Richard Thompson
Richard Thompson
Beeswing
Written by Richard Thompson
I was nineteen when I came to town, they called it the Summer of Love
They were burning babies, burning flags. The hawks against the doves
I took a job in the steamie down on Cauldrum Street
And I fell in love with a laundry girl who was working next to me
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.
And you wouldn't want me any other way"
Brown hair zig-zag around her face and a look of half-surprise
Like a fox caught in the headlights, there was animal in her eyes
She said "Young man, oh can't you see I'm not the factory kind
If you don't take me out of here I'll surely lose my mind"
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
So fine that I might crush her where she lay
She was a lost child, she was running wild
She said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.
And you wouldn't want me any other way"
We busked around the market towns and picked fruit down in Kent
And we could tinker lamps and pots and knives wherever we went
And I said that we might settle down, get a few acres dug
Fire burning in the hearth and babies on the rug
She said "Oh man, you foolish man, it surely sounds like hell.
You might be lord of half the world, you'll not own me as well"
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.
And you wouldn't want me any other way"
We was camping down the Gower one time, the work was pretty good
She thought we shouldn't wait for the frost and I thought maybe we should
We was drinking more in those days and tempers reached a pitch
And like a fool I let her run with the rambling itch
Oh the last I heard she's sleeping rough back on the Derby beat
White Horse in her hip pocket and a wolfhound at her feet
And they say she even married once, a man named Romany Brown
But even a gypsy caravan was too much settling down
And they say her flower is faded now, hard weather and hard booze
But maybe that's just the price you pay for the chains you refuse
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
And I miss her more than ever words could say
If I could just taste all of her wildness now
If I could hold her in my arms today
Well I wouldn't want her any other way
Written by Richard Thompson
I was nineteen when I came to town, they called it the Summer of Love
They were burning babies, burning flags. The hawks against the doves
I took a job in the steamie down on Cauldrum Street
And I fell in love with a laundry girl who was working next to me
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.
And you wouldn't want me any other way"
Brown hair zig-zag around her face and a look of half-surprise
Like a fox caught in the headlights, there was animal in her eyes
She said "Young man, oh can't you see I'm not the factory kind
If you don't take me out of here I'll surely lose my mind"
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
So fine that I might crush her where she lay
She was a lost child, she was running wild
She said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.
And you wouldn't want me any other way"
We busked around the market towns and picked fruit down in Kent
And we could tinker lamps and pots and knives wherever we went
And I said that we might settle down, get a few acres dug
Fire burning in the hearth and babies on the rug
She said "Oh man, you foolish man, it surely sounds like hell.
You might be lord of half the world, you'll not own me as well"
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.
And you wouldn't want me any other way"
We was camping down the Gower one time, the work was pretty good
She thought we shouldn't wait for the frost and I thought maybe we should
We was drinking more in those days and tempers reached a pitch
And like a fool I let her run with the rambling itch
Oh the last I heard she's sleeping rough back on the Derby beat
White Horse in her hip pocket and a wolfhound at her feet
And they say she even married once, a man named Romany Brown
But even a gypsy caravan was too much settling down
And they say her flower is faded now, hard weather and hard booze
But maybe that's just the price you pay for the chains you refuse
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
And I miss her more than ever words could say
If I could just taste all of her wildness now
If I could hold her in my arms today
Well I wouldn't want her any other way
Last edited by jerry on Thu Dec 22, 2005 4:45 am, edited 1 time in total.
- linda_lakeside
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Jerry,
Thanks so much for posting this. I've often been curious about the work of Richard and Linda (now married to David Foster) Thompson. I'd heard their names in connection with many projects, but this is the first opportunity I've had to actually read his work. It's lovely, and I thank you, once more.
Linda.
Thanks so much for posting this. I've often been curious about the work of Richard and Linda (now married to David Foster) Thompson. I'd heard their names in connection with many projects, but this is the first opportunity I've had to actually read his work. It's lovely, and I thank you, once more.
Linda.
- linda_lakeside
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- linda_lakeside
- Posts: 3857
- Joined: Mon Sep 13, 2004 3:08 pm
- Location: By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea..
- linda_lakeside
- Posts: 3857
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Last I heard, sex was a desire=romance. In my books anyway. Somebody tell me that LC's romance doesn't equate sex.
- it makes the world go round after all! Or it that 'love'? It's all the same thing under different names!
No matter. I won't quibble over love, sex or romance. Under any other name. There's always just a 'hint' of something forbidden. Where better to find the forbidden fruit than in art/music?
In a different vein, thanks again Jerry, you've a lot of Linda and Richard Thompson in your memory banks. I always meant to ask you, how much the poet you had in yourself. But, I won't ask. I'll let you spill at your own will.
Linda.
[/i]

No matter. I won't quibble over love, sex or romance. Under any other name. There's always just a 'hint' of something forbidden. Where better to find the forbidden fruit than in art/music?
In a different vein, thanks again Jerry, you've a lot of Linda and Richard Thompson in your memory banks. I always meant to ask you, how much the poet you had in yourself. But, I won't ask. I'll let you spill at your own will.
Linda.
[/i]
- linda_lakeside
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I haven't ever heard of Richard Thompson before this. But on the strength of these lyrics I'm definitely going to check him out.
The last part made me think of a few women that I've known, how they ended up, and how they once were back in their glory. As Johhny Cash sang, "I don't like it but I guess things happen that way." Like the guy in the song, I prefer to think of how they were back in the day.
"Fine as a bee's wing" is a good line. Thanks for turning me on to this guys work. With all of the Cohen fans here I'm guessing that there will be some more great artists that I'll find out about...because we all seem to have a deep respect for quality lyrics.
Kevin
The last part made me think of a few women that I've known, how they ended up, and how they once were back in their glory. As Johhny Cash sang, "I don't like it but I guess things happen that way." Like the guy in the song, I prefer to think of how they were back in the day.
"Fine as a bee's wing" is a good line. Thanks for turning me on to this guys work. With all of the Cohen fans here I'm guessing that there will be some more great artists that I'll find out about...because we all seem to have a deep respect for quality lyrics.
Kevin
- linda_lakeside
- Posts: 3857
- Joined: Mon Sep 13, 2004 3:08 pm
- Location: By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea..
Ahh ~ I meant 'outright' sex, that might relate to the "daring" aspect.
The front parlours were frought with desire which, of course, hearkens to the ultimate
.
.
The front parlours were frought with desire which, of course, hearkens to the ultimate

Or, in the front parlour ~ and the front-parlour balladsThere's always just a 'hint' of something forbidden. Where better to find the forbidden fruit than in art/music?

You can hear Beeswing here.
http://s65.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=15JF ... I9QDLVAPSB
Here's a link to his website
http://www.richardthompson-music.com/
http://s65.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=15JF ... I9QDLVAPSB
Here's a link to his website
http://www.richardthompson-music.com/
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.
Leonard Cohen
Leonard Cohen