LIFE IS THE
ONLY TEACHER 1980
Lyrics translated by
Peter Sinfield
Life Is The
Only Teacher
Beautiful lady walking
by,
bearing the mark of pride.
Life is the only teacher,
live it and be satisfied.
Beautiful lady tell me why
let yourself be denied.
Life is the only teacher,
live it and be satisfied.
Opportunity is lost
to those who sit weighing the cost.
Everything is there to reach for,
life is the only teacher.
Never let the chance be missed,
for luck is the lady to kiss.
Love is there for us to seek, for
life is the only teacher.
Beautiful lady I can see
you know the truth inside.
Life is the only teacher,
live it and be satisfied.
Beautiful lady turn the key.
Why leave so much untried.
Life is the only teacher,
Live it and be satisfied.
Opportunities are free
to all those who are willing to be
freely taken by the wind that blows
life is the only teacher.
Never let the joy be stilled,
for life is a cup to be filled
up, and drink a toast to every moment
life is the only teacher.
Beautiful lady have no fears
forget all the tears you cried.
Life is the only teacher,
live it and be satisfied.
The Land
that is me The Witch Donna (Woman) The harvest
Summer days have come and
gone,
and the nights are drawing in.
From tomorrow, all about,
the harvest will begin.
But while the men sit honing reaping-hooks,
casting young girls keener looks,
one will wait alone,
for her lover to be known.
From dawn to dusk the people
toil the harvest has begun.
As it has for generations,
so it will be done.
But while the women talk about the day,
the children all too tired to play,
one will wait alone,
for her lover to be known.
Soon the fires will be burning brightly
all across the land,
while the courting couples stroll
the lanes. In Wonderland.
But when the crops have all been gathered in
and the icy winds have yet to begin,
one will wait alone,
for her lover to be known.
Summer days have come and gone,
and the nights are drawing in.
From tomorrow, all about,
the harvest will begin,
but while the grapes hang heavy on the vine,
and they're choosing the girls to tread the wine,
one will wait alone,
for her lover to be known.
Colours
There is a legend in my
country
for those young men who are broken-hearted.
If love has treated you so badly,
to ease the pain of the newly-parted,
they say go down by the gentle seashore,
find a calm, solitary place.
And where the tide has run out before,
you make the colours of her face.
Black sand, to draw her raven tresses.
White sand, to picture her cheeks and forehead.
And with the colours of magenta,
you paint those sweet lips so warm and red.
And then in silence you.think about her,
every heart-felt memory.
For when the tide has washed away the traces,
then at last you will be free.
The lord of
Baux
Overlooking the valley
below,
high on the edge of a mountain,
stands the mighty castle of Baux,
a dark and cursed ruin.
The echoes of a thousand knights
come riding o'er the keepstone,
and at their head with ghostly sight
gallops the Lord of Baux,
his spirit seeking rest.
On barren stones he built his lair,
a monument to power.
And he kept his bride a prisoner there,
locked in the highest tower.
Inside the fires were burning bright,
with wine-lit eyes
a gleaming they sang, the battlements rang
with ballads of sword and long-bow
the bravest of all, though, sat before, so
silent and cold, the Lord of Baux.
High o'er the ivy-covered keep,
the marching steps are ringing.
And watching the birds fly to the sea,
a sad-eyed girl is weeping.
Never so kind and fair a maid,
never so sad a story.
Slowly she pined her life away,
surrounded by his
glory and fame. The travellers came
to carry the news for all to know
that always alone, his face of stone,
so silent and cold, the Lord of Baux.
Overlooking the valley below,
high on the edge of a mountain,
stands the mighty castle of Baux,
a dark and shattered ruin.
The echoes of a thousand knights
come riding o'er the keepstone,
and at their head with ghostly
sight gallops the Lord of Baux,
his spirit seeking rest.
The lady and
the falconer
In the highlands' bloody
history,
there was once a mighty laird.
A braw and fearsome man was he,
with a daughter most passing fair.
Four sons his lady had borne him long,
four sons that had ne'er drew breath.
And as his daughter gave her first cry,
his beloved wife lay dead.
He hunted o'er the moors by day
with the falcon that was his pride,
entrusted to an orphan boy
that e'er was by his side.
And when his daughter came of age
there were suitors by the score.
But one by one she bade them "begone",
'till at last they came no more.
But one young man she had loved so long,
and her love he did return.
And on that day they lay down beside
the banks of the shady burn.
The weeks went by, and to everyone
how happy she had become.
Till one fine morn' they woke up to find
both her and the falconer gone.
They had not ridden a dozen leagues,
then were caught so easily.
And black with rage the laird cried out,
"he will hang from the gallows tree".
As they placed the noose around his neck,
she cried out so piteously,
"dear father, father spare this man,
for his child is grown in me".
Her lover looked upon his laird,
and he spoke with head held high,
"I have loved you like your own true son,
that you have e'er been denied".
Then from the eyes of that mighty laird
the tears sprang down his cheeks
he cried, "I have been grieving too long,
make ready a great wedding feast".
In the highlands' bloody history,
there was once a mighty laird.
A braw and handsome man was he,
with grandsons and daughters most fair.
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