MusicalTerms

Bow
Of your yellow hair, oh, I will fashion a __bow__ To scrape out a tune on your heart. Of your long fingernails I will fashion ten quills To pluck on your veins like a harp."

I Fell in Love, //Farewell Sorrow//

Bow as in bows & arrows
See Armed Conflict

Bow as in bow & curtsey
And the boy of blazing brow on the rood, on the rood And the boy of blazing brow on the rood And the boy of blazing brow before whom every knee must __bow__ And the boy of blazing brow on the rood

I Saw the Boy of Blazing Brow Take to Rood Like Groom to Bride, unreleased

Chord
What cares the wren for the jinx of rhinic [?] Or the plain of cadence for the dominant __chord__? Or the dull munlo for the high cathedral? Or the insown hero for the dormant lord?

What Cares the Crow for the Plaint of Lapwing? unreleased

And when will you return again Tell to me my new found brother When __chords__ consent to songs' intent Like siren child and happy mother

The End of Breeding, unreleased

Composer
Now the age has come to rust, we've seen the death of wonder Now we rob graverobber's graves and redisplay the plunder And we fill some dead __composer's__ staves with irony and thunder

Ned Ludd's Rant (for a World Rebarbarised), Spoils

Drum
I fell in love with the roll of her __drum__, Fell in love with her horn's blaring noise. And I fell in love with her lute's gentle strum, And I fell in love with her voice. .... "I will squeeze your lungs like the bellows of an organ, And blow on your bones like the pipes. With a rat-a-tat-tat on your skull like a __drum__, A rat-a-tat-tat on your skull.

I Fell in Love, //Farewell Sorrow//

The sound of our music is shrouded in linen The pipe and the __drum__ under cold iron sway Venerable Ossian and noble MacCrimmon Will lay down the weapons and soon pass away

The Merry Wake, unreleased

Fiddle
Then by there came a __fiddling__ taylor By there came a tayloring __fiddler__ By there came a __fiddling__ taylor down among the hawthorn O-ho! Who ever heard of a __fiddling__ taylor? Who ever heard of a tayloring __fiddler__? Oh who among you ever heard of a __fiddling__ taylor Especially down among some hawthorn

The fiddler, he struck a note upon his __fiddle__ And as he played, he swirled around He swirled and swirled and swirled and swirled around! And as he played, I came unstuck ... Oh, you, you could have scathed me, but you saved me You could have __fiddled__ me further in You could have scathed me, but you saved me Barely even trying Why was that?

The Ruby in the Hawthorn, unreleased

Guitar
That's only what this old guitar puts into my mouth

Ned Ludd's Rant (For a World Rebarbarised), //Spoils//

Harp
Of your yellow hair, oh, I will fashion a bow To scrape out a tune on your heart. Of your long fingernails I will fashion ten quills To pluck on your veins like a __harp__"

I Fell in Love, //Farewell Sorrow//

And in the balcony so high Men of avarice rushing by And when I asked they gave a sigh "We're all looking for our legs" And in the dining hall so long The shackled __harper__ sang her song And the stone-eared feasters sang along They sang "we're all looking for our legs"

Unyoked Oxen Turn, //Spoils//

It is the wound unstaunchable It is the healthy woman sailing It is the ship unlaunchable And yet forever doomed to sailing And also the __harp__ of triple song liberator lancer and marauder And also the axe of double blade cleaving in and- in between disorder

The Yarn Unraveller, //The Wyrd Meme//

Strike the bray __harp__, strike up the bray __harp__ Strike the __harp__ and let the wires breathe Strike up the __harp__ and raise your tiny voices In Homeric hymns to mitochondrial Eve Homeric hymns to mitochondrial Eve

The Sacred Nine and the Primal Horde, //Revenge of the Folksingers//

Horn
Oh Thomas and Bartleby, Gareth and John, Ryan and Warren, and Hector and Horace, Come follow, come follow, the musical __horns__ Link arms and join our lusty chorus

Join Our Lusty Chorus, //Farewell Sorrow//

I fell in love with the roll of her drum, Fell in love with her __horn's__ blaring noise. And I fell in love with her lute's gentle strum, And I fell in love with her voice.

