The Heron-Priested Shore (words C Greenfield & J Donne)

(For Dylan Thomas)

Eighteen shots ring out across the estuary dawn

The white horse runs unbridled ‘cross the   sands

The devil fills the night with his moonshine breath

And your precious time runs quickly through the fingers of his hands

Now you’re barefoot in the park 

Hiding in the shadows and the doorways

Now you’re helpless in the dark 

Lost between the devil and the highway

Take me home to the straggling river

Where the curlews call and the reed beds shiver

As bitter cold as a New York whore

Abandon me to my destiny 

On that heron-priested shore

Send me some token that my hope may live

Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest

Send me some honey to make sweet my hive

That in my passions I may hope the best

Send me nor this, send me nor that to ever increase my store

But swear though think’st 'I love thee', and no more

Take me home to the straggling river

Where the oysters sprawl in the salt-bed shimmer

As bitter cold as a New York whore

Abandon me to my history

On that heron-priested shore

Eighteen shots ring out across the estuary dawn

The white horse runs unbridled ‘cross the sands

The devil deals the deck with a hand of death

To the funeral march of a Chapel band

Now you’re barefoot in the park 

Hiding in the shadows and the doorways

Now you’re helpless in the dark 

Lost between the devil and the highway

Take me home to the straggling river

Where the redshanks trawl as the seasons wither

As bitter cold as a New York whore

Abandon me to Eternity 

On that heron-priested shore