G C G C Som en kæde til pynt på Europas hals G D G Øernes perlekrans G C G C De byder på læ og de værner mod vest G D G Smykker for Blanke Hans
Som et vovende sommerbrunt badebarn På tåspidser over hver kam Søger bagud med tillidsfuld hånd Den voksnes støttende arm
C G Sådan er vaden for øerne C D Afvæbner bølgernes kraft G C G C I loer og priler, vener og årer G D G Løber en sølvfarvet saft
Og den rigdom der bobler i vadens sand Lokker i regn og i sol Talløse flokke af farende fugle På vej fra ækvator til pol
Som en kæde til pynt på Europas hals Øernes perlekrans De byder på læ og de værner mod vest Smykker for Blanke Hans
COUNTLESS words: Rod Sinclair, tune: Martin Schack, Rod Sinclair
1. Where is this landscape you promised? This Wadden Sea that's so unique? All I can see is some mudflats And feel the cold wind on my cheek
2. The arch of the sky like a dome of clear glass Dwarfs us and stretches our eyes Four kinds of cloud in four compass points Try that horizon for size
3. The tide is rising against us Watering life in the sand Washing out runes and rhymes as it runs Shelling out mussels and clams
4. Can you count the birds in the picture? Can you count the fish in the sea? Long skeins of geese, starlings like smoke, Garfish and blenny and eel
5. The Amazon jungle is screaming with life But Wadden Sea sand oozes more These wetlands serve a feast for the fish And millions of wings by the shore
6. A birthplace and generous larder Feeding the North Sea with soul And fuelling vast flocks of wandering birds Half-way from equator to pole
7. Boats, birds and fish all seek shelter From North Sea to Zuider Zee Where sailors and seals watch Wadden Sea waves And the grey turns slowly to green
DYKERS words: Rod Sinclair, music: Martin Schack & Jacob Pedersen
A man must be mad, or need money bad Christian Larsen was a man of twenty-one ”I can move two ton a day!” the dykers heard him say The foreman ganger took young Larsen on
Cut the sod the foreland paved slowed the onslaught of the waves Dug a trench down on the leeward side Took a pinch of Jutland's heath, threw it in the ocean's teeth A dog will use its tail to keep it dry
CHORUS: The dykers were tough, the dykers were rough They worked like trojans for their pay Filled the wagons, piled the soil, 'till the token of their toil The dyke rose higher every day
With August on the wane a storm of wind and rain Soaks the dykers working on the wall To their shanty they retreat, water swirling at their feet But young Larsen higher up the dyke does crawl
On the leeside dug a grave Larsen tried his life to save And struggled through that stormy day and night He had shovelled up the clay, now he shivered where he lay And the dyke would show if it could save a life
Larsen soon was missed and searchers did enlist The newest dyker must be found, they swore In the morning's cold grey light when they sailed along the dyke Pulled poor half-dead Larsen safe aboard
In the new uneasy dawn they rowed young Larsen in He'd soon be washed and warm now he was found Larsen's workmates - what of them? The nineteen other men? Larsen learned that every one had drowned.
Death of a Swan Words:Anon c. 1600 Melody: Martin Schack
Ebm Bbm Ebm The silver swan who living had no note Ebm Bbm Ebm When death approached unlocked her silent throat Abm Ebm Abm Leaned her breast against the reedy shore Abm Ebm Ab Thus sang her first and last and sang no more Ebm Bbm Ebm Farewell all joys: O death come close mine eyes Ebm Bbm Eb More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise
sung chorus (hummed)
Abm ./. Ebm ./. Abm ./.
Abm ./. Ebm ./. Ab
Gryden words: Rod Sinclair; Tune: Martin Schack
SEAFARERS Words & music: Rod Sinclair
Hans Jessen of Ribe, a merchant renowned Sailed in these waters of old From Bremen to London his fine sailing cog Was laden with riches untold.
His crew knew their rigging and currents and stars Trusty at sea and ashore One day in fifteen and seventy three Nine pirates clambered aboard
”We'll feed you to the fishes!” the pirate chief cried ”As soon as we've tasted your wine. You'll all drown like dogs and for London we'll sail And we'll live there like barons so fine!”
The pirates bound Jessen and his sailors three Then tumbled below to the wine. Jessen broke free with his mariners bold Made prisoners of pirates all nine.
When Hans Jessen's cog came to harbour once more The pirates' heads soon people saw Atop bloody poles for all Ribe to mind That the rich are protected by law
Had they sailed from great harbours or on the wide seas Had they fought in the far Spanish Main As heroes and seafarers, pirates and rogues Then the whole world would know of their names.
SEASCAPE words: Rod Sinclair, tune: Martin Schack
Salt air over restless water and hastening clouds Pale sunshine and dark rainstorm driven by wind The sea outlines the sand Time the moon and the tides Salt water turns into land
This seascape was sung from darkness by seagulls' cries Built from nothing by wandering singers who gave it all names They sang the birds in the sky They sang the fish in the sea They sang the beasts in the grass
Flat country breeds hard people who fight to survive Raising homes on grassy hillocks to keep them from harm Always lived by the sea Always lived with the sea The sea's life kept them alive
Their music is gone forever, a song on the wind Hard traces they left behind them the signs and the tone It was old even then Sounded far and near As we have known all along
THE SILVER HARVEST Words: Rod Sinclair, Jacob Pedersen Tune: Rod Sinclair, Jacob Pedersen
G C G D The "Silver Harvest" dips and rises on the early morning swell G C G D G The idling engine gently holds her bow north-west and she rides it well D G A7 D The bulging trawl is over deck, the catch is spilling, the winches scream G C G D G The silver harvest comes cascading to the hold in a silver stream.
Chorus C Em D Em Sail away, Silver Harvest, sail away to the sea C Em D Em Sail away, Silver Harvest, sail away to the sea
The skipper pointed to the boat and proudly told his eldest son, 'The "Silver Harvest" will be yours when my fishing days are done.' Thinking back on twenty years, youth to manhood, no regrets The son, now skipper, hand on wheel - fishing is his living yet.
Waves are rolling, salty mountains, towering over wooden rail Men intent on hook and pulley turn their backs on the mounting gale The wind is howling over deck, seagulls screaming, engines roar The "Silver Harvest" rounds the headland, gun'l full and peace on board
Sailing homeward, looking seaward, hands rest by the pitching rail Talk about the days when fishing was a living that could not fail Bigger boats long since moved in, catches dwindle, boats go broke The silver harvest, caught in quotas: fishermen still need their luck.
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