Pennies from heaven

Don't make me laugh

Here all you'll get

Is the pattering rain

Or yon two crows up over the hill

Looking for winterkill

Always at your boots

The mud behind the byre

With its clammy hold

Would mock you up a grave

Here in the mire of a wrecked sheepfold And all you'll bring to this

Is muscle and grit

Persistence, that's just about it

What made you think

There'd be a living in sheep?

Eat, work, eat, work and sleep Duck under the eaves

Of the bothy

To sit here, caged by rain

Somewhere to go conjure

A next move

When I have to think again

The dog lifts his gaze to plead

Believes the wizard has a magic stick

Leans his weight into my tweed

I give an unholy hand to lick I take a swig of sheep dip

From my flask

And once again I ask

What made you think

There'd be a living in sheep?

Eat, work, eat, work and sleep They were at this game

Two hundred years ago

Had thirty ways

Of dying young, poor souls

Laid to rest in their soggy rows

Rain on their holy books

Blood and whiskey

On the tongue

And no-one watching over anyone

No-one left but your stubborn one

And the crows and rooks Ah, the dying young

Well I'm not done

You watch me and I'll watch thee

I can still work for two men

And drink for three And I raise my flask

To the clearing skies

To you, sweepers

You carrion spies

To scavenge and survive

If you can do it so can I