I Fell in Love, //Farewell Sorrow//

!!!Possibly not a musical horn Now knife is in chest, poison in __horn__ Famine and pest and babies unborn Knife is in chest, poison in __horn__ Famine and pest and babies unborn

What Cares the Crow for the Plaint of Lapwing?, unreleased

Lute
I fell in love with the roll of her drum, Fell in love with her horn's blaring noise. And I fell in love with her __lute's__ gentle strum, And I fell in love with her voice.

I Fell in Love, //Farewell Sorrow//

Melody
Polly lay over, so close to the wall, When I opened my mouth for to sing. And my throat could not stall the __melodious__ call, My words in the chamber did ring:

I Fell in Love, //Farewell Sorrow//

And the larks sang __melodious__, Polly, At the dawning of the day. And they only know the one song, Polly, But they sing it wondrously.

I Went Hunting, //Farewell Sorrow//

As I roved out one Shrovetide Eve Among the bramble and the cloudberry It's then I heard a __melody__ A-blowing over the Northern Sea: The song of the old men of the shells

The Old Men of the Shells, //The Amber Gatherers//

Music, musical
Oh Thomas and Bartleby, Gareth and John, Ryan and Warren, and Hector and Horace, Come follow, come follow, the __musical__ horns. Link arms and join our lusty chorus

Join Our Lusty Chorus, //Farewell Sorrow//

The man was me, the groan my own Then they moaned and came and cried And raised their voices in Dark Triad Saying "the __music__ of our tethered sphere Is only silence failing It's mere distraction, mere veneer While we ‘wait the great unveiling"

So Bored was I (Dark Triad), //Spoils//

The sound of our __music__ is shrouded in linen The pipe and the drum under cold iron sway Venerable Ossian and noble MacCrimmon Will lay down the weapons and soon pass away

The Merry Wake, unreleased

Organ
"I will squeeze your lungs like the bellows of an __organ__, And blow on your bones like the pipes. With a rat-a-tat-tat on your skull like a drum, A rat-a-tat-tat on your skull.

I Fell in Love, //Farewell Sorrow//

Piano
And the one with whom I broke a bed vow Her head inclines to the __piano__ There upon her neck so narrow I lay a first fragmenting kiss

The Hidden Sin, unreleased

Pipe
"I will squeeze your lungs like the bellows of an organ, And blow on your bones like the __pipes__. With a rat-a-tat-tat on your skull like a drum, A rat-a-tat-tat on your skull.

I Fell in Love, //Farewell Sorrow//

The sound of our music is shrouded in linen The __pipe__ and the drum under cold iron sway Venerable Ossian and noble MacCrimmon Will lay down the weapons and soon pass away

The Merry Wake, unreleased

Rhythm
When Boreas at last relents and the sun again is shining We'll let the __rhythm__ guide the sense, the sense misguide the rhyming

Hyperboreans, //A Selection of Marches, Quicksteps, Laments, Strathspeys Reels and Country Dances//

Sing, singing
Sportsmen, arouse! The morning is clear. The larks are __singing__ all in the air.

Join Our Lusty Chorus, //Farewell Sorrow//

Polly lay over, so close to the wall, When I opened my mouth for to __sing__. And my throat could not stall the melodious call, My words in the chamber did ring:

I Fell in Love, //Farewell Sorrow//

And the larks sang melodious, Polly, At the dawning of the day. And they only know the one song, Polly, But they __sing__ it wondrously

And the beauty of the __singing__, All along the valley ringing, And the beauty of the __singing__ Stayed my hand.

I Went Hunting, //Farewell Sorrow//

And she gave me the wreath and she __sang__ like a starling, My fingers intwined in her feathery hair, But she shrugged me away and said Alasdair, darling, When a song's on the wind it belongs to the air. .... See Polly, she __sings__ as she sits at the spinning wheel. Mary, she __sings__ as she skips with her rope. Jonny, he __sings__ as he fetches the herring creel And Billy, he __sings__ as he rolls down the slope.

