Pastor Skull

A medieval hunt sabbing. St George killed the dragon, now we're going to kill St George.

Still save the stallion's hesitant peace
Through the wandering valley and the fumbling fleece
Came a long cold knight and a saint I'm told
With shining armour bright as beaten gold

Sage soul-strong in the firelight stood
At the shore of the mere in the darkening wood
Mother of winter's long lost hold
Stirred in the deep of the bottomless waters cold

Sullen and sick in the waters waking
Spurs the worm to the surface breaking
Ring like the clappers on a leper's-bell toll
But the warning peal too late cold comfort holds

Through all the stained-glass windows
Red gold burns in the black of the night
Plucked me a rose and off to his bed he bore me
On his bloody sword Saint George
Stands on the Stour at Wormingford
Pastor Skull came stumbling down
Gave thanks for the new day born in the morning's glory

Hard by the heat I the whirling water
The knight with the cross and the holy orders
Kneels in a prayer for the victor's crown
Then spits on his sword and throws the gauntlet down

He put a hammer-lock grip to her left front paw
And an elbow strike to the drooling jaw
Made the worm fall backward tooth and claw
And lean on the scales which tipped to the warrior's score

We heard her scream we heard her die
We heard the knight's triumphant cry
Our hearts beat faster we locked our doors
Blind eyes turned let the battle take its course

Pastor Skull rode up the hill
In the half-light borne to the site of the kill
Stiff to the glebe then picked his way
Where the knight stood still and the bloodstained body-count lay

Pastor Skull threw up his hands
Wept for the worm on the silver sands
Turned to the knight and cursed him through
May God forgive for I will never do

Gallows-bait sneer in his bully-boy's eye
We watched the knight go riding by
In shame at his sport was the village renamed
Wormingford t'was called and so remains

King's pawn has opened
Rookery rings to his ragged cry
Ask me the time by Shrewsbury clock in the morning
Knight takes pawn Bishop looks on
Front rank kneels in the rising corn
Enter rumour racked and torn
No time to rehearse his lines for the first performance

All lyrics Gary Hatcher except lines 1,2,5,6 & 7 from poem by Darren Tansley

Intro. D C F
Verse D C G (D C) (C) (F)
Chorus D C F D C G F
Instr. D G F D A Bb A Bb C D
Ending D G F D A D G F Bb C D