Sing it, Hillary.
pure with nicotine prawn whisker thin
her dying words faint as the minister leans in
she sits by the window from her home on the quay
a lost look to see
on the western rocks merchant ships are slipping away
the horizon a pencil line fading to grey
maybe stories are a fruit that must ripen
and change I'll let her explain
1707 queen Anne's on the throne from
Gibraltar the English fleet's heading for home
with ill grace and poor aim and a terrible storm
the passage undone
the colourless skies work against them the outlook was bleak
a young man steps forward,
sir, if I may speak
I've sailed round these islands the whole of my life
and your chance can't be right
the lights of St Agnes were burning six men of war,
close to two thousand crew
should have heeded the young man's warning
that they'd sway like a hypnotist's watch
stuck fast on the gillstone rock
the admiral fears mutiny gives his command
upon the yard of the poor wretch's hand
above the storm all hear the words of a song
Chevelle and your family be damned
his vengeance was swift and the fleet soon went down
but Sir Cloudsley, against all the odds,
doesn't drown on Porthannock's sand six days later he's found
and word soon goes round with the light
of St Agnes still burning
six men of war,
close to two thousand crew should have heeded the young man's warning
that they'd sway like a hypnotist's watch
on top
of the gillstone rock
I
finished the work
that the sea had begun
I stole his last breath
and when my work had been done
once I'd broken his finger,
took the ring off his hand
I buried the man
the emerald
and diamonds I give to you now I could
have sold for great wealth had the
simply drowned
to his family the ring must return safe and sound
before I'm sold in my shroud
still the lights of St Agnes were burning six men of war,
close to two thousand crew
should have heeded the young man's warning
they'd sway like a hypnotist's watch
on top
of the gillstone rock it was her brother that night
from the yard armed his way
and given the chance she killed Chauvel again
hanging by him the rat lines in front of his men
the night before the storm
on a clear night the wreckage will come into view
on the yard arm a figure picked out by the moon
hear the words of a song,
curse the captain anew
as he sways like a hypnotist's watch
up high on the gillstone rocks