WHISKY PRIESTS

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Granda Craghill

 

The dead miner lay
Ice coating his brow
A gang of bald crows at his belly

Cramped
Like a shoe in an old cardboard box
They filled him up to the eyes with coal

Shadow amongst shadows
They dragged him out
To the jaws of the cold hungry sea
And they buried him
In sight of the pit that raised him
They turned him into dust

Coal dust
Dust that smarts in our mourning eyes
The dust that made you and me

And me granda’s a crumbling dead volcano
But his lava runs on inside me

And me granda’s a crumbling dead volcano
But his lava runs on inside me


(lyrics: Keith Armstrong / music: Gary Miller)


© 1995 Whippet Records

Copyright Control MCPS/PRS

 

Releases (on Whippet Records unless otherwise stated)


Original Studio Version

Bloody Well Everything!

12-Disc CD Box Set (WPTCD27) 2018