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Dec. 30, 2010 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington

01:57:24

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	Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
	Hush your vocal, hush and listen, and his cheeks were all aglow.
	I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
	By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
	Oh, then tell me, Sean O'Farrell, where the gathering is to be, In the old spot by the river, rightful known to you and me.
	One word, more for signal, token whistle, up the marching tune, For your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon, By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, Which your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon.
	Out from many a mud-walled cabin eyes were watching through the night, Many a manly chest was throbbing for the blessed warming light, Warmers passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely crew, And a thousand flames were flashing at the rising of the moon.
	It's December the 30th, 2010.
	I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
	The Rising of the Moon Folks, this will be the last podcast for the year 2010, the first full year of Radio Free Northwest.
	Although I have no idea at all how long Radio Free Northwest will continue, quite a while I hope, And why it's so important in bringing our own people back to an understanding of that heritage.
	Sometimes I do get criticism from Radio Free Northwest listeners who are scared that I'm going to get sued, and granted, I do tend to avoid playing cuts from major stars whose contracts are held by Jewish record companies that have battalions of litigation attorneys at their command, but sometimes I also get criticism from people who seem to feel that I shouldn't be playing any music at all.
	As one guy put it, I'm supposed to be a racist leader and not a disc jockey.
	So let me get briefly into why I play music at all on this show.
	First off, to be honest, it's largely to provide a break from my hoarse droning voice every 15 or 20 minutes or so.
	There's nothing on earth more excruciatingly boring, to me anyway, than sitting there listening to some guy rabbiting on and on and on about things that most of you know already or you agree with anyway.
	Like everyone in the movement, I do a lot of preaching to the choir.
	It reminds me of the old John Burt Society, where after the tea and cookies, the chapter leader would set up a boombox on a table, and all the little old men and blue-haired ladies would listen like mesmerized zombies to Robert Welch on a cassette tape, bloviating on and on in this droning voice about communism and insiders and mattoids and bizarre world conspiracies, including the Queen of England, or maybe that was Lyndon LaRouche.
	Anyway, you get the idea.
	I don't want these podcasts to turn into that.
	You need to get a break from the sound of my voice.
	We don't have ads from our sponsors like Snapple or whatever Rush Limbaugh is peddling this week to break things up, and so I use music.
	But there's a lot more important reason that I play music on here, specifically the music I choose to play.
	Now, this is not just Harold spinning his CDs here like a DJ.
	Every now and then I'll play something just because I like it, but usually there is a specific reason why I choose to play a particular cut.
	As trite and as cliche as this sounds, A people's music is the soul of that people revealed for all to hear.
	This is why nigger music consists largely of booming drums, or in these electronic days, booming bass, and a string of howled or shouted obscenities and sexual innuendos, from the Supremes to Isaac Hayes to modern-day gangster rap.
	Nigger music sounds the way it does because that's what's going on in the Negro soul.
	Deep down inside, they're all jumping and jiving back in the jungle while some coon beats on a hollow log.
	They haven't progressed beyond that level, musically or any other way.
	The music of the white man in Europe and in this country is infinitely deep and varied.
	It's the heart and the history and the soul of every white nation translated into sine waves that tell a story without words.
	I'm not going to go on and on here because I think every one of you listening to this understands what I'm saying.
	Our people's entire history is written down not only in words but in music.
	Or at least approximately since the 12th century it's been written down in music.
	I think that's the oldest written musical tablature that can be identified and understood by today's paleographers and historians.
	The Bardic tradition of the ancient Celts and Germans seems to have been completely oral as far as the actual music goes, although eventually the words to things like Beowulf and the Battle of Malden were written down around the turn of the first millennium.
	It's believed by many historians that the ancient Greeks and Romans must have had some way of writing music down.
	It's just that no one has found any examples yet, and if we did, we probably wouldn't know what we were looking at.
	That's not surprising, since actual documents from classical times are very rare due to deterioration of paper and parchment over the centuries.
