Lyrics

Wedding Bed

Copyright 2004
Dan Pelletier

The field I tilled, the wheat I milled
My hands burned black and sore
But I lost my love to the gypsy singer
And I fear I’ll love ne’ermore

He sang to her of love, true love
And he turned her youthful head
Now I need not toil til morning comes
To build our wedding bed

The gypsy’s voice is clear and strong
And his eyes are bright and blue
But I work my bones from dawn to dawn
To sing my love to you

Does that not speak of love, true love
In words that can’t be said
But I fear it’s left my hands too rough,
For our wedding bed

Now what farmer rests while the fields lay dry?
And what here, this half-made home
When his love returns to…
And nevermore to roam

For strong the gypsy sang of love,
But his hands were soft instead
And they scarcely brushed my fickle face
Longed I for my wedding bed

So touch your rough hands to my skin
And lay my shoulders bare
And take your rest my lover true
In the comforts that lay there

And when the morning comes rise with the sun
For there’s much to be done yet
Before we lay our passioned love
Upon our wedding bed