Music Monday: A Bit of Heartbreak, after a Win

 First things first, I finished Nanowrimo this weekend. The lucky thing about having it in November is that there is a holiday in there that sees me off work and full of cheese, wandering about and asking what day it is...and with plenty of time to write. The manuscript isn't done but I can slow my pace a bit.

Now, that said, the story is turning out to be a lot darker than I'd originally thought, and with that darkness comes me seeking out writing inspiration that matches. This is one of the most emotionally evocative songs I know and when it came up in my playlist I had to take a moment and just live in the feelings. The first time I heard it I think I gasped out loud in the third act. I would say enjoy, but...sit with it for a bit.

The Highwaymanby Loreena McKennitt
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty treesThe moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seasThe road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moonA highwayman came ridingRiding, ridingA highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door
He'd a french cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chinA coat of glaring velvet, and breeches of brown doe skinThey fitted with never a wrinkle, his boots were up to the thighAnd he rode with a chill and a twinkleHis pistol butts a twinkleHis rapier hilt a twinkle, under the jeweled sky
And over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark of nightAnd he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barredHe whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting thereBut the landlord's black-eyed daughterBess, the landlord's daughterPlaiting a long dark red love-knot into her long black hair
One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonightBut I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning lightYet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the dayThen look for me by the moonlightWatch for me by the moonlightI'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way
He rose upright in the stirrups, he scarce could reach her handShe loosened her hair in the casement, her face burnt like a brandAs the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breastAnd he kissed its waves in the moonlightOh, sweet waves in the moonlight!Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west
He did not come at the dawning, he did not come at noonAnd out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moonWhen the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moonA red-coat troop came marchingMarching, marchingKing George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale insteadBut they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bedTwo of them knelt at the casement, with muskets at their sideThere was death at every windowHell at one dark windowFor Bess could see, through the casementThe road that he would ride
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jestAnd they bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breastNow keep good watch and they kissed herShe heard the dead man say"Look for me by the moonlightWatch for me by the moonlightI'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way"
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held goodShe writhed her hands 'til her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled on by like years!'Til, now, on the stroke of midnightCold, on the stroke of midnightThe tip of one finger touched it!The trigger at least was hers
Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clearTlot-tlot, in the distance, were they deaf that they did not hear?Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hillThe highwayman came ridingRiding, ridingThe red-coats looked to their primingShe stood up straight and still
Tlot in the frosty silence, tlot, in the echoing nightNearer he came and nearer, her face was like a lightHer eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breathHer finger moved in the moonlightHer musket shot her in the moonlightShattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death
He turned, he spurred to the west, he did not know she stoodBowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red bloodNot 'til the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hearHow Bess, the landlord's daughterThe landlord's black-eyed daughterWatched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there
And back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the skyWith a white rope smoking behind him and his rapier brandished highBlood-red were the spurs inthe golden moon, wine-red was his velvet coatWhen they shot him down on the highwayDown like a dog on the highwayAnd he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat
Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the treesWhen the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seasWhen the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moonThe highwayman comes ridingRiding, ridingThe highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door