	Anyway, who knows, maybe someday there'll be a break on that front and we may actually be able to listen to the songs and the music that Pericles and Julius Caesar played at their orgies.
	But for now, the earliest surviving, authenticated, historic Aryan music comes from the early Middle Ages, the 1100s, and it's mostly religious and church music.
	A lot of it's in Latin.
	I've played a number of these songs on Radio Free Northwest over the past year, and I've gotten some favorable responses from a lot of people who thought that music, like American history, began in the days of electronic devices, and anything before sound and film recording didn't exist in their frames of reference until I started playing some of this stuff on here.
	I've gotten a lot of feedback from people who have thanked me for waking them up to the fact that the white man does, in fact, have a musical tradition at all.
	You'd be amazed how many people's musical world begins with 1960s golden oldies from their childhood and ends with Supertramp, even people who are starting to experience racial awakening.
	On October 25, 1415, an army of about 9,000 Englishmen commanded by their king, Henry V, fought a battle with a much larger army of between 30,000 and 50,000 French.
	At a place called Agincourt.
	It's almost impossible to figure out an accurate estimate of how many men fought in any medieval battle, but everybody agrees the Brits were wildly outnumbered and everybody figured the armored French knights were going to crush them like a bug.
	But because most of the English army consisted of skilled archers armed with heavy longbows...
	And because the dumbass French insisted on charging straight across a muddy field that turned into an impassable quagmire, where all those heavy-armored horses and men sank into the mire, the English won an upset victory over an army which realistically outnumbered them at least four to one.
	It was not only a brilliant military feat, but it was probably the source of this immense superiority complex that the British seem to hang on to even today, when their national heroes aren't Henry V or Francis Drake anymore, but Benny Hill and Boyd George.
	Anyway, I'm going to begin by playing for you one of the most famous passages ever written by William Shakespeare, the St. Crispin's Day speech from the play Henry V. I'll follow it with the Agincourt carol, which was top of the pops back in 1415, and then there'll be a selection of medieval mellows for you.
	Now, my fair cousin, if we are marked to die, we are enough to do our country loss, and if to live...
	The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
	God's will, I pray thee, wish not one man more.
	Rather, proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, that he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart.
	His passport shall be made and crowns for convoy put into his purse.
	We would not die in that man's company that fears his fellowship to die with us.
	This day is called the Feast of Crispian.
	He that outlives this day and comes safe home will stand a tiptoe when this day is named and arouse him at the name of Crispian.
	He that shall see this day and live old age will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors and say, "Tomorrow is Saint Crispin's." Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars and say, "These wounds I had on Crispin's day." Old men forget, yet all shall be forgot, but he'll remember with advantages what feats he did that day.
	Then shall our names, familiar in their mouths as household words, Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
	This story shall the good man teach his son, and Crispin Crispian shall ne 'er go by, from this day to the ending of the world!
	But we in it shall be remembered.
	We few.
	We happy few.
	We band of brothers.
	For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.
	Be he ne 'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition.
	And gentlemen in England, now abed!
	Shall think themselves a curse they were not here, and hold their manhood's chief, whilst any speaks that fought with us upon St. Crescent's Day!
	My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed.
	The French are bravely in their battle set and will, with all expedience, march upon us.
	All things are ready if our minds be so.
	Purish the man whose mind is backward now.
	That does not wish more help from England, cuz.
	God's will, my liege.
	Would you and I alone, without more help, can fight this royal battle?
	You know your places.
	God be with you all!
	Yeah!
	Once more I come to know of the King Harry, if for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, before thy most assured overthrow.
	Who hath sent thee now?
	The Constable of France.
	I pray thee, bear my former answer back.
	Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones.
	God!
	God!
	Why should they mock poor fellows thus?
	Let me speak proudly.
	Tell the constable, we are but warriors for the working day.
	Our gainness and our guilt are all besmirched with rainy marching in the painful field.
	But by the mass, our hearts are in the trim.
	Herald, save thou thy labor.
	Come thou no more for ransom, gentle Herald.
