I'm the charnel boy

Bone inspector

Unpaid pagan spectral rector

Sheep grass boy with lupine whine

Woad stained skin and eyes incarnadine

And eyes and eyes incarnadine

Incarnad-eyes incarnadine

I tend

Tend the Tutankhamens of England

And visit every barrow sooner or later

I'm the ancient king curator

Move like a mist, like a will-o'-the-wisp

I'm the archetypal archeologist

Every night at a different charnel ground

I make my ritual habitual rounds

From rolling southern downs

To winding northern wall

To barn owl's hoot, goat-sucker's call

I search and scrape across the landscape

Move like a mist, like a will-o'-the-wisp

Move like a mist, like a will-o'-the-wisp

Move like a mist, like a will-o'-the-wisp

But water-meadows bog me down

I've got to be on the whistling

High ground

Where I smell out barrow bones

Like a lurcher smells out rodent's hidden homes

Like a lurcher smells out hidden homes

Like a lurcher smells out hidden

Homes

I'm the charnel boy

Bone inspector

Unpaid pagan spectral rector

Sheep grass boy with lupine whine

Woad stained skin and eyes incarnadine

And eyes and eyes incarnadine

Incarnad-eyes incarnadine