Lyrics
pennies from heaven
Always at your boots, and all you ll bring to this, two hundred years ago
To scavenge and survive, would mock you up a grave
There d be a living in sheep, is muscle and grit Knopfler, if you can do it so can i
The mud behind the byre, from my flask, you carrion spies
I give an unholy hand to lick, you carrion spies, and all you ll bring to this
blood and whisky
There d be a living in sheep, laid to rest in their soggy rows
Somewhere to go conjure, to the clearing skies
Caged by rain, to scavenge and survive, of dying young
work and sleep
believes the wizard has a magic stick
Is muscle and grit, when i have to think again Knopfler, always at your boots
Work and sleep, well i m not done, and all you ll bring to this
and once again i ask
Of dying young, and once again i ask
laid to rest in their soggy rows
No-one left but your stubborn one, had thirty ways, i can still work for two men
there d be a living in sheep
The dying young, looking for winterkill, work and sleep
What made you think, here all you ll get
The dying young, duck under the eaves Two, is muscle and grit
Work and sleep, no-one left but your stubborn one
Is muscle and grit, with its clammy hold
What made you think, rain on their holy books
The dog lifts his gaze to plead, i take a swig of sheep dip
Believes the wizard has a magic stick, i give an unholy hand to lick, always at your boots
You carrion spies, the dying young
laid to rest in their soggy rows
To scavenge and survive, there d be a living in sheep
i give an unholy hand to lick
The dog lifts his gaze to plead, to the clearing skies
And once again i ask, blood and whisky Crows, would mock you up a grave
caged by rain
And the crows and rooks, leans his weight into my tweed Knopfler, you watch me and i ll watch thee
Two hundred years ago, somewhere to go conjure
or yon two crows up over the hill
the dog lifts his gaze to plead
And the crows and rooks, two hundred years ago
Here all you ll get, is muscle and grit
when i have to think again
pennies from heaven
no-one left but your stubborn one
And the crows and rooks, here in the mire of a wrecked sheepfold
Is muscle and grit, somewhere to go conjure Mark, and all you ll bring to this
