Walking on velvet green.
Scots pine growing.
Isn't it rare to be taking
the air, singing.
Walking on velvet green.
Walking on velvet green.
Distant cows lowing.
Never a care: with your legs
in the air, loving.
Walking on velvet green.
Won't you have my company,
yes, take it in your hands.
Go down on velvet green, with
a country man.
Who's a young girls fancy and
an old maid's dream.
Tell your mother that you
walked all night on velvet green.
One dusky half-hour's ride up
to the north.
There lies your reputation
and all that you're worth.
Where the scent of wild roses
turns the milk to cream.
Tell your mother that you
walked all night on velvet green.
And the long grass blows in
the evening cool.
And August's rare delight may
be April's fool.
But think not of that, my
love,
I'm tight against the seam.
And I'm growing up to meet
you down on velvet green.
Now I may tell you that it's
love and not just lust.
And if we live the lie, let's
lie in trust.
On golden daffodils, to catch
the silver stream,
That washes out the wild oat
seed on velvet green.
We'll dream as lovers under
the stars,
Of civilizations raging afar.
And the ragged dawn breaks on
your battle scars.
As you walk home cold and
alone upon velvet green.
Walking on velvet green.
Scots pine growing.
Isn't it rare to be taking
the air, singing.
Walking on velvet green.
Walking on velvet green.
Distant cows lowing.
Never a care: with your legs
in the air, loving.
Walking on velvet green.
Writer(s): Ian Scott
Anderson/Ian Anderson
Copyright: The Ian Anderson
Group of Companies Ltd.
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