We’ll Camp a Little While in the Wilderness
Appalachian trad.
arr. Ian A. Cook
We’ll camp a little while in the wilderness,
in the wilderness, in the wilderness,
we’ll camp a little while in the wilderness,
then we’re all going home.
CHORUS
We’re all going home,
we’re all going home,
we’ll camp a little while in the wilderness,
then we’re all going home.
Oh, mothers (/fathers/brothers/sisters), are you ready,
ready, oh, ready?
Oh, mothers (/fathers/brothers/sisters), are you ready?
Then we’re all going home.
Tskhenosnuri
Georgian trad.
arr. Clayton Parr, ed. Ian A. Cook
Adiloi, dilawo delavda aralo,
ivri aralo,
Oi, I am sitting on my horse,
On my black horse, up on the saddle,
ivri aralo,
Oi, I rode out from Ch’iatura,
I loved you and I thought you were mine,
ivri aralo,
Oi, but now you’re starting to annoy me
And we’ve arrived in Tbilisi,
ivri aralo,
Adiloi, dilawo delavda aralo,
ivri aralo.
Earth Song
Frank Ticheli
Sing, be, live, see.
This dark stormy hour,
The wind, it stirs,
The scorched earth cries out in vain:
O war and power,
you blind and blur.
The torn heart cries out in pain.
But music and singing
have been my refuge,
and music and singing
shall be my light.
A light of song, shining strong:
Alleluia! Alleluia.
Through darkness and pain and strife,
I’ll sing, I’ll be, I’ll live, see…
Peace.
Hide and Seek
Imogen Heap
arr. Ian A. Cook
Where are we?
What the hell is going on?
The dust has only just begun to form
Crop circles in the carpet.
Sinking, feeling.
Spin me around again
And rub my eyes.
This can’t be happening.
When busy streets
Amass with people would stop to hold
Their heads heavy.
Hide and seek.
Trains and sewing machines.
All those years.
They were here first.
Oily marks appear on walls
Where pleasure moments hung before
The takeover,
The sweeping insensitivity of this
Still life.
Hide and seek.
Trains and sewing machines.
(You won’t catch them around here.)
Blood and tears.
They were here first.
Hmm, what’d you say?
Hmm, that you only meant well?
Well of course you did.
Hmm, what’d you say?
Hmm, that it’s all for the best?
Of course it is.
Hmm, what’d you say?
Hmm, that it’s just what we need?
You decided this.
Hmm, what’d you say?
Hmm, what did she say?
Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cutouts.
Speak no feeling, no, I don’t believe you.
You don’t care a bit, you don’t care a bit.
Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cutouts.
Speak no feeling, no, I don’t believe you.
You don’t care a bit, you don’t care a bit.
Oh, no, you don’t care a bit.
Oh, no, you don’t care a bit.
Oh, no, you don’t care a bit.
You don’t care a bit.
You don’t care a bit.
Sing a Song
Maurice White and Al McKay
arr. Deke Sharon
When you feel down and out,
sing a song, it’ll make your day.
Here’s a time to shout,
sing a song, it’ll make a way.
Sometimes it’s hard to care,
sing a song, it’ll make your day.
A smile so hard to bear,
sing a song, it’ll make a way.
CHORUS
Sing a song,
sing a song,
sing a song,
sing a song.
When you bring your heart to believin’,
sing a song, it’ll make your day.
Life ain’t about no retrievin’,
no, no, no, no, it’ll make a way.
Give yourself what you need,
sing a song, it’ll make your day.
Smile, smile, smile and believe,
sing a song, it’ll make a way.
If you sing a song today,
you will make a better way,
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Red Is the Rose
Irish trad.
arr. The High Kings
Come over the hills my bonnie Irish lass,
Come over the hills to your darling.
You choose the road, Love, and I’ll make the vow,
And I’ll be your true love forever.
CHORUS
Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows.
Fair is the lily of the valley.
Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne,
But my love is fairer than any.
’Twas down by Killarney’s green woods that we strayed
When the moon and the stars they were shining.
The moon shone its rays on her locks of golden hair,
And she swore she’d be my love forever.
It’s not for the parting that my sister pains,
It’s not for the grief of my mother.
It’s all for the loss of my bonnie Irish lass
That my heart is breaking forever.
