Who could have predicted that English folk-rock would be so successful, or that "Now Be Thankful," written by Dave Swarbrick and Richard Thompson, would still be played decades later?
Sounds pretty cheery, but some people think it's actually about being tortured in medieval times:
When the stone is grown too cold to kneel
In crystal waters I'll be bound
Cold as stone, weary to the sounds upon the wheel
Now be thankful for good things below
Now be thankful to your maker
For the rose, the red rose blooms for all to know
When the fire is grown too fierce to breathe
In burning irons I'll be bound
Fierce as fire, weary to the sound upon the wheel.
