Pigeon’s Blood

I met my love by a river
in the cool of the Libyan spring.
I took her hand along the sand
and gave her a silver wedding ring.

But my love was proud and noble.
She threw my ring in the mud.
She said, “I was born to wear a ruby rare,
the color of pigeon’s blood.”

Pigeon’s blood, blood, blood.
The color of pigeon’s blood.

I traded all of my riches:
olives, dates and myrrh,
and I sold my land to a caravan
to buy a ruby ring for her.

And my love and I were married
when the pomegranates were in bud,
and on her hand she wore my band,
the color of pigeon’s blood.

Pigeon’s blood, blood, blood.
The color of pigeon’s blood.

When summer came, there was no rain
and we were forced to wander
through days of drought
and nights of doubt:
my love began to weep.

Then one day she went away
and I saw what I had squandered:
my kingdom for a heart I could not conquer;
my kingdom for a girl I could not keep.

There was hunger in my belly.
My mouth was dry as bone.
I saw two doves on a hill above
and I killed them both with a stone.

I saw the violence in my love!
My tears fell like a flood!
My hands were stained with red, red shame,
the color of pigeon’s blood.

Pigeon’s blood, blood, blood.
The color of pigeon’s blood.

Pigeon’s blood, blood, blood.
The color of pigeon’s blood.

Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield/Tam Lin Music Publishing (BMI, 2008)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s