Underneath the Stars
Kate Rusby
arr. Jim Clements, ed. Ian A. Cook
Oh, go gently.
Underneath the stars I’ll meet you,
Underneath the stars I’ll greet you,
And there beneath the stars I’ll leave you
Before you go of your own free will.
Go gently.
Underneath the stars you met me,
Underneath the stars you left me;
I wonder if the stars regret me.
At least you’ll go of your own free will.
Go gently.
Here beneath the stars I’m landing,
And here beneath the stars not ending,
Oh, why on earth am I pretending?
I’m here again, the stars befriending,
They come and go of their own free will.
Go gently.
Underneath the stars you met me,
Underneath the stars you left me;
I wonder if the stars regret me,
I’m sure they’d like me if they only met me.
They come and go of their own free will.
Go gently.
To See It
Ian A. Cook
text by Laura Foley
We need to separate
to see the life we’ve made,
to leave our house
where someone waits, patiently,
warm beneath the sheets;
to don layers of armor,
sweater, coat, mittens, scarf,
to stride down the frozen road,
putting distance between us,
this cold winter morning,
to look back and see,
on the hilltop, our life,
lit from inside.
Up on the Roof
Gerry Goffin and Carole King
arr. Deke Sharon and Anne Raugh
When this old world starts getting me down
and people are just too much for me to face,
I climb way up to the top of the stairs,
and all my cares just drift right into space.
On the roof’s the only place I know
where you just have to wish to make it so.
Oh, let’s go up on the roof.
When I come home feeling tired and beat,
I go up where the air is fresh and sweet.
I get away from that hustling crowd
and all that rat race noise down in the street.
At night the stars put on a show for free.
And, darling, you can share it all with me.
I keep telling you that
Right smack-dab in the middle of town,
I found a paradise that’s trouble proof.
And if this old world starts getting you down,
there’s room enough for two up on the roof.
Come on! Come on, babe. Up on the roof.
The Parting Glass
Gaelic trad.
arr. Ian A. Cook
Of all the money that e’er I had,
I spent it in good company.
And all the harm that e’er I’ve done,
Alas, it was to none but me.
And all I’ve done for want of wit,
To mem’ry now I can’t recall.
So fill to me the parting glass.
Good night, and joy be with you all.
If I had money enough to spend,
And leisure time to sit awhile,
There is a fair maid in this town
That sorely has my heart beguiled.
Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips,
I own she has my heart in thrall.
Then fill to me the parting glass.
Good night, and joy be with you all.
So fill to me the parting glass,
And drink a health whate’er befall,
And gently rise and softly call:
“Good night, and joy be with you all.”
Of all the comrades that e’er I had,
They’re sorry for my going away.
And all the sweethearts that e’er I had,
They’d wish me one more day to stay.
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not,
I gently rise and softly call:
“Good night, and joy be with you all.”
Crabbuckit
k-os, as sung by Good Lovelies
arr. Melody Hine, ed. Ian A. Cook
Took a trip on a bus that I didn’t know,
Met a girl sellin’ drinks at the disco,
Said truth comes back when you let it go,
Seems complicated ’cause it’s really so simple.
Walkin’ down Yonge Street on a Friday,
Can’t follow them, gotta do it my way.
No fast lane, still on the highway,
Movin’ in and out, no doubt there’s a brighter day.
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
Ah, check out the crabs in the bucket.
It’s like flies on the windscreen, writing on walls,
Square these clones claim they’re havin’ a ball,
Foolin’ themselves just before last call,
Tick-a-tick-a-tock, tick-a-tick-a-tock.
Clock strikes twelve, clock strikes one,
Smokin’ gun put these fools on the run.
I know it’s not that simple,
I know it’s not that hard.
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
Ah, check out the crabs in the bucket.
It’s a conniption fit when the microphone’s lit,
I take it higher like a bird on a wire, retire the fire,
I never ’cause I’m just moving on up,
Choosin’ to touch the unseen craving the clutch.
Damn, if mirrors were created by sand,
Then I’m looking in the water for reflections of man.
Understand the minds above time when it’s empty,
Emcee Tragic’ly Hip, ahead by a Century.
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
Ah, check out the crabs in the bucket.
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
No time to get down ’cause I’m moving up,
Ah.