1. |
Wildflower
03:39
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2. |
The Woodsman
03:31
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There once was a woodsman
Who lived by a river
An honest man
But a rogue by trade
He ran from the scars
He bore from a princess
Who stole his heart
But didn’t love him the same
Into the woods he ran
Far from that castle
To start a new life
So far from his pain
To take a new house
And to live in that forest,
Cover his face
And to change his name
Wondering through the woods one day
He heard a sound so beautiful,
He followed it through a wooded glade
And saw a maiden there
She played the violin at the grave of her father
Every day since the day of his death,
His favourite tune
Was the one she would play him,
A mournful song that she played
As she wept
She played on the the hill
Like a devil or an angel
She swayed in the breeze
And she’d sing to the rain
Oh how he would stare,
Oh how he would stare,
“Beautiful maiden
You play so fair”
He returned the next day
To see her played
Well days turned to weeks
And months turned to years
And finally no longer
He could hold in his love
For the maiden who played
On the hill
“Oh marry me maiden!”
He shouted aloud
As he leapt forth
From his hiding place
She looked at him once
And she knew that she loved him
Weathered and grim
As he was
She played on the hill
Like a devil or an angel
And swayed in the breeze
And she’d sing to the rain
Oh how he would stare,
Oh how he would stare,
“Beautiful maiden
You play so fair”
He returned to the castle
With his beloved bride
And his mother cried
As he was married a prince
And so it goes
what the stars desire,
They always get
in the end.
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3. |
Waltz in Gm
04:06
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4. |
The Post
03:25
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Through the trees unyielding
And snow so cold
They carried me on
And all I wanted
Was to be left out to die.
I cried with blistered eyes in sight of that morning sun
But the murderer
And the thief
They carried me on
All through that wilderness I bent their backs
Ever towards the post
A hundred miles or more
The thief
He’d murmer
And toss and turn over in his bunk
And cry at what his foolish hands had done
The murderer
Would weep of his deeds
in his sleep
For he’d killed a little of himself that night
But oh how the thief
would starve
To see me fed
And oh how the murderer
would smile to see me wake
How I hated these wicked men
Who dragged me on
And the wooden sled
That wouldn’t let me fail
Until finally at the post
of the mounted police I woke
And the murderer
And the thief were cuffed and chained
Their freedom given
For my life
An unfair exchange
these woeful sinners,
These dark men
were my friends.
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5. |
The Fools Dance
01:42
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6. |
Battle Over The Pacific
02:34
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7. |
Beggar
02:13
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When I was a younger man
A beggar I knew
He lived in the bottle
And at the bottom of his tunes
He’d sit on those corners
And play for his food
There’s a cold bite
In the air
His sons went to war
A many year ago
A proud father
For he’d watched them grow
How can a man be merry
When he’s withered and cold?
There’s a tear
When he thinks he’s alone
“Oh Stranger, oh stranger,
What of the war,
Before I die
I’d see my sons once more,
And still in my dreams
I thought I saw
My sons, my sons again”
Well Winter got darker
And the soldiers came home
They found him dead
On that cold grey stone
Alas my friend
The beggar alas,
He played his tune no more.
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8. |
Concerto in A#m
03:30
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9. |
Paint Runs
03:32
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Her Clothes
Still carry
Of the scent
Of her skin
In weathered lines
Drawn in charcoal
And tempered
In sin
The paint runs on this painting
I wondered
the shore
Where we used
to skim stones
A thousand times
in my mind's eye
and how my heart yearns
The pain runs on this painting
And even when I smile,
The colours run and fade -
I'm with you for a while,
but soon I have to wake
And I know it won't be long
Until you're in my very soul
And I would go with you my dear
an age for every aching hour
-Instrumental-
I don't want to live
in that life of regret
that it's the you
I never knew
that I cannot forget
Are you out there somewhere?
A brush slowly moves
on a canvass of oil;
the imperfect creation
of an artists toil,
Because the paint runs on this painting,
And even when I smile,
The colours run and fade -
and I'm with you for a while,
but soon I have to wake
And I know it won't be long
Until you're in my very soul,
And I would go with you my dear
an age for every wasted hour
The paint runs on this painting
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10. |
Old Pain
02:08
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Henry Isaac Bristow - Haunt Hastings, UK
I was born in Hastings, East Sussex, England, and play, write and record music of many genres; this is for my original work.
I'm a producer, composer, and session musician, and was classically trained in the violin and piano, and I like to sing and play the guitar from time to time.
I created the project, Haunt for lofi and shoegaze recordings of mine; A genre I'm passionate about.
... more
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