	They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints, which, if they have, as I shall leave in them, shall yield them little.
	Tell the constable.
	I shall, King Harry, and so fare thee well.
	Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
	Thank you.
	Our King went forth to Normandy With grace and might of chivalry The God for him wrought marvelously Where for England may call and
	cry Deo gratias Deo gratias Anglia Rede pro victoria Now gracious God He
	saved our King His people and His well within Grant Him good life and good ending That we on earth may safely sing Deo
	gratias Deo gratias Anglia Deo gratias
	Pro Victoria.
	'Proudissima Virum','demographics of rest, 2021 -26 August 22, 2020 'Migdon, ещё the place forata''ENo'!!!
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	Down by Greenwood's IDO She wiped the plate against her shoe All the lee and lonely more She rubbed the redder it grew Down by Greenwood's IDO She went back to her father's hall All the lee and lonely Saw two babes up playing at ball Down
	by Greenwood's IDO Oh babes, oh babes, if you were mine All the lee and lonely more
	And Lonely I dress you up in Scarlet Fine Down by Greenwood's IDO Oh Mother, oh Mother When we were yours All a-lie and Lonely Scarlet was our own heart blood Down by the Greenwood's IDO Amen.
	Oh babes, oh babes, it's heaven for you, all only and lonely.
	Mother, oh mother, it's hell for you, down by Greenwoodside, yo.
	That was Kenneth Branagh from the movie Henry V, the Agincourt Carol by the Silly Sisters, O Veridicima Verga by the 12th century German abbess Hildegard von Bingen, And that number was arranged by Richard Southern on the Vision CD.
	Then we had Congaudet Hodii, which is a 13th century liturgical piece from Provence, performed by the Sequentia Ensemble.
	And finally, the gruesome medieval murder ballad was The Cruel Mother, sung by Ian and Sylvia.
	Kind of one of the first anti-abortion songs there.
	Guys, I admit, I have got a real taste for both Irish and Scottish music.
	of various kinds, having lived in Ireland in the Isle of Man for five years.
	And you really can't appreciate some of this music until you hear it live in a pub.
	Not a tourist pub, but one where the locals actually go to get pissed and hear music.
	There's nothing like the sound of the Dubliners in the Wexford Inn on a Sunday afternoon when you're half-tanked on Smithick's Irish Ale, which back in my drinking days I considered to be the true nectar of the gods.
	Now, if it was up to me, I'd fill up this whole podcast with nothing but Irish music, but I'm going to try and keep it down to about two hours.
	So what I'll do is, for our Celtic section here, I'll mix it in with the Scots stuff.
	I'll play two of each, Irish and Scots, and then for the last two in this set, I'll give you a couple of what I suppose you might call fusion numbers, a mixture of Irish and Southern folk and country performers.
	Now, a lot of American country and bluegrass stars have really gotten into Irish and Scots music.
	And some of the results are pretty inspiring, I think.
	Since most traditional Southern Appalachian ballads and folk music are based on Scottish folk songs and pipe tunes, and were brought to this country by the largely Protestant Scotch-Irish, as they were called, I view this as a kind of return and reunification of Ireland's two tribes, musically if not politically.
	We play a tune now, a reel.
	Like The Kid on the Mountain, I was saying earlier, The Kid on the Mountain being one of our best-loved double jigs, this is one of our best-loved and oft-played reels.
	It's a tune called Farewell to Aaron.
	Kevin will take us away with it.
	Thank you.
	The hands are running, the hawks are swung, and the gypsies are warrior radio.
	Ladio, ladio, for the gypsy ladio, ladio, ladio, for the gypsy ladio.
	The saddle to me, the black, the black, my case doesn't be radio.
	On time drink, I'm gonna taste, till I pack my radio.
	He's so dist, he's so western, he's coming to yonder, foggy-o.
	And there he's by the wind, for the man, the hands are gypsy ladio.
	Ladio, ladio, for the gypsy ladio.
	Will you come with me, my honey and my hat, will you come with me, my lady-o?
