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THE FEY OF WYNTERBOURNE
© 2005 by David Llewellyn

Pray listen now, I’ll tell ye well a story so it’s told
About a stranger’s craven heart, and a girl who sold her soul
Sweet Angeleen, so fine, so green, a rose without a thorn
Strode out to do her father’s will, to the Fair at Winterbourne . . . Winterbourne

But as she walked that summer sun beat down uncaringly
And soon her tongue could ney cry out, this thirst is killing me
And there stood a well, and a blue eyed boy, with a pail that he’d just drawn
This water’s pure as driven snow and surely winter born

BRIDGE
Please stranger, I have traveled long
And red my sunburned face
And surely I’d give anything
Anything for just a taste

She took it, but as she drank deep, his smile became a grin
So what at Winterbourne brings you, what nothings do you bring?
I shall not sell, but look to buy what this gold coin will glean
But as it sparkled in the sun the stranger’s eyes turned green . . . elfin green

Then I will take you at your word, and take all you possess
‘Cause a bargain is a bargain maid, and I’ll take nothing less
Sir I cannot give my father’s gold, for it’s not mine to give
And I have nothing save my soul to offer in it’s place

BRIDGE
Then your soul it is, and he laughed out loud
And sure as she was born
He turned into a wizened elf
The Fey of Winterbourne

But all I asked was just a taste, for that my word I gave
But you have yet to pay your part before my debt be paid
‘Cause water pure as you described, all flavour would it lack
So you did not give me a taste, and so I slip your trap . . . and that’s that

Pray listen now, I’ll tell ye well, consider yourself warned
Don’t tarry long along the way, to the Fair at Winterbourne