Campfire In The Dark
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My father rises early and he makes a sup of tea
He lights the kitchen stove and then he calls me
His days are often empty, he's nothing much to do
So he sits and tells me stories of the travelling life he knew
In the evening they would meet in lonely country lanes
A field away you'd hear a collie bark
And they'd pass the time away with talks about the day
Standing 'round the campfire in the dark
Standing 'round the campfire in the dark
My mother likes the house, the hot water and the rooms
It's warm in the winter and she's handy with the broom
Sometimes she makes Colcannon, more often Griddle Bread
There's a hunger deep inside her for a travelling life that's dead
In the evening she would lift the black pots from the coals
A bit to eat she always would remark
There'd be vessels left to clean while children could be seen
Playing 'round the campfire in the dark
Playing 'round the campfire in the dark
'We'd go down to the pool hall to chat up the town beors
Sometimes at their discos we can't get past the doors
We're still tinkers to them and it's thrown at our ears
We're still the awful strangers after all these years
And I think about my own life and the way that it will be
An Escort van, a bit of dealing, a wife and family
Thursday I collect the Dole, friday pitch and toss
But on the site I think about the travellers' ways we've lost
And I wish that I could rise, wash the sleep out of these eyes
And listen to the sweet song of the lark
And I wish that I could be in campfire company
With the sound of horses moving in the dark
With the sound of horses moving in the dark
With the sound of horses moving in the dark