Lyrics:
Richard Thompson Henry The Human Fly

I know you?re the wayward kind The way you always drag behind You show me a horse and I?ll feed it in hay You show me the cart and I?ll throw it away

It?s a grey, grey morning, and the rain it do fall I?m feeling hungry and low My bed?s so empty, I wish I could call On the painted ladies I know When

Here she comes and there she goes Nothing on her fingers, nothing on her toes Why she comes nobody knows Here comes shaky Nancy Don?t be believing,

Well the angels came to see me today Said "We?ve taken your racehorse away" And I believe it was that bookmaker from crail I believe that he put one

Was there ever a winter so cold and so sad The river too weary to flood The storming wind cut through to my skin But she cut through to my blood I was

She womanly lay like the lay of the land The land around Wheely Down And every curve was a high, high hill To hang above the town From Holland they came