Hi Darlodave

Here you go, mostly from memory:

The Crossroads Fiddle

Oh the fiddle had lain in a dusty old shop
A shop that he'd not seen before
In a village he'd lived in and once held so dear
In a dale on the edge of the moor
The bloke in the shop seemed reluctant to sell
But they'd struck a bargain that day
The price that he'd paid, he thought fair enough
Not knowing what some day he'd pay

He wanted the fiddle for his daughter in at school
She was living in Leeds with her mum
The wife who had left him when his farm finally failed
The loss of it all left him numb
He'd had to start work at a store in the town
Pushing trollies to try make ends meet
And it was a struggle to save the few pounds
To buy his young daughter a treat

Chorus:

The fiddle was made of a dark, dark wood
There were memories depp in its grain
And those memories stirred when the fiddle was played
And its voice could sing out once again
Its voice could sing out once again

But his daughter dismissed it, "That dusty old thing!"
With a look of such utter disdain
She'd her eye on a new one in a shop up in Leeds
Then he knew that he's failed once again
And later, as he sat with the fiddle on his knees
And he felt the tears start to come
Whilst he thought how his life had fallen apart
He plucked at a string with his thumb

He plucked again and again at the strings
Felt something stir deep within
And before very long he'd picked up the bow
And the fiddle was under his chin
Well at first the tone was scratchy and thin
But he played on with scarcely a thought
By the time that the moon was full in the sky
He played tunes that he'd never been taught

Ch.

As the weeks turned to months his skill grew more
'Til the fiddle took over his life
And he often played on instead of going to work
Lost his job and contact with his daughter and wife
The bills quickly mounted, the rent went unpaid
As he stamped out the beat with his feet
Then the bailiffs danced in and waltzed out his possessions
And he found himself out on the street

So now he was living the life of a tramp
Roaming lanes and sleeping rough on the street
Sometimes he could find a meal in a bin,
More often he'd nothing to eat
Well he once tried his hand at the busking
But he found the tunes just wouldn't play
The townsfolk said he was bad for business
Their anger it drove him away

Ch.

He found himself back in the village
Where he bought the fiddle so long ago
He was sicky and weak and nearing starvation
He was nearing the die's final throw
Well he'd have to sell back the old fiddle
Though the thought of it gave him such pain
But the shop it had gone, just a dark empty shell
And he stood and he stared in the rain

There's some crossroad sat ner a village
On a moor above a high dale
Some say that evil it dwells there
Oh and some that it's just an old tale
They discovered the body of a tramp there one morning
His hand clasped an old fiddle bow
Yet no fiddle was found at the crossroads
Although they searched high and low.

Cheers

Andy Sugden