	And I swear by the sock of the times, by my side, the black, my nash is still me-o.
	I'm gonna come with you, my honey and my hat.
	I'm gonna come here, my dear-yo.
	Till I try to grease the brood and act in the water of here-yo.
	Ladio, ladio, for the gypsy ladio.
	Ladio, ladio, for the gypsy ladio.
	Ladio, ladio, ladio.
	Oh, the gypsy ladio.
	Ladio, ladio, ladio.
	Oh, the gypsy ladio.
	Ladio, ladio, ladio.
	Oh, the gypsy ladio.
	Ladio, ladio.
	Oh, the gypsy ladio.
	Ladio, ladio.
	Oh, the gypsy ladio.
	Ladio, ladio.
	Oh, the gypsy ladio.
	Ladio, ladio, ladio.
	Oh, the gypsy ladio, ladio.
	Ladio, ladio.
	If all the bloodshed at thy throne, Edinburgh, Edinburgh.
	If all the bloodshed at thy throne, where shet in the day at the bar.
	Toad Cogginville's, oh, Bonnington.
	Edinburgh, Edinburgh.
	Toad Cogginville's, oh, Bonnington.
	Forever and forever.
	Edinburgh, Edinburgh.
	If all the tears that thou hast gratt.
	Edinburgh, Edinburgh.
	Edinburgh.
	If all the tears that thou hast gratt.
	Where shet in Tennessee.
	Where would you find another rat?
	Edinburgh, Edinburgh.
	Where would you find another rat?
	Edinburgh, Edinburgh.
	Edinburgh.
	Where would you find another rat?
	Free that felt like to flee.
	Edinburgh, Edinburgh.
	If all the sounds sung in thy curts.
	Edinburgh, Edinburgh.
	If all the sounds sung in thy curts.
	Where githa then the wind.
	T'witch all the taps, oh, Rosalindsbergs.
	Edinburgh, Edinburgh.
	Threads shaw the taps, oh, Rosalindsbergs.
	did you go?
	Where did you come from, Cotton Night Joe?
	music
	music
	music music music
	music music
	music music music
	music Woo!
	That was great.
	Oh man, that was hot.
	I took a stroll on the one walk of the day.
	I met a little girl and we stopped to talk about.
	Finds off the end We
	started off there with the Bothy Band from Ireland, with a song called Farewell to Aaron, and then we heard the Rocky Road to Dublin from Waxy's Dargal.
	After that came the Tannehill Weavers with the Gypsy Laddy, and a group called Capernaum, or Capernaum, singing about all the bloody and horrible things that have happened in Edinburgh, the capital city of Scotland, which actually has a pretty grim history of violence and plagues and general gruesomeness, perhaps more so than any city in Europe, except for maybe Rome.
	And then we had the old fiddle tune, Cotton-Eyed Joe, from country singer Ricky Skaggs, in combination with the Irish group, The Chieftains.
	Finally, there was Steve Earle singing Galway Girl.
	Okay, by now I'm sure you guys out there are saying to yourselves, Play this, Harold!
	Come on, play that!
	You gotta play this, Harold!
	You gotta play that!
	Unfortunately, this program is pre-recorded and I can't actually take requests, but don't worry.
	All you Saga and Ian Stewart fans out there, your time will come.
	Next up, I'm going to play a set of my own down-home music.
	Back porch music, so to speak.
	Southern and Appalachian old time, whatever you want to call it.
	Now, as I mentioned earlier, the traditional music of the American South comes very largely from pipe and fiddle tunes from Ireland and Scotland.
	And no, the banjo is not a nigger instrument, as the liberal eggheads have tried to rewrite musical history.
	The banjo in its present form, with five strings, was invented in the 1830s by a mountain man from Buckingham County, Virginia, named Joel Walker Sweeney.
	Mr. Sweeney survived into the age of photography, and so we have some pictures of him in old age.
	And no, Joel Walker Sweeney was not a nigger.
	He was, however, an early vaudeville-type performer in blackface, which is now, of course, completely politically incorrect.
