Greg Harper

Lyrics

It’s a higgledy-piggledy patch, of grass, trees, and stone
Where once respectful order, and reverence, were shown
But now it lays broken, unhewed, unmown
A stairway to heaven, we call home

When the frost is laying heavy it holds a beauty of its own
But laying here, year on year, the chill gets in your bones
It makes you wanna rise up, rise up, sing and shout
And isn’t that what community is really all about?

So blow us a tune Frank, to wake up the dead
The Slaughters, ‘Dolly’ Deacon, play loud, go ahead
Wake Ellen Chapman and ‘Gentleman Joe’
And all the departed, gathered here below

Wake Mr Stoner! Now there’s a familiar face
Who for 27 years, blood, sweat and tears, was the sexton of this place
Now things have changed, for better or worse, in the modern urban sprawl
But the danse is surely less macabre, on our side of the wall

So blow us a tune Frank, to wake up the dead
The Moores, Edith Mayson, play loud, go ahead
Wake Ellen Chapman and ‘Gentleman Joe’
And all the departed, gathered here below

Sing out Edward Lloyd! Let’s hear your tenor ring
Wake Richard Jefferies! Someone give him a pen

Sometimes in the winter, you might catch a fleece of snow
‘cause everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go!
So if you’re clean-out of aces, and you’ve played your last card
Won’t you come down, and join us in, the old boneyard