Favorite "story ballads" - story telling set to music

Vanity | 2/26/2005 | HairOfTheDog

[HairOfTheDog]

I love a good lyric… imagery in words that remind us of a great character, place or state of mind, even if we've never been there. I wanted to collect and share a few classics that I think are more than a song, they do more than make you want to sing along. They tell an engaging story. These are my favorites that I could think of… I am sure you have some too. I hope you can listen to them, because though the lyrics are good, they are cold without the environment of their music.

In no particular order…

THE WRECK OF THE EDMUND FITZGERALD
Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called ’Gitche Gumee’
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty.
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early.

The ship was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
And later that night when the ship’s bell rang
Could it be the north wind they’d been feelin’?
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too,
T’was the witch of November come stealin’.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashin’.
When afternoon came it was freezin’ rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind.

When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin’.
Fellas, it’s too rough to feed ya.
At seven p.m. a main hatchway caved in, he said
Fellas, it’s been good t’know ya
The captain wired in he had water comin’ in
And the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when his lights went outta sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does any one know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searches all say they’d have made whitefish bay
If they’d put fifteen more miles behind her.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
May have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man’s dreams;
The islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below lake Ontario
Takes in what lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
In the maritime sailors’ cathedral.
The church bell chimed till it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call ’Gitche Gumee’.
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early!

THE GUNNER'S DREAM
Pink Floyd (Waters)

Floating down through the clouds
Memories come rushing up to meet me now.
In the space between the heavens
and in the corner of some foreign field
I had a dream.
I had a dream.
Good-bye Max.
Good-bye Ma.
After the service when you're walking slowly to the car
And the silver in her hair shines in the cold November air
You hear the tolling bell
And touch the silk in your lapel
And as the tear drops rise to meet the comfort of the band
You take her frail hand
And hold on to the dream.
A place to stay
"Oi! A real one ..."
Enough to eat
Somewhere old heroes shuffle safely down the street
Where you can speak out loud
About your doubts and fears
And what's more no-one ever disappears
You never hear their standard issue kicking in your door.
You can relax on both sides of the tracks
And maniacs don't blow holes in bandsmen by remote control
And everyone has recourse to the law
And no-one kills the children anymore.
And no one kills the children anymore.

Night after night
Going round and round my brain
His dream is driving me insane.
In the corner of some foreign field
The gunner sleeps tonight.
What's done is done.
We cannot just write off his final scene.
Take heed of his dream.
Take heed.

THE LAST RESORT
The Eagles

She came from Providence,
The one in Rhode island
Where the old world shadows hang
Heavy in the air
She packed her hopes and dreams
Like a refugee
Just as her father came across the sea

She heard about a place people were smilin’
They spoke about the red man’s way,
And how they loved the land
And they came from everywhere
To the great divide
Seeking a place to stand
Or a place to hide

Down in the crowded bars,
Out for a good time,
Can’t wait to tell you all,
What it’s like up there
And they called it paradise
I don’t know why
Somebody laid the mountains low
While the town got high

Then the chilly winds blew down
Across the desert
Through the canyons of the coast, to
The Malibu
Where the pretty people play,
Hungry for power
To light their neon way
And give them things to do

Some rich men came and raped the land,
Nobody caught ’em
Put up a bunch of ugly boxes, and Jesus People bought ’em
And they called it paradise
The place to be
They watched the hazy sun, sinking in the sea

You can leave it all behind
And sail to Lahaina
Just like the missionaries did, so many years ago
They even brought a neon sign: ’Jesus is coming’
Brought the white man’s burden down
Brought the white man’s reign

Who will provide the grand design?
What is yours and what is mine?
’cause there is no more new frontier
We have got to make it here

We satisfy our endless needs and
Justify our bloody deeds,
In the name of destiny and the name
Of god

And you can see them there,
On Sunday morning
They stand up and sing about
What it’s like up there
They call it paradise
I don’t know why
You call someplace paradise,
Kiss it goodbye

THE DOWNEASTER ALEXA
Billy Joel

Well I’m on the Downeaster Alexa
And I’m cruising through block island sound
I have chartered a course to the vineyard
But tonight I am Nantucket bound

