Lyrics A Ballad for Katherine of Aragon - Martin Simpson
                                                As 
                                                    I 
                                                walked 
                                                down 
                                                by 
                                                the 
                                                river
 
                                    
                                
                                                Down 
                                                by 
                                                the 
                                                frozen 
                                                fen
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                saw 
                                                the 
                                                grey 
                                                cathedral
 
                                    
                                
                                                With 
                                                the 
                                                eyes 
                                                of 
                                                    a 
                                                child 
                                                of 
                                                ten.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    O 
                                                the 
                                                railway 
                                                arch 
                                                is 
                                                smoky
 
                                    
                                
                                                As 
                                                the 
                                                Flying 
                                                Scot 
                                                goes 
                                                by
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                but 
                                                for 
                                                the 
                                                Education 
                                                Act
 
                                    
                                
                                                Go 
                                                Jumper 
                                                Cross 
                                                and 
                                                I.
 
                                    
                                
                                                But 
                                                war 
                                                is 
                                                    a 
                                                bitter 
                                                bugle
 
                                    
                                
                                                That 
                                                all 
                                                must 
                                                learn 
                                                to 
                                                blow
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                it 
                                                didn't 
                                                take 
                                                long 
                                                to 
                                                stop 
                                                the 
                                                song
 
                                    
                                
                                                In 
                                                the 
                                                dirty 
                                                Italian 
                                                snow.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    O 
                                                war 
                                                is 
                                                    a 
                                                casual 
                                                mistress
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                world 
                                                is 
                                                her 
                                                double 
                                                bed
 
                                    
                                
                                                She 
                                                has 
                                                    a 
                                                few 
                                                charms 
                                                in 
                                                her 
                                                mechanized 
                                                arms
 
                                    
                                
                                                But 
                                                you 
                                                wake 
                                                up 
                                                and 
                                                find 
                                                yourself 
                                                dead.
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                olive 
                                                tree 
                                                in 
                                                winter
 
                                    
                                
                                                Casts 
                                                her 
                                                banner 
                                                down
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                priest 
                                                in 
                                                white 
                                                and 
                                                scarlet
 
                                    
                                
                                                Comes 
                                                up 
                                                from 
                                                the 
                                                muddy 
                                                town.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    O 
                                                never 
                                                more 
                                                will 
                                                Jumper
 
                                    
                                
                                                Watch 
                                                the 
                                                Flying 
                                                Scot 
                                                go 
                                                by.
 
                                    
                                
                                                His 
                                                funeral 
                                                knell 
                                                was 
                                                    a 
                                                six-inch 
                                                shell
 
                                    
                                
                                                Singing 
                                                across 
                                                the 
                                                sky.
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                Queen 
                                                of 
                                                Castile 
                                                has 
                                                    a 
                                                daughter
 
                                    
                                
                                                Who 
                                                won't 
                                                come 
                                                home 
                                                again
 
                                    
                                
                                                She 
                                                lies 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                grey 
                                                cathedral
 
                                    
                                
                                                Under 
                                                the 
                                                arms 
                                                of 
                                                Spain.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    O 
                                                the 
                                                Queen 
                                                of 
                                                Castile 
                                                has 
                                                    a 
                                                daughter
 
                                    
                                
                                                Torn 
                                                out 
                                                by 
                                                the 
                                                roots
 
                                    
                                
                                                Her 
                                                lovely 
                                                breast 
                                                in 
                                                    a 
                                                cold 
                                                stone 
                                                chest
 
                                    
                                
                                                Under 
                                                the 
                                                farmers' 
                                                boots.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Now 
                                                    I 
                                                like 
                                                    a 
                                                Spanish 
                                                party
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                many 
                                                    O 
                                                many's 
                                                the 
                                                day
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                have 
                                                watched 
                                                them 
                                                swim 
                                                as 
                                                the 
                                                night 
                                                came 
                                                dim
 
                                    
                                
                                                In 
                                                Algeciras 
                                                Bay.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    O 
                                                the 
                                                high 
                                                sierra 
                                                was 
                                                thunder
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                seven-branched 
                                                river 
                                                of 
                                                Spain
 
                                    
                                
                                                Came 
                                                down 
                                                to 
                                                the 
                                                sea 
                                                to 
                                                plunder
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                heart 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                sailor 
                                                again.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    O 
                                                shall 
                                                    I 
                                                leap 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                river
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                knock 
                                                upon 
                                                paradise 
                                                door
 
                                    
                                
                                                For 
                                                    a 
                                                gunner 
                                                of 
                                                twenty-seven 
                                                and 
                                                    a 
                                                half
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                    a 
                                                queen 
                                                of 
                                                twenty-four?
 
                                    
                                
                                                From 
                                                the 
                                                almond 
                                                tree 
                                                by 
                                                the 
                                                river
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                watch 
                                                the 
                                                sky 
                                                with 
                                                    a 
                                                groan,
 
                                    
                                
                                                For 
                                                Jumper 
                                                and 
                                                Kate 
                                                are 
                                                always 
                                                out 
                                                late
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                    I 
                                                lie 
                                                here 
                                                alone.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Charles 
                                                Causley
 
                                    
                                Attention! Feel free to leave feedback.