	Under our new masters, the only historic figure in the entertainment industry who is allowed to have performed in blackface without being torn to shreds as a racist is Al Jolson.
	And he was a Jew, so he's privileged.
	Country music and its cousin, bluegrass, of course evolved out of traditional southern folk and instrumental music.
	I like some country and some country singers, and there's a good many fine bluegrass players and performers as well.
	But, to be honest, I've always preferred the old-time original.
	What I'll do now is I'll lay a couple of old-time numbers on you first, and then some bluegrass and country, and maybe a little of what's called rockabilly.
	Music
	Thank you.
	Every crime in Oklahoma was added to his name He ran through the trees and bushes on the Canadian River shore And many a starving farmer opened up his store Was in Oklahoma City
	It was on a Christmas day A whole carload of groceries With a letter that could say You say that I'm an outlaw You say that I'm a thief Well, here's a Christmas dinner For families on relief As through this life you travel You know
	some funny men Some will rob you with a six gun And some with a thousand men As through this life you ramble As through this life you roll You'll never see an outlaw take a family from their home.
	'Twas in the merry months of May, when all gay flowers were blooming.
	Sweet William, his deathbed lay, for the love of Barbara.
	He sent his servant to the town, to the place where she was dwelling.
	Said you must come to my master's house, if your name be Barbara.
	So slowly, slowly she gets up, and to his bedside going.
	She drew the curtains to one side, and says young men are dying.
	I know I'm sick, and very sick, and sorrow dwells within me.
	No better nobody, I never will be, till I have my will.
	Don't you remember last hour When I was at heaven?
	You gave your dreams To the lady's home But you slighted Barbara He reached up his pale ones Intending for to touch me She turned away from his bedside And
	says, "Young man, I won't have you" He turned his cheek into the wall And bursted out a cryin'Adieu to
	thee, adieu to all And adieu to Barbara And she walked around She had not more than reached the town She heard the death bells ringin'And as they
	yearn, they seem to say Hard-hearted bar run out Oh mother, oh mother, go make my best Make it both long and narrow Sweet William died for me today I'll die for him
	tomorrow Sweet William was married in the old churchyard And Barbara they laid night And out of his grave grew a red red rose And out of her's a bright red rose
	And out of her's a bright red They grew and grew to the old church grave Where they could grow no higher And there they died And there they died And the true love nods The rose wrapped round the rise The rose wrapped round the rise
	Let's pray.
	I was born by my papa's son wandering out of a smoking gun.
	Now some of you would live through me and light me up and throw away the key.
	Or just find a place to hide away and hope that I'll just go away.
	I feel alright.
	I feel alright tonight.
	I feel alright.
	I feel alright tonight.
	And I'll bring you precious contraband and ancient tales from distant lands.
	Conquerors and concubines and conjurers from darker times.
	Betrayal and conspiracy, sacrilege and heresy.
	I feel alright.
	I feel alright tonight.
	I feel alright.
	I feel alright tonight.
	I feel alright.
	I feel alright tonight.
	I feel alright.
	You are mine.
	We started off that set with Bill Wellington shaking down the acorns.
	Then came the Pine Creek String Band picking out Salt Creek for us.
	Then Tony Ellis with Doc Mongol's Brews, and after that it was The Birds with the old Woody Guthrie song Pretty Boy Floyd.
	Then we heard Emmylou Harris singing the old Appalachian ballad Barbara Allen, and we closed with Steve Earle.
	Okay, military and fascist history freaks, your turn now.
	I still have not been able to discover a version of the Horstwessel song which I consider to be of sufficient technical and musical quality for inclusion on this program.
	All the versions I can find, or at least all the ones I can download, are from the time of the Third Reich itself, and by modern standards they sound scratchy, tinny, and they simply do not convey properly the musical and moral power of the anthem of National Socialism.
	I've asked in the past if anyone could guide me to a complete, i.e.
	all four verses, stand-alone version of the song, i.e.
	nothing where we have to edit around a movie or a TV soundtrack or a liberal commentary voiceover, nothing like that, and performed by a modern band, a modern male chorus or singer, and with modern recording equipment, at least to the point of being stereophonic.