And the whole house is singing, The whole house is __singing__, The rafters are ringing, and the timbers are thrown, The whole house is __singing__, the whole house is __singing__, And I overhear them, and this is their song.

The Whole House is Singing, //Farewell Sorrow//

I can do nothing but fly in the wake of my kin. I will soar onward undaunted and die on the wing. I'll die in the canyon of echoes; you'll still hear me __sing__, And still I will give to you all the things I bring.

Waxwing, //The Amber Gatherers//

And though the words they sang were few They had the ring of something true I listened long and began to __sing__ They way the unfledged bird takes the wing I sang with the old men of the shells

I cast around to find my tune Thinking to __sing__ the song all alone But wise words on a foolish tongue Howsoever sweet they be sung They jangle like the brassy bells of hell They'll never please the old men of the shells

The Old Men of the Shells, //The Amber Gatherers//

Men of avarice rushing by And when I asked they gave a sigh "We're all looking for our legs" And in the dining hall so long The shackled harper sang her song And the stone-eared feasters __sang__ along They sang "we're all looking for our legs"

Unyoked Oxen Turn, //Spoils//

In every room an open tomb In every tomb a broken ossuary __Singing__ over the low low coom Screaming over the high prairie

The Royal Road at the World's End, //The Wyrd Meme//

The chandler his tallow, The farmer his fallow, The fletcher his feather, The cobbler his leather, Taverners and hostellers And every trade now lost to us __Singing__:

"Sleeping lord, oh sleeping lord Father of the primal horde

The Sacred Nine and the Primal Horde, //Revenge of the Folksingers//

It's of an untrue womb I __sing__ Wherein I find my mother The untrue womb where all the plagues Of all the ages gather

The Untrue Womb, //First Edition//

The lily in the lochen and the rowan by the clacken The gowan and the bracken in the heather by the shore The clamour of the gannetry, the blatter of the grackle The __singing__ of the planet that no brother can ignore The small birds of the outer air, the soarers in the stratosphere A chorus of the ones who've seen beyond and gone before, __Sing__ on, sing on, sing on, sing on, sing on, sing on __Sing__ on, sing on, sing on, sing on, sing on, sing on

The ptarmigan stands by the well at the world's end Hoping to sunder your __song__, a strong burden Hoping to steal your own __song__ from you, sparky To silence your __song__ of one million tongues Now don't let them stolen your __song__ from you, sparky Why must you die, there's no lie in your lungs

Oh tiny wren, tiny wren, under the linden Pondering in wonder the human conundrum Tiny wren, tiny wren, under the linden Pondering in wonder the human conundrum Oh but something has stolen the __song__ from you, sparky Silenced your children, your girls and your boys Now don't let them stall in the __song__ from you, sparky Why must we die? There's no lie in your voice

So __sing__, __sing__ the mystagogue, the psychopomp, the twisted god Within the cosmogonic egg, the maiden and the crone, crone, crone __Sing__ the friar of denial, the abbot of unreason

The Wheels of the World, unreleased

And come spring the birds will __sing__ in the burning woodland Cuckoo, coo, cuckoo, coooo, coooo All through the livelong day and into the evening

The Loudness Wars, unreleased

When wind blows in to waken the laverock in the blackthorn She __sings__ of all the aching In her scotia of the ills

When rain pours down to quicken The blackbird in the aspen She __sings__ of how we sicken Of Breadalbane's rolling hills

The Laverock in the Blackthorn, unreleased

While crooked and shawled we are combing The shore for some grim tombstone feast In rags and in robes we are roaming __Singing__ woe to the rein of the beast

The Year of the Burning, unreleased

Song
And the larks sang melodious, Polly, At the dawning of the day. And they only know the one __song__, Polly, But they sing it wondrously

I Went Hunting, //Farewell Sorrow//

And she gave me the wreath and she sang like a starling, My fingers intwined in her feathery hair, But she shrugged me away and said Alasdair, darling, When a __song's__ on the wind it belongs to the air. .... And the whole house is singing, The whole house is singing, The rafters are ringing, and the timbers are thrown, The whole house is singing, the whole house is singing, And I overhear them, and this is their __song__.

