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	Am	F/A	D/A	G/A	A	D/A	C	B	Am	F
									The poacher and his daught	er throw soft

	D	G	A5	D5	E	C	B
	shadows on the wate	r in the night.

	Am	F
A	thin moon slips behind	them as they

	D	G	A5	D5	E5	C	B
	pull the net with no	betraying ligh	t.

	D	F
	And later on the coa	st road,

	C	Bb	F/A	G5
I	meet them and the ol	d man w	inks a smil	e.

	Am	F
	And who am I to fast de	ny the right

	D	G	A5	D5	E5	C5	B5
	to take a fis	h once in a whi	le?

	Am	F
	I walk with them, they	wish me luck

	D	G	A5	D5	E5	C	B
when I	ship out on the Sun	day from the ky	le.

	D	F
And fr	om the church I	hear them singing

	C	Bb	F/A	G5
	as the ship moves sa	dly fro	m the pier.

	Am	F
Oh	, poacher's daughter, S	unday best,

	D	G	A5	D5	E5	F5	C5
two h	undred brave souls s	hare the farewell	tea	r.

C5 F5 C5 double time

	F5
	There's a house on the hillside,

	D5
where the drifting sands ar	e born.

	F5
	Lay down and let the slow tide wash me

	G5	Bb
	back to the land where I came fr	om.

	C	Bb	Dm
	Where the	mountain men are k	ings

	C	Bb	F	Dm	C	Bb(sus4
	and the sound of the p	iper counts	for ev	erything.

same

Did my tour, did my duty. I did all they asked of me.

Died in the trenches and at Alamein

...died in the Falklands on T.V.

Going back to the mountain kings

where the sound of the piper counts for everything.

	Am	F
	Long generatio	ns from the Isles

	D	G	Am
	sent to tread	the foreign miles

	D5	E5
where the s	piral ages me	et.

	F5
Felt naked dust beneat	h their feet.

	Gm	Eb/G
	Future sun called winds to bl	ow

	Gm	Eb/G
	and the past and present hard-eye	d crow

	Gm	Eb/G
flew hu	nting high and	circling low over

	F	Eb	F	C5	F4	C5	F4
bl	ackened p	lains o	f Ed	en.

REST OF LYRICS

There's a child and a woman praying for an end to the mystery.

Hoping for a word in a letter

fair wind-blown from across the sea

to where the mountain men are kings

and the sound of the piper counts for eveything.

There's a house on the hillside, where the drifting sands are born.

Lay down and let the slow tide wash me

back to the land where I came from.

Where the mountain men are kings

and the sound of the piper counts for everything.

Where the real mountain men are kings

and the sound of the piper counts for everything.

Feel the naked dust beneath my toes

while the future sun calls winds to blow

and the past and present black-eyed crow

flies hunting high and circling low

between dream mountains of our Eden.

words and music by Ian Anderson

transcripted by paco jimenez

ARCHIVEL@teleline.es

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Mountain men

Jethro Tull

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