Lyrics The Dancing Did - Ballad Of A Dying Sigh

The maiden lies twixt silken sheets, upon her comfy bed,
But around her cosy bedchamber, all kinds of nasty obstacles
are shed .
There are gin-traps on the landing,
Tin tacks round the floors abound,
And trip wires on the ceiling . .
Her valiant suitors to confound.
An ogre keeps her prisoner,
A twelve bore under his arm,
For the ogre is her Father
And the prison is a farm.
The prison is a farm boys, the prison is a farm.
The prison is a farm boys, the prison is a farm.
‘Young master, young master, you only court disaster’
A steeped in darkness farmyard,
The beasts are all locked up in bed,
But around the end of the farmyard hen-pen
Skulks a vulpine head.
The head belongs to a prowler,
Outlined ‘gainst a star pricked sky,
But chickens are not on the prowler’s mind,
For the prowler it is I.
The prowler it is I boys, the prowler it is I.
The prowler it is I boys, the prowler it is I.
I must I must see see her again
I cannot take this awful pain.
I must I must see see her again
I cannot take this awful pain
Awful pain, awful pain, awful pain, awful pain,
Awful pain, awful pain, awful pain, awful pain,
This awful pain I cannot take,
I wish to wake her up and take her away.
‘Young master, young master, you only court disaster’
Like a moth I was drawn to her glowing bedroom opposite
And lusting for her lambency, I knew I had to enter it.
Stealthily I climbed the dark shiny ivy,
That clasped and clawed the whitewashed wall,
At last I reached the glow from her window,
Saw my lover lying within and made a call.
I pushed the cross panes open
And nimbly slipped inside,
Then tiptoed over the tin tacks,
In a moment I was at her side.
I wrapped her in her eiderdown
And laid her over my shoulder,
Then exited where I’d entered,
In every movement growing bolder.
I skidded down the ivy,
Landing in the yard,
I deftly dodged the waking watchdogs,
Then never did I run so hard.
Never did I run so hard boys, never did I run so hard,
Never did I run so hard boys, never did I run so hard.
At last at a young brook’s edge,
We came to the shelter of a willow tree.
This was the time and place I decided
To put an end to my misery.
I pulled my lover’s cover open,
Exposed bare face to morning sky,
But misery oh misery,
Her greeting was her dying sigh.
Her greeting was her dying sigh boys, greeting was her dying
sigh,
Her greeting was her dying sigh boys, greeting was her dying
sigh.
Chorus
I wish I’d woken her up and not taken
I wish I’d woken her up and not taken
I wish I’d woken her up and not taken
Her.... away..........