0:00
0:00
Voice Over • Documentaries
111

Vocal Characteristics

Language

English

Transcript

Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
to begin at the beginning. It is spring moonless night in the small town, starless and bible black, the cobble streets silent and the hunched quarters and rabbits would limping, invisible down to the slow, black, slow black crow. Black fishing boats bobbing sea. The houses of line does moves the mole C find tonight in this, noting velvet Dingell's or blinders Captain Cat. They in the muffled middle by the pump in the town, clock the shops in mourning the welfare hole in Widow's weeds, and all the people of the leveled and them founded town are sleeping. Now, uh, the babies are sleeping. The farmers, the fishers, the tradesmen on the pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher, postmen and publican, the undertake and the fancy woman drunkard, dressmaker, preacher policemen, the web, foot cockle women and the tidy wives. Young girls, my bedded soft, a glide in their dreams with rings and true. So bridesmaid it by glow worms on the idols of the organ playing Would the boys are dreaming wicked out of the bucking ranches of the night in the Jolly Roger C and the anthrocytes, statues of horses sleep in the fields, the cows in the bios, the dogs in the wet nosed yards. The cats not in this land corners or loops, lie streaking and needling one of the cloud of the roofs. You can hear the do falling the hushed town breathing. Only your eyes are enclosed to see the black and folded town fast and slow asleep, and you alone can hear the invisible start fall the darkest before dawn. Minute Lee do grazed, stirred of the black clap feel see with the RFU's or the Curly with Skylark Zandi Bar reon on Rover. The comment on the start of wheels tilt and ride Listen, it is night moving in the streets. The processional salt slow musical wind in Coronation Street in Coppell role. It is the grass growing on regular bill do Falstaff. Old the sleep of birds and milk would listen. It is night in the chill or squat chapel coming in bonnet and brought auction bombers in black butterfly choker and bootless bow coughing. Legnani goats sucking Mentos 40 Winking Hallelujah Night. In the four ill Quiet is a domino Inaki milkman's loft like a most with gloves and die breads bakery flying like black flower. It is tonight in Donkey Street trotting silent with seaweed on its hooves along the coupled. Kabul's past. Curtin Fern pot text and trinket harmonium. Holy dresser watercolors done by hand. China Dog on Rosie Tinti Caddy. It is night netting among this luxuries of babies. Look, it is might family winding through coronation cherry trees going through the graveyard of Bethesda with winds loved, unfolded and do doffed tumbling by the sailors. Arms time passes. Listen, time passes come closer. Now only you can hear the houses sleeping in the streets in a slow, deep salt and silent black bandage night. Only you can see in the blinded bedrooms, the comes and petticoats over the chairs, the jugs and basins that losses of teeth thou shalt not in the world. The yellowing Dicky weird watching pictures of the dead only you can hear and see behind the eyes of the sleepers, the movements and countries and mazes and colors, dismays and rainbows and tunes and wishes and flight and fall and despairs on big seas of their dreams. From way you want, you can hear their dreams