	Apparently, no such version of the Horstwessel song exists, which isn't surprising since in most of Europe, and especially in Germany, anybody connected with producing or singing such a version of the song would probably get about a 10-year prison sentence.
	I have, however, picked up a number of nice, inspiring military-type marches from a number of Aryan nations over the past year, and we'll kick off with the Fuhrer's personal favorite, the Badenweiler Marsh.
	The Badenweiler Marsh
	The Badenweiler
	Marsh The Badenweiler
	Marsh The
	Badenweiler Marsh The
	Badenweiler Marsh
	The Badenweiler Marsh
	Then came Panzerleid from the movie Battle of the Bulge.
	Then Kara al Sol, which means face to the sun, and which was the anthem of the Spanish Phalanges Party back in the 1930s, and later on, kind of the overall theme song for all of Franco's Spain.
	Then came Sari Marais, based on folk song from the Boer people of South Africa.
	Then La Regimente de la Sambre Muse from France, which actually I think I played a few weeks ago.
	And finally, back to Germany for the Florian Geyer song, or Florian Geyer lead, celebrating the prowess of a German knight of the 16th century who fought against the rule of nobles and priests during the peasant uprising of 1525.
	Okay, okay, enough with what some of you call egghead music.
	Without further ado, here's a modern-day set from the Swedish nationalist singer Saga and Ian Stewart from Screwdriver.
	music
	The forest runs free But gathered together to greet the storm Tomorrow belongs to me Tomorrow belongs to me The Grand Chandelier Tomorrow
	belongs to me Tomorrow belongs to me And
	its cradle is closing his eyes And the blossom embraces the bee But soon sets the whisper Rise,
	arise Tomorrow belongs to me And tomorrow belongs to me Your children have been waiting to see.
	The morning will come when the world is mine.
	tomorrow belongs to me tomorrow belongs to me
	And tomorrow belongs to me Tomorrow belongs to you Tomorrow belongs to
	you, and then you will be able to live in a new world.
	He is in a room and a square the color of blood.
	He drew the whole world.
	If there was a way that he could He'd sit and he'd stare At the minarets on top of the towers For he was the beast As he hatched his new plans to gain power And the snow fell Covering the dreams and ideals And
	the snow And the snow fell They had to keep warm for survival And the snow fell And defeated the beast's only rival They took the old roads Like Napoleon had taken before
	They fought as the forces of light Against the darkness The sun shining on the cold flowers The next day they were freezing to death In the snow and the ice-cold showers And the snow fell Covering the dreams and
	ideals And the snow fell Freezing the blood and the wheels And the snow fell We're good
	They cold wrecked their bodies, but worse was the pain and defeat Many people who had held them once now turned and looked away These people now knew that the beast was on its own
	And the snow fell, covering the dreams and ideals.
	And the snow fell, freezing the blood and the wheels.
	We had to keep warm for survival And the snow fell And defeated the beast's only rival You finally came back To the borders of your fatherland Now enemies came Traitors everywhere It's
	so hard to see the picture of the red flag in Berlin And the snow fell Cumbering the dreams and ideals And the snow fell Freezing the blood and the wheels And the snow fell They had to keep on And
	defeated the beast's only rival Yesterday's
	gone.
	I'm all alone.
	The long boat, it sails into the sunset.
	you finally found your place to rest sleep well my brother do not be afraid
	I can see the key Take me with you Take me so far away I can see the key Now you have joined The ranks of the fallen Now
	battle by day And feast by night The glories you've seen Come into the light Sleep oh my brother Do not be afraid I can see Rest
	with the chosen And rest in peace I've picked up the standards And I will release All that you fought for And all that you loved Watch over me,
	brother Take me so far.
	I can see you again.
	I quit my job, baby, but when I spoke my first guitar, then I started running things, started propping up some of my heart.
