1. |
(Milvus Milvus)
00:33
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2. |
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~~~~~~~~~~
Off out fetching eggs for making wor mam-in-law’s weekday tea.
Corvids race in all directions, shadows spilling over me.
Spen Lane’s chickens in their hutch are feeling such a great unease.
Eyes meet eyes that grow on shapes that swiftly empty great hornbeams.
Red kites ower Butcher Hill.
A wind whips cold and fair backendish 'cross the field to the dogwood.
And I know that they would be here with us if they only could.
Caked in plother, hands together, necks bent, rent skyward and clear.
All I’ll ask is that you’ll not let me come back another year.
Red kites ower Butcher Hill.
Something great to talk about with people that you’d never met.
Such fearful things as this could drown in oceans of regret.
Sometimes his friends and family come ower to help him out.
These are the only times he ever gets to leave the house.
Red kites ower Butcher Hill.
~~~~~~~~~~
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3. |
The Battle of Stockton
04:33
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~~~~~~~~~~
In the morning they boarded their coaches.
Blacker than pitch were their shirts.
They stopped at Victoria Bridge.
Ever, their hearts filled with dirt.
A mistake to try to exploit,
The poor and the disenfranchised.
To spread like disease their venom.
Resistance will fall from the skies.
Taking the form of bricks and of stones.
A town’s rectitude laid ahead.
You are not welcome in this place.
Don’t stop ‘til the fascists are dead.
When people face destitution,
The vultures descend and deceive.
But these people shall overcome.
These vultures will be made to bleed.
Whenever a darkness here moves,
The light of the people will shine.
Whenever malevolence spreads,
The ropes of the people will bind.
Taking the form of sticks and of blades.
A town’s resolution is led.
You are not welcome anyplace.
Don’t stop ‘til the fascists are dead.
Herded into Silver Street,
The caitiffs, poltroons, and the curs.
Look upon this virtuous town,
For it is malice that they do inter.
And they don’t cease until it’s gone,
‘Til it’s blinded and broken and bled.
In times like these, we must ensure,
We don’t stop ‘til the fascists are dead.
~~~~~~~~~~
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4. |
1952
01:41
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Platitude Queen Stockton On Tees, UK
Platitude Queen is a folk project by Teesside based musician and certified daft apeth J. S. Gordon (formerly based in Leeds).
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