Owen Sheers - Inheritance lyrics

After R S Thomas From my father a stammer like a stick in the spokes of my speech. A tired blink, a need to have my bones near the hill's bare stone. An affection for the order of maps and the chaos of bad weather. From my mother a sensitivity to the pain in the pleasure. The eye's blue ore, quiet moments beside a wet horse drying in a rain-loud stable. A joiner's lathe turning fact into fable. And from them both --- a desire for what they forged in their shared lives; Tasting it under the years' hard hammer, red hot at its core, cooled dark at its sides.