richard thompson
devonside
By Devonside she was a-marching It was a gang of no great size And surrender was the banner that she carried And hungry was the shiver in her eyes She met a boy, his health was failing She dropped the banner and took her prize And the only food she had was bread and morphine Ah, but he fed on the shiver in her eyes By Devonside his love was drifting He looked for comfort otherwise And there never was a rope or chain about him Ah, she held him with the shiver in her eyes Ah, she said, my John, I’ll be your pillow I’ll be your lover, mother, whore and wife And he knew that he loved and never seen her When the light fell from the shiver in her eyes