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From the second Pig with the Face of a Boy album, "The Girl with the Arms Made From Marrows", available here:…de-from-marrows/…?ls=1&app=itunes

Written and Produced by Donald Newholm & Computron 10,000
Arranged and Performed by

Donald Newholm - Vocals, Guitar
Dan Woods - Accordion
Alex Bothwell - Vocals
Gemma Gayner - Violin & Viola
Malcolm Gayner - Drums
Robin Harris - Trumpet & Trombone
Chris McInnes - Piano
Lucy Newholm - Flute & Vocals
Charlie Pyne - Double Bass
Samuel Rowe - Cello
Roy Hudd as The Pickler

Copyright 2012 Ó Records


An aged path winds down the waterlink way, far beyond lost rivers' fork
Meandering mires strive to lead you astray, whisk you where whispering willows talk
Hornbeams galore adorn banks of the Ravensbourne, past the old cornmill abject
Through Stumpshill forest's wild brambles and mud to a clearing of eerie aspect

Faces in trees blow an icicle breeze, chill the spine as you veer from the track
And deeper you're lured as the path is obscured; the river's the only way back
In the south ham of Lucen, a tumbledown house among meadows; a sight to behold
Dense ivy weathers both window and wall, the roof thatched with straw of pure gold

And there lived a girl with arms made from marrows
Tending her bluebells and feeding the sparrows
Her limbs were as green as the emeralds of Beryl
A perennial chlorophyll sheen

And so it was that the girl spent her days; happily caring for the snowberry and wild cherry, the hawthorn and blackthorn. But she was not alone in her task, for she was aided by a crow who dwelt in the surrounding regions. As they laboured, the crow sang to her of faraway places to which he had flown, and so it was that the girl's heart grew restless.

And so, with a tear she said, “Crow, I grow weary of my simple world in the fields.
I fear I must stray to the faraway places and drink of the bounty life yields.
I leave you with love and a gardening glove and a fervent hope you will attend to my
much beloved crops; for I shan't be returning, my friend.”

She ate a good meal, then she turned on her heel and set off by the light of the moon
But she hadn't gone far on her way when she heard a bizarre and unsettling tune

And then fell the girl with arms made from marrows
Ambushed and struck by a volley of arrows
Her verdant green limbs now punctured and torn
What once was so fresh now forlorn

And so it was that the girl fell foul of an unknown assailant, and was rendered helpless at his feet. As his terrible boots scraped closer to her, he began to speak. He said:

“I am the Pickler, and I am a stickler for quality goods
I am the Pickler, and I pick the finest fruits deep in the woods
I'm famed throughout Lucen for gherkins and onions and eggs
But I'm darned if your arms won't be filling my vinegar kegs.”

Closer and closer, the greedy green grocer advanced with a gnash of his teeth
As he sharpened his knife she believed that her life
Would conclude there on that blackened heath

But then for the girl with the arms made from marrows
Salvation it seemed where the riverbed narrows
The pickler sent packing with punches aplenty
To whence he had sprung, he returned

He shrieked as he fled and the sound shook the head of the girl, so bewildered and weak
And standing above with a brace of red boxing gloves
Stood the newcomer, who started to speak. She said,

“I am Antilopine, Wandering wallaroo.
Hither to thither I drift
For comfort, I'll vouch for my large inbuilt pouch.
It's warm and it's dry … do you need a lift?”

She said, “please deliver me down at the river”; she thought if she followed it down
It would wash her away to the place the crows say has the golden allure of the town.
They soon reached the banks and with words of fond thanks she disembarked onto the moss
And fashioned a raft four foot two fore to aft and two foot four inches across

“Goodbye!” Cried the girl with arms made from marrows
as she kicked herself free of the weeds in the shallows
Surrendered her will as the ebb and the flow
Took her where they would go

And so it was that the girl's tiny vessel ambled downstream, peacefully navigating the broad river. She fell into a restful haze, and as the sun's morning rays kissed the water beneath her, the girl with the arms made from marrows had arrived.

She awoke to aromas of smoke and trachomas, a burning boat marking the dock
At the mouth of the quaggy, her craft sad and saggy sdspersed 'neath the old tower clock
The great town of Levesham, so stalwart and proud. Home of the old Lady's Spring
Embattled by troglodytes waving their rags of primary colours and string
Alone and quite destitute, thought she astutely that she should aspire for far more
She located the smith in the field on the hill and begged
“Excuse me kind sir, can you lend me a saw?”

There once was a girl with arms made from marrows
Sawn up and sold in the marketplace barrows
Of Old Levesham.