Robin Williamson - For Mr. Thomas

[@bobtendy]

One of the greatest songs ever written and recorded.

[@weaponisedautismresearchpr9668]

My friend played me this on his guitar, and sang it. I'd never heard such a song, and it made me cry.

[@andipeters743]

Refreshes my Soul.

[@andipeters743]

Wine glasses crying the tune. I can't think of any other comparison.

[@philsteakfreeman]

Love this. The glass harmonica is appropriate. Genius, genius.

[@arleneT99]

Divinely blessed talent

[@g.pmoore4293]

Magnificent

[@jamesc8450]

Superb. I keep coming back to this and it gets better every time! I love it !

[@genmama1955]

I love Robin Williamson. I used to go to Irish bars in San Francisco, and then Great American Music Hall later on to hear him play. He does such work.

[@hummingnectarbird]

Absolutely LOVEEE this man!!

[@scottthomas2000]

I have always loved this and the album it's from. Thanks for posting!

[@siennapaley9192]

Me too!

[@llawfhionn]

Magnificent!

[@momthrone]

Found this again xoxo

[@sheltech12]

always liked this one the best

[@momthrone]

Thank you for adding this! I had this album a long time ago and miss this xoxo

[@genmama1955]

Good-- He does such good work!

[@iainlewis1239]

A flawless lyric.

[@tommyhanley]

I love the version of this on The Seed At Zero, both of his poetry albums have been great!

[@thejimshow4000]

@nick40nick40 you're very welcome, This song is from a download, not a CD reissue, I am not sure if there is even a cd reissue.

[@MarianaEvica]

There is.

[@luigicapoti1253]

where I find the lyrics

[@lowjay]

You can find the lyrics by searching the song title and Van Morrison, because he also sang it and it's mistakenly credited to him. From faded newsprint used to wrap a fish Inscrutably the muse selects your face As i sit drinking famously in an irish bar Five thousand miles and thirty years away With the usual ceremonial you were crowned one night King of the field where doctors nail the cows To make of the cock's quill the rights of language And the pricking heart a sword against the hours Let smirking scholars writhe in their favourite bondage And hold you plaintiff to the charge of art Exhibit a: he falls on legendary lines Singing mother I don't want a pain here in my heart The judge in me sucks eggs and jerks the sacred meat But the boy in me still dreams in milk wood town Like two provincial bastards playing the galleries I hold your photo to a mirror upside down And as bacon wafts through hungry streets, your ghost pervades Just like an old ex-boxer aged twenty two Staged-up like falstaff or the wild welsh rimbaud You'd laugh to see the monograms they make of you Ah, mr. thomas let us ramble through the midnight fair Let us throw old bottles at the ferris wheel Let us paint library on the library let us raid the moonlight Let us steal whatever we are supposed to steal Let us watch while the days grow daily more mundane That rough god go riding with his shears Hack wide the belly of the swollen mountains And rip molten heroes forth from their furious tears

[@luigicapoti1253]

ok, thanks a lot

[@billirvine9078]

Hack wide the bellies of the what?

[@arleneT99]

swollen mountains-rip molten heroes forth to their furious tears

[@billirvine9078]

@@arleneT99 Superb hyperbole.

[@damienhunt4264]

Van Morrison's version is by far the more superior.

[@andipeters743]

Not true I think.

[@damienhunt4264]

@@andipeters743 Well, my opinion is always a fact.

[@andipeters743]

@@damienhunt4264 Absolutely Sir and I am currently drinking to that!