	Shining tape, got a contract, baby's all so glad, then you started messing around with love and love, life's just as bad, just as well as love.
	I quit my job, baby, but when I went to school, I started running things, started propping up some of my heart, just as well as love and love, life's just as bad, just as well as love and love.
	Are you trying to mess us up now, trying to make us quit?
	That's what you're trying to do, you boy, on achieving it.
	Builder, knock down, knock down to the ground.
	Shout out to "Now!" "I'm a little bit older than you can, but I'm not a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can, but I'm not a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you
	can, but I'm not a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can, but I'm not a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can, but I'm not a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit
	older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "I'm a little bit older than you can." "That day there
	was a burning field and its earth was black and charred." "Its flowers were for people's hopes, but now they were their scars." "After the fire, the ruins they delayed." "After the
	fire, come a brand new day." "The fields stood in misery and the hills fast to fight." "The new age was a wake-nend, buried history's lies." "The misty moments of day
	woke, the fear would come alive." "The seas once older than that had grown, through life that would not die." "After the fire, the ruins they delayed." "After the
	fire, the ruins they delayed." "After the fire, the ruins they delayed." "After the fire, the ruins they delayed." "After the fire, the ruins they delayed." "After the fire, the ruins they delayed." "After the fire, the ruins they delayed." "But the fire, the ruins they delayed." "After the fire, the ruins they delayed." "But the fire, the ruins they delayed." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire, the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would
	come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "The new age is approaching, and the wind and peace shall be." "The fire was 9 and 45, but the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand
	new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire
	would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "But the fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "The fire would come a brand new day." "They march towards a battlefield."
	"The enemy ahead." "The final fight is almost here." "It's either life or death." "Yeah." "File of the nation." "Freedom's elevation." "File of the nation." "They kept the plane to light." "The uniform of midnight." "And so they're on their necks." "Their
	honor was their loyalty." "To join the Eastern way." "They fought against such massive odds." "And then glory in the fields." "But history tries to put them down." "For their
	loyalty, oh gee." "File of the nation." "Freedom's elevation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "It's just the plane to light." "I'll be in the light." "I'll be in the light." "I'll be in the light." "I'll be in the light." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their
	honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their
	honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their
	honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation." "Their honor of the nation."
	Our saga songs there were Tomorrow Belongs to Me from the movie Cabaret, The Snowfell, which is actually a screwdriver song originally, but which was performed by Our Lady from Sweden as a tribute to Ian Stewart, and Nobody Cries for You.
	Then we brought in the main man from Old Blighty himself with Built Up, Knocked Down, After the Fire, and Pride of a Nation, which, in case you couldn't follow the lyrics, was Ian Stewart's personal tribute to the SS.
	We're almost out of time now.
	I think we have room for one more song.
	One I'm going to pick purely on the grounds that it's one of my favorites.
	This is Steve Earle.
	You hardly ever saw a granddaddy down here You only come a town about twice a year You buy a hundred pounds of yeast and a copper line Everybody knew that you made me shine Now the revenue man want a granddaddy bad He'd left a holler of everything I had
	Before my time, but I've been told I'd never come back from college
	Upper-head-roo- We
	will do one final song.
	I get frequent emails asking me what the theme song to Radio Free Northwest is and who does it.
	Our theme is an old Irish freedom song from the 1798 Rebellion called The Rising of the Moon, and it's performed by a group from Donegal called Nicosity, which means the Cases.
	What I'll do is I'll play the whole song from beginning to end as soon as I sign off here.
	Radio Free Northwest is brought to you by the Northwest Front, Post Office Box 4856, Seattle, Washington, 98194.
	Or you can go to the party's website at www.northwestfront.org.
	This is Harold Covington, hoping that all of you had a good holiday season, and I'll see you next week, or perhaps I should say next year.
	Until then, Sasha on the bond.
	Freedom.
	Freedom.
	Oh, then tell me, Sean O'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
	Hush, your vocal, hush and listen, and his cheeks were all aglow.
	I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
	By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, for the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
	Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, The whistle of the...

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