The Whole House is Singing, //Farewell Sorrow//

As I roved out one Shrovetide Eve Among the bramble and the cloudberry It's then I heard a melody A-blowing over the Northern Sea: The __song__ of the old men of the shells ... And though the words they sang were few They had the ring of something true I listened long and began to __sing__ They way the unfledged bird takes the wing I sang with the old men of the shells

I cast around to find my tune Thinking to sing the __song__ all alone But wise words on a foolish tongue Howsoever sweet they be sung They jangle like the brassy bells of hell They'll never please the old men of the shells

The Old Men of the Shells, //The Amber Gatherers//

Men of avarice rushing by And when I asked they gave a sigh "We're all looking for our legs" And in the dining hall so long The shackled harper sang her __song__ And the stone-eared feasters sang along They sang "we're all looking for our legs"

Unyoked Oxen Turn, //Spoils//

Here's the dowry of the leper A walnut shell and a peck of pepper And an alder spray to carve a quiver For a gang of hazel dowsers They dowsed themselves into a tangle Called themselves a hazel bush They snarled so sweet and incomplete That they stole the heart of a little __song__ thrush

Hazel Forks, //Spoils//

It is the wound unstaunchable It is the healthy woman sailing It is the ship unlaunchable And yet forever doomed to sailing And also the harp of triple __song__ liberator lancer and marauder And also the axe of double blade cleaving in and- in between disorder What sisterhood has joined together no brother feud can ever sever And when will you come back again

The Yarn Unraveller, //The Wyrd Meme//

The ptarmigan stands by the well at the world's end Hoping to sunder your __song__, a strong burden Hoping to steal your own __song__ from you, sparky To silence your __song__ of one million tongues Now don't let them stolen your __song__ from you, sparky Why must you die, there's no lie in your lungs

Oh tiny wren, tiny wren, under the linden Pondering in wonder the human conundrum Tiny wren, tiny wren, under the linden Pondering in wonder the human conundrum Oh but something has stolen the __song__ from you, sparky Silenced your children, your girls and your boys Now don't let them stall in the __song__ from you, sparky Why must we die? There's no lie in your voice

So __sing__, __sing__ the mystagogue, the psychopomp, the twisted god Within the cosmogonic egg, the maiden and the crone, crone, crone __Sing__ the friar of denial, the abbot of unreason

The Wheels of the World, unreleased

This __song's__ made in anger, this __song's__ made in love Where the croak of the hawk meets the coo of the dove Where minstrels see slander and right turns to rage To make a __song__ about the renovation of the age ... And joy to those who'd use their songs as clues to find their clan And woe to those who'd use them to enslave their fellow man, or fellow woman

Song Composed in December, unreleased

Saying there welcome one to sow dischord as dragon teeth among all nations To tear away your tawdry wreaths and dream to dry all your libations The plunder within my abandoned room is nothing but fairy treasure And know that soon come the day of doom They'll come to cut my sprawling __song__ to measure

Bring Me the Glass, unreleased

Her carnal __song__ unbridles vice And brings her father to despair With phantom limbs of antichrist Sprawled on endless sulphur air ... And when will you return again Tell to me my new found brother When chords consent to __songs__' intent Like siren child and happy mother

The End of Breeding, unreleased

Stave
Now the age has come to rust, we've seen the death of wonder Now we rob graverobber's graves and redisplay the plunder And we fill some dead composer's __staves__ with irony and thunder

Ned Ludd's Rant (for a World Rebarbarised), Spoils

Tune
Of your yellow hair, oh, I will fashion a bow To scrape out a __tune__ on your heart. Of your long fingernails I will fashion ten quills To pluck on your veins like a harp."

I Fell in Love, //Farewell Sorrow//

I cast around to find my __tune__ Thinking to sing the song all alone But wise words on a foolish tongue Howsoever sweet they be sung They jangle like the brassy bells of hell They'll never please the old men of the shells

The Old Men of the Shells, //The Amber Gatherers//