Bert Jansch - Blackwater Side
One morning fair I took the air
Down by Blackwater side
'twas in gazing all, all around me
The Irish lad I spied
All through the far part of the night
We lay in sport and play
Till this young man arose and gathered his clothes
Saying fare-thee-well today
That's not the promise that you gave to me
When first you lay on my breast
You could make me believe with your lying tongue
That the sun rose in the West
Well then go home to your father's garden
Go home and weep your fill
And think on your own misfortune
That you've brought with your wanton will
Down by Blackwater side
'twas in gazing all, all around me
The Irish lad I spied
All through the far part of the night
We lay in sport and play
Till this young man arose and gathered his clothes
Saying fare-thee-well today
That's not the promise that you gave to me
When first you lay on my breast
You could make me believe with your lying tongue
That the sun rose in the West
Well then go home to your father's garden
Go home and weep your fill
And think on your own misfortune
That you've brought with your wanton will
One morning fair I took the air
Down by Blackwater side
'twas in gazing all, all around me
The Irish lad I spied
All through the far part of the night
We lay in sport and play
Till this young man arose and gathered his clothes
Saying fare-thee-well today
That's not the promise that you gave to me
When first you lay on my breast
You could make me believe with your lying tongue
That the sun rose in the West
Well then go home to your father's garden
Go home and weep your fill
And think on your own misfortune
That you've brought with your wanton will
Down by Blackwater side
'twas in gazing all, all around me
The Irish lad I spied
All through the far part of the night
We lay in sport and play
Till this young man arose and gathered his clothes
Saying fare-thee-well today
That's not the promise that you gave to me
When first you lay on my breast
You could make me believe with your lying tongue
That the sun rose in the West
Well then go home to your father's garden
Go home and weep your fill
And think on your own misfortune
That you've brought with your wanton will
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