lirik lagu savourna stevenson, june tabor & danny thompson - the baker
i am as lucky for a funeral
as a sweep[?] is at a wedding
with his red eyes, burnt smell, and fur brushed
he brings his bridal lace with its soil and smirching
thus to my work night whites[?]
the cracks in my dusted boots
my overall trousers of flour~stiffened linen
hands[?] of your black ties and pressed morning suits
although i am not by your side
not as anyone photograph mud
or that rawest absence
dawn delivered to this hotel
as my shoulder looked bold in my gentleman’s dozen[?]
it was all week, the neighbors came with baked stuffs
up the saddest path to your door
wanting to bring something sweet and light
to where nothing can be so anymore
and now i sleep on sacks washed soft
while you get time with the cold grave over
or the stair with the core of that terrible oven
take tea and funeral cakes together
sobered girls and black~and~white replenished[?] plates
fresh and cool with cups with warmth[?]
as if tomorrow, like live yeast, could rise and prove
i say such crumbs do no [?]
and nights while i work and you grieve
sudden hunger for the heel of a new loaf
white dawn surprise of appetite
will have you tear a lump of goodness off
sooner, later, a new wind will lift
though many daily loaves from this dark hour
let go, fling, feel the ashes sift
’round your footsteps, like spilled flour
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