxer aged twenty two Staged up like Falstaff or the wild Welsh Rimbaud You'd laugh to see these monochromes they make of you Ah, Mr. Thomas let us ramble through the midnight fair Let us throw old bottles at the ferris wheel Let us paint library on the library let us raid the moonlight Let us steal away whatever we are supposed to steal While the border guards check cards with their poker faces Never mind who's winning where the stakes are rare If this Jack Of Thorns they let us hold outbids the Joker Let us sneak higher till the frost clings in our hair Let us watch while the days grow daily more mundane That rough god go striding with his shears Hack wide the bellies of the swollen mountains And rip molten heroes forth to their furious tears
I love knowing that four young English kids were very influenced by this music. Most people I know listen to garbage and I’m turning 60 this year. I love music. All music, folk to rap. But when I see an army of young people thinking Taylor Swift is brilliant I get sick to my stomach.
What an artist..damaged in many ways but was able to paint some beautiful masterpieces before he left us, the world was too much for him and he was too much for the world
The secret to the mystical aura of this beautifully haunting tune is the D modal tuning of the guitar: D, A, D, G, A, D. And this haunting beauty of melody - so essential with the lyrics - is just what is missing from all non-Chris Thompson versions.