We took on diesel back in Montauk yesterday
And left this morning from the bell in Gardner's bay
Like all the locals here I’ve had to sell my home
Too proud to leave I worked my fingers to the bone

So I could own my Downeaster Alexa
And I go where the ocean is deep
There are giants out there in the canyons
And a good captain can’t fall asleep

I’ve got bills to pay and children who need clothes
I know there’s fish out there but where God only knows
They say these waters aren’t what they used to be
But I’ve got people back on land who count on me

So if you see my Downeaster Alexa
And if you work with the rod and the reel
Tell my wife I am trolling Atlantis
And I still have my hands on the wheel

Now I drive my Downeaster Alexa
More and more miles from shore every year
Since they told me I can’t sell no stripers
And there’s no luck in swordfishing here

I was a bayman like my father was before
Can’t make a living as a bayman anymore
There ain’t much future for a man who works the sea
But there ain’t no island left for islanders like me

ALLENTOWN
Billy Joel

Well we’re living here in Allentown
And they’re closing all the factories down
Out in Bethlehem they’re killing time
Filling out forms
Standing in line
Well our fathers fought the second world war
Spent their weekends on the jersey shore
Met our mothers in the USO
Asked them to dance
Danced with them slow
And we’re living here in Allentown
But the restlessness was handed down
And it’s getting very hard to stay
Well we’re waiting here in Allentown
For the Pennsylvania we never found
For the promises our teachers gave
If we worked hard
If we behaved
So the graduations hang on the wall
But they never really helped us at all
No they never taught us what was real
Iron and coke
And chromium steel
And we’re waiting here in Allentown
But they’ve taken all the coal from the ground
And the union people crawled away
Every child had a pretty good shot
To get at least as far as their old man got
But something happened on the way to that place
They threw an American flag in our face
Well I’m living here in Allentown
And it’s hard to keep a good man down
But I won’t be getting up today
And it’s getting very hard to stay
And we’re living here in Allentown

[tiamat]

That one's good too.

Hair will like that.

She likes sailing songs.

[GodBlessRonaldReagan]

The music fits the lyrics very well! My all-time fave Harry Chapin song. I first heard it on a "progressive" radio station around 1972-73 and couldn't believe it.

[GodBlessRonaldReagan]

Tom T. Hall bump - what a great songwriter!

[Knitting A Conundrum]

And then there's this: Not traditional, but not modern either, but still nautical:

Farewell To Tarwathie
Farewell to Tarwathie, adieu Mormond Hill
And the dear land of Crimond, I bid you farewell
I'm bound all for Greenland and ready to sail
In hopes to find riches in hunting the whale.

Farewell to my comrades, for a while we must part
And likewise the dear lass who first won my heart
The cold coast of Greenland, my love will not chill
And the longer my absence, more loving she'll feel.

Our ship is well-rigged and she's ready to sail
The crew, they are anxious to follow the whale
Where the icebergs do float and the stormy winds blow
And the land and the ocean are covered with snow.

The cold coast of Greenland is barren and bare
No seed time nor harvest is ever known there
And the birds here sing sweetly on mountain and dale
But there's no bird in Greenland to sing to the whale.

There is no habitation for a man to live there
And the king of that country is the fierce Greenland bear
And there'll be no temptation to tarry long there
With our ship bumper full we will homeward repair.

[xm177e2]

Over the Hills and Far Away

They came for him one winter's night.
Arrested, he was bound.
They said there'd been a robbery,
his pistol had been found.

They marched to the station house,
he waited for the dawn.
And as they led him to the dock,
he knew that he'd been wrong.
"You stand accused of robbery,"
he heard the bailiff say.
He knew without an alibi,
tomorrow's light would mourn his freedom.

Over the hills and far away,
for ten long years he'll count the days.
Over the mountains and the seas,
a prisoner's life for him there'll be.

He knew that it would cost him dear,
but yet he dare not say.
Where he had been that fateful night,
a secret it must stay.
He had to fight back tears of rage.
His heart beats like a drum.
For with the wife of his best friend,
he spent his final night of freedom.

