Tekst:
Seth Lakeman Freedom Fields

You've heard of the great disaster Where a terrible price was paid. One hundred and forty colliers lost, and twenty only saved. Down in the ground they

Come and listen, brave and tall, The greatest tale I have to tell you, It was a bleak and barren moor. In ancient days he fell. There rode a man of high

In this fair town we laid them down in 1643, It was poor King Charles who travelled for miles In the heart of a civil dream. As fierce young men we

All you sailors old or young come light the guns on everyone. We`ll take the ship and go to sea Crush the north in `53 Fought upon a broken shore With

Poor as paupers, proud as kings, All we do is aim for better things. That finger, finger of faith comes out and touches me, It`s better, better late

He?s going under. Beneath this stone in the fading light Lies the lonely soul of a Joseph Wright. Few hearts knew his kindness warm, Few heads grew with

I heard her in the valley, I heard her in the dead of night. The warning of a white hare Her eyes burning bright. Careful you don`t catch her Or give