Track 1 of the album Lullabies for Grown-Ups · 2010
Kettle on the Windowsill
“This was the first one I wrote after leaving school for the day. It's just the hour when grey light creeps in and the kettle starts to think about itself.”
indie folk · parlour folk · lullaby folk · 3:41
Lyrics
Grey comes up behind the curtain Slow as milk into the tea The kettle ticks along the sill And hums its small machinery The house is still in its slippers The floorboards keep their sleep I stand here in my stocking feet With nowhere I must be So let the kettle take its time Let the window fog with steam There's a whole day waiting somewhere But it can wait for me One cup, one chair, one slow sunrise Nothing to be won The quiet hours are made of this Small warmth, and then the sun A sparrow on the fence post Shakes the dew out of his coat The neighbour's radio murmurs low A far-off, friendly note I count the chipped blue mugs Each one a year gone by The handle that I mended And the crack I let lie So let the kettle take its time Let the window fog with steam There's a whole day waiting somewhere But it can wait for me One cup, one chair, one slow sunrise Nothing to be won The quiet hours are made of this Small warmth, and then the sun I used to run to meet the morning Coat half-on, and keys in hand Now I let the morning find me Standing where I stand And it comes without a hurry Gold along the rim Every ordinary minute Is a kind of hymn So let the kettle take its time Let the window fog with steam There's a whole day waiting somewhere But it can wait for me One cup, one chair, one slow sunrise Nothing to be won The quiet hours are made of this Small warmth, and then the sun Small warmth, and then the sun Small warmth, and then the sun