eToCache5 = ""; ?> insertsongandartist - guitar chords, guitar tabs and lyrics - chordie

Mountain men

Jethro Tull

 AmF/AD/AG/AAD/ACBAmF
                                  The poacher and his daughter throw soft
 DGA5D5ECB
 shadows on the water in the night.     
 AmF
A thin moon slips behind them as they
 DGA5D5E5CB
 pull the net with no betraying light.     
 DF
 And later on the coast road,
 CBbF/AG5
meet them and the old man winks a smile.
 AmF
 And who am I to fast deny the right
 DGA5D5E5C5B5
 to take a fish once in a while?     
 AmF
 I walk with them, they wish me luck
 DGA5D5E5CB
when I ship out on the Sunday from the kyle.     
 DF
And from the church I hear them singing
 CBbF/AG5
 as the ship moves sadly from the pier. 
 AmF
Oh, poacher's daughter, Sunday best,
 DGA5D5E5F5C5
two hundred brave souls share the farewell tear.    
C5 F5 C5 double time
 F5
 There's a house on the hillside,
 D5
where the drifting sands are born.
 F5
 Lay down and let the slow tide wash me
 G5Bb
 back to the land where I came from.
 CBbDm
    Where the mountain men are kings
 CBbFDmCBb(sus4
   and the sound of the piper counts for everything.   
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.
 AmF
 Long generations from the Isles
 DGAm
 sent to tread the foreign miles 
 D5E5
where the spiral ages meet.
 F5
Felt naked dust beneath their feet.
 GmEb/G
 Future sun called winds to blow
 GmEb/G
 and the past and present hard-eyed crow
 GmEb/G
flew hunting high and circling low over
 FEbFC5F4C5F4
blackened plains of Eden.    
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