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Jez Lowe and The Bad Pennies
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The Crake in the Morning
The crack of a rattle had me up with the lark this morning,
Sudden as a thunderclap from hell,
It could've been a dream I had,
It could've been I'm going mad,
But perhaps you have heard it as well,
An echo, a spectre over ages gone by it flew,
Up and down empty Sunday streets,
The rasping of the morning crake,
The whole world and his wife to wake,
From a time with easier sheets.
Still the sound of the rattling crake in the morning.
I held on my breath to hear the next that I knew would come,
The throttle of a voice with these words,
'A meeting will be held for all,
This morning at the Miner's Hall,
If you've a tongue in your head you'll be heard.'
And the rattle keep turning getting louder and louder,
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And I clapped my hands hard on my ears,
It clattered back a memory,
Of Sunday morning used to be,
Till it took to the sky and disappeared.
I slid to my window and peeped out on the street below,
Slapped by the sight that I saw,
Men dressed in their Sunday best,
To start the hard earned day of rest,
By answering the crake's morning call.
But even as I was wishing them on their way
I saw them fade at each step they would take,
As fade away they did I know,
Now many many moons ago,
Like the song of the the crack of the crake.
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