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lyrics

The Suffolk winds are moving in my soul
They rise so high above that old court Knoll
The ancient chimes the broken rock and roll
Are on Suffolk winds
As I walked out in the Nayland Bear street sun in the loneliness of 1961
With all the souls that had no place to run from the Suffolk winds

And what is left to me is all unknown
Do the dead still ask in the night at Edwardstone?
I had no will to ask the way back home from the Suffolk winds

I saw the tombs of educations game
They left us doomed we couldn’t write our names
And they called us imbeciles left us socking in the rain
In the Suffolk winds..

As I look back on the insults that were hurled
I can’t believe what happened in that world
I curse the day that winding trail curled to the Suffolk winds

Mid 8: You came and danced with me away , away we run,
From the mocking voice where I had no choice to the gates of kingdom come…….

One hour from death I heard the Master’s voice He said “I let you run for my glory to rejoice, I’ll give you a tongue so your dead can have a voice on the Suffolk winds”

And I will use it glory to your name through the indifference till you
Bring it all to shame , and I’ll offer you the ashes from where no mercy came……. From the SUFFOLK WINDS…..

credits

from An Englishman .​.​.​.​.​.​. ignored, released February 25, 2015

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about

Milborn House Colchester, UK

Chris Pitts writes in the tradition of English landscape poets. He uses the medium of ‘Symphonic folk’ to give a sense of Pathos to his work.
Although a lot of his work is melancholy it is by no means all like that, the thumping fervour of Arnold Plum tells us that he can be tongue in cheek even when the lyric is serious.

Mark Surrudge

Castle Folk
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