Mountain Men

<br>The poacher and his daughter<br><br>Throw soft shadows on the water in the night.<br><br>A thin moon slips behind them<br><br>As they pull the net with no betraying light.<br><br>And later on the coast road, I meet them<br><br>And the old man winks a smile.<br><br>And who am I to fast deny the right<br><br>To take a fish once in a while? <br><br>I walk with them, they wish me luck<br><br>When I ship out on the sunday from the kyle.<br><br>And from the church I hear them singing<br><br>As the ship moves sadly from the pier.<br><br>Oh, poachers daughter, sunday best,<br><br>Two hundred brave souls share the farewell tear.<br><br><br><br>Theres a house on the hillside, where the drifting sands are born.<br><br>Lay down and let the slow tide wash me<br><br>Back to the land where I came from.<br><br>Where the mountain men are kings<br><br>And the sound of the piper counts for everything.<br><br><br><br>Did my tour, did my duty. I did all they asked of me.<br><br>Died in the trenches and at el alamein<br><br>...died in the falklands on t.v.<br><br>Going back to the mountain kings<br><br>Where the sound of the piper counts for everything.<br><br><br><br>Long generations from the isles<br><br>Sent to tread the foreign miles<br><br>Where the spiral ages meet.<br><br>Felt naked dust beneath their feet.<br><br>Future sun called winds to blow<br><br>And the past and present hard-eyed crow<br><br>Flew hunting high and circling low over blackened plains of eden.<br><br><br><br>Theres a child and a woman praying for an end to the mystery.<br><br>Hoping for a word in a letter<br><br>Fair wind-blown from across the sea<br><br>To where the mountain men are kings<br><br>And the sound of the piper counts for eveything.<br><br><br><br>Theres a house on the hillside, where the drifting sands are born.<br><br>Lay down and let the slow tide wash me<br><br>Back to the land where I came from.<br><br>Where the mountain men are kings<br><br>And the sound of the piper counts for everything.<br><br>Where the real mountain men are kings<br><br>And the sound of the piper counts for everything.<br><br><br><br>Feel the naked dust beneath my toes<br><br>While the future sun calls winds to blow<br><br>And the past and present black-eyed crow<br><br>Flies hunting high and circling low<br><br>Between dream mountains of our eden.