The Miller's Daughter
After Making Love Out of Nothing At All by Air
Supply (just lyrics).
Capo 3
| G |
By my | trade I am a weaver, |
| Em |
Thread and | cloth I weave it's true, |
| C |
But my | father told tales to the king, |
| D |
And I | don't know what to do. |
| G |
I can | ply my wheel and spindle, |
| Em |
Spinning | wool and linen too, |
| C |
I could | make a shirt of milkweed fluff, |
| D |
And | dye it wonder blue. |
| C |
F | C |
But I | know I can't do |
ma | gic, |
| G |
Am |
And all my | skill sticks in my |
craw, |
| C |
D | G |
For I | can't spin gold |
out of nothing | but straw. |
| G |
The first | task was no easier, |
| Em |
Turn flax | into pure wool |
| C |
And I | know I would have given up, |
| D |
Cursing | father for a fool. |
| G |
But the | little man appeared then, |
| Em |
He said | "Good sister, do not cry. |
| C |
Give me | your hand, give me your ring. |
| D |
Don't give | up, you've but to try." |
| C | F | C |
But though | I saw no |
ma | gic, |
| G |
Am |
I was bending | natures |
rules, |
| C |
D | G |
Spinning | flax into |
something like | wool. |
| G |
I gave | the prince the woolen thread |
| Em |
Whisper fine | and white as milk |
| C |
And I got | a room of nettle thorns, |
| D |
And the | order to make silk. |
| G |
But the | little man appeared then, |
| Em |
He said | good sister do not cry, |
| C |
"Give me | your beads, I'll charm your hands, |
| D |
And | tonight you will not die." |
| C | F | C |
And though | the silk is |
red | silk, |
| G |
Am |
For my hands | are ripped |
and torn, |
| C |
D | G |
I spun | silk out of |
nothing but | thorns. |
| G |
I gave | the prince the fine soft silk |
| Em |
He smiled | as if appeased |
| C |
Oh gods | the cruelty in that smile, |
| D |
For I | knew it was just to tease. |
| G |
He threw | me in this room then, |
| Em |
Spin straw | to gold and you will live, |
| C |
And I | lay on the floor thinking, |
| D |
That I'd | nothing left to give. |
| C | F | C |
Well my | mouth tasted |
like | ashes, |
| G |
Am |
And my hands | were torn |
and raw, |
| C |
D | G |
But I spun | that gold out of |
nothing but | straw. |
| G |
My magic | friend appeared then |
| Em |
In his eyes | my future child |
| C |
And I said | take me with you to your wood, |
| D |
For I | would not live defiled. |
| G |
Well my friend | he said "Good sister . . .", |
| Em |
Just that | and nothing more, |
| C |
Then he | took my wounded hand in his, |
| D |
And we | vanished through the floor. |
| C | F | C |
No I | would not go |
back | there, |
| G |
Am |
Not to | that life |
I saw, |
| C |
D | G |
A prince's love | is gold made of |
nothing but | straw. |
April 13th, 1999
This is Manny's fault. He showed me
Bob Kanefsky's filk of this and I
said, "but he wrote the wrong parody!"

lyrics only