when we bent our benders down by the creek
where the wind did blow and the wind did speak
there were many fine people there scattered around
from the walks of life and the talk of towns
the grass was green and the clay was white
the fields were free both day and night
the trails were wide and the roads were long
but we whistled free and we sang our songs
we built our homes like travelers do
amongst the ferns and the bracken's hue
we saw the deer and the rabbits play
where the lights were stars and the dark was haze
the bramble thorns and the virgin land
the talk was rich and the fortune hands
the stolen words i heard yesterday
when the gypsy gal came to play with me
the thunder roared and the lightning flashed
the lizards squirmed and the days went fast
the life was hard and labour free
but we shared our hopes and our miseries
down in yonder dip where the sun sets morn
the wind did blow but we were warm
inside our benders made of frames
crafted from the dews and rains
the stew we served was hot and mean
the countryside was fit for queens
where kings and carters sat and toiled
amongst the birch and lilies torn
the roads were hard and our spirits free
with time to stare and life was free
where folks did share an hour with me
amongst the benders beneath the trees
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