[Spoken Intro] [No music: rain, wind, old branches] [Close female voice, soft Scottish burr, dry, ancient] Brad challenged me to do better than Dolores O'Riordan on this. [small breath, half smile] The man is an arse. [voice turns cold and mythic] Still... if he wants sorrow, I will give him roots. If he wants fury, I will give him frost. And if he wants Portmore... then he had best take my hand. [Intro] [Low cello drone, octave mandolin, rain] [Hurdy-gurdy drone, quick trompette/chien buzz accents] [Frame drum heartbeat] [Clare's Celtic break-cry: chest-to-head flips, keening vowels] [Verse 1] [Close, watchful, old] I woke before the borders Before the road was named When mist lay low on blackthorn And dawn came green with rain The deer moved through my shadow The ravens knew my door And every root beneath me Held the song of Portmore [Pre-Chorus] [Cold beauty, hurdy-gurdy swells] They came with winter iron With hunger in their eyes Calling it timber Calling it right They never heard the choir In the branches overhead They only counted silver Where my elder children bled [Chorus] [Signature Celtic break-cry, strong keening lifts] [Hurdy-gurdy coups answer between lines] [Beautiful memory turns to cold grief] High in the gold of the elder leaves My green cathedral rose over me Sunlight poured through the vaulted green A holy fire no king had seen Now rain lies cold on the severed floor Stumps stand mute where my bright trees soared No bell, no blessing, no prayer restores The living crown they felled at Portmore [Verse 2] [More intimate, sacred memory] I wore the spring in ivy I wore the summer bright I crowned the hills in amber When apples caught the light Lovers carved their promises Where my hollow giants stood Children slept beneath me And dreamed the world was good [Pre-Chorus] [Cold divine anger, no shouting] [Sharper chien buzz accents] Now ash is on the threshold Now smoke has stained the loam Their names are dust and weather But I remember bone For I was old before them And colder than regret And I will keep the silence They have not answered yet [Chorus] [Stronger Celtic break-cry] [Keening lifts on leaves, me, green, seen, soared, Portmore] High in the gold of the elder leaves My green cathedral rose over me Sunlight poured through the vaulted green A holy fire no king had seen Now rain lies cold on the severed floor Stumps stand mute where my bright trees soared No bell, no blessing, no prayer restores The living crown they felled at Portmore [Bridge] [Frame drum deepens, cello rises] [Ancient, commanding, beautiful wrath] Do not ask me mercy Do not ask me peace The roots are dark with memory The hills have learned to grieve I held a thousand summers In the hollow of my hand Then watched a mortal season Lay heaven to the land You laid your hands upon what was mine And called the wound your own design But stone remembers, river keeps score And thorn will bloom again at Portmore [Instrumental Break] [Celtic folk-rock swell: cello, bodhrán, mandolin tremolo] [Hurdy-gurdy drone with rhythmic trompette coups] [Restrained electric swell, mournful and driving] [Final Chorus] [Full conviction, strongest Celtic break-cry] [Sing as if standing among the stumps of her sacred forest] High in the gold of the elder leaves My green cathedral rose over me Sunlight poured through the vaulted green A holy fire no king had seen [Colder] Now rain lies cold on the severed floor Stumps stand mute where my bright trees soared No bell, no blessing, no prayer restores The living crown they felled at Portmore [Outro] [Soft keening, almost whispered] [Hurdy-gurdy fades into rain] Portmore, Portmore I remember Portmore, Portmore Not gone, not forgiven [Final whisper] What was mine still knows my name.
