large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/04_balladofblackfoxskin_service_hp_64kb_1
large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/04_balladofblackfoxskin_service_hp_64kb
English
2254
II. Now Claw fingered Kitty and Windy Ike, bad as the worst were they; In their road house down by the river trail they waited and watched for prey; With wine and song they joyed night long, and they slept like swine by day. NOW CLAW FINGERED KITTY AND WINDY IKE BAD AS THE WORST WERE THEY IN THEIR ROAD HOUSE DOWN BY THE RIVER TRAIL THEY WAITED AND WATCHED FOR PREY WITH WINE AND SONG THEY JOYED NIGHT LONG AND THEY SLEPT LIKE SWINE BY DAY
d it down to the death-still pits where the avalanche is hurled; From the glooms to the sacerdotal snows, where the carded clouds are curled. "From the vastitudes where the world protrudes through clouds like seas up-shoaled, I held its track till it led me back to the land I had left of old-- The land I had looted many moons. I was weary and sick and cold. "I was sick, soul-sick, of the futile chase, and there and then I swore The foul fiend fox might scathless go, for I would hunt no more; Then I rubbed mine eyes in a vast surprise--it stood by my cabin door. "A rifle raised in the wraith-like gloom, and a vengeful shot that sped; A howl that would thrill a cream-faced corpse-- and the demon fox lay dead. . . . Yet there was never a sign of wound, and never a drop he bled. "So that was the end of the great black fox, and here is the prize I've won; And now for a drink to cheer me up--I've mushed since the early sun; We'll drink a toast to the sorry ghost of the fox whose race is run. CH LIKE THE VERTEBRAE OF THE WORLD I TRACKED IT DOWN TO THE DEATH STILL PITS WHERE THE AVALANCHE IS HURLED FROM THE GLOBES TO THE SACERDOTAL SNOWS WHERE THE CARDED CLOUDS ARE CURLED FROM THE VASTITUDES WHERE THE WORLD PROTRUDES THROUGH CLOUDS LIKE SEAS UP SHOED I HELD ITS TRACK TILL IT LED ME BACK TO THE LAND I HAD LEFT OF OLD THE LAND I HAD LOOTED MANY MOONS I WAS WEARY AND SICK AND COLD I WAS SICK SOUL SICK OF THE FUTILE CHASE AND THERE AND THEN I SWORE THE FOUL FIEND FOX MIGHT SCATHLESS GO FOR I WOULD HUNT NO MORE THEN I RUBBED MINE EYES IN VAST SURPRISE IT STOOD BY MY CABIN DOOR A RIFLE RAISED IN A WRAITH LIKE GLOOM AND A VENGEFUL SHOT THAT SPED A HOWL THAT WOULD THRILL A CREAM FACED CORPSE AND THE DEMON FOX LAY DEAD YET THERE WAS NEVER A SIGN OF WOUND AND NEVER A DROP HE BLED SO THAT WAS THE END OF THE GREAT BLACK FOX AND HERE IS THE PRIZE I'VE WON AND NOW FOR A DRINK TO CHEER ME UP I'VE MUSHED SINCE THE EARLY SUN WE'LL DRINK A TOAST TO THE SORRY GHOST OF THE FOX WHOSE RACE IS RUN
large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/04_balladofblackfoxskin_service_hp_64kb
file
download/librilight/large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/04_balladofblackfoxskin_service_hp_64kb.flac