Over the hills and far away,
he swears he will return one day.
Far from the mountains and the seas,
back in her arms he swears he'll be.
Over the hills and far away.

Over the hills and,
over the hills and,
over the hills and far away.

Each night within his prison cell,
he looks out through the bars.
He reads the letters that she wrote.
One day he'll know the taste of freedom.

Over the hills and far away,
she prays he will return one day.
As sure as the rivers reach the seas,
back in his arms she swears she'll be.

Over the hills and far away,
he swears he will return one day.
Far from the mountains and the seas,
back in her arms he swears he'll be.

Over the hills and far away,
she prays he will return one day.
As sure as the rivers reach the seas,
back in his arms is where she'll be.

Over the hills,
over the hills and far away.

Over the hills,
over the hills and far away.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

This was my first Harry Chapin, probably a couple of years later, I believe:

It was just after dark when the truck started down
the hill that leads into Scranton Pennsylvania.
Carrying thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
Carrying thirty thousand pounds (hit it Big John) of bananas.

He was a young driver,
just out on his second job.
And he was carrying the next day's pasty fruits
for everyone in that coal-scarred city
where children play without despair
in backyard slag-piles and folks manage to eat each day
about thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
Yes, just about thirty thousand pounds (scream it again, John) .

He passed a sign that he should have seen,
saying "shift to low gear, a fifty dollar fine my friend."
He was thinking perhaps about the warm-breathed woman
who was waiting at the journey's end.
He started down the two mile drop,
the curving road that wound from the top of the hill.
He was pushing on through the shortening miles that ran down to the depot.
Just a few more miles to go,
then he'd go home and have her ease his long, cramped day away.
and the smell of thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
Yes the smell of thirty thousand pounds of bananas.

He was picking speed as the city spread its twinkling lights below him.
But he paid no heed as the shivering thoughts of the nights
delights went through him.
His foot nudged the brakes to slow him down.
But the pedal floored easy without a sound.
He said "Christ!"
It was funny how he had named the only man who could save him now.
He was trapped inside a dead-end hellslide,
riding on his fear-hunched back
was every one of those yellow green
I'm telling you thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
Yes, there were thirty thousand pounds of bananas.

He barely made the sweeping curve that led into the steepest grade.
And he missed the thankful passing bus at ninety miles an hour.
And he said "God, make it a dream!"
as he rode his last ride down.
And he said "God, make it a dream!"
as he rode his last ride down.
And he sideswiped nineteen neat parked cars,
clipped off thirteen telephone poles,
hit two houses, bruised eight trees,
and Blue-Crossed seven people.
it was then he lost his head,
not to mention an arm or two before he stopped.
And he slid for four hundred yards
along the hill that leads into Scranton, Pennsylvania.
All those thirty thousand pounds of bananas.

You know the man who told me about it on the bus,
as it went up the hill out of Scranton, Pennsylvania,
he shrugged his shoulders, he shook his head,
and he said (and this is exactly what he said)
"Boy that sure must've been something.
Just imagine thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
Yes, there were thirty thousand pounds of mashed bananas.
Of bananas. Just bananas. Thirty thousand pounds.
of Bananas. not no driver now. Just bananas!"

[Gabz]

There's another reason I'm keeping reading, that's another one that still gives chills upteen year afetr the first time I heard it.......

[joem15]

Willie Nelson "Red Headed Stranger".

The red-headed stranger from Blue Rock, Montana,
Rode into town one day.
And under his knees was a ragin' black stallion,
And walkin' behind was a bay.
The red-headed stranger had eyes like the thunder,
And his lips, they were sad and tight.
His little lost love lay asleep on the hillside,
And his heart was heavy as night.
Don't cross him, don't boss him.
He's wild in his sorrow:
He's ridin' an' hidin his pain.
Don't fight him, don't spite him;
Just wait till tomorrow,
Maybe he'll ride on again.

A yellow-haired lady leaned out of her window,
An' watched as he passed her way.
She drew back in fear at the sight of the stallion,
But cast greedy eyes on the bay.
But how could she know that this dancin' bay pony,
Meant more to him than life.
For this was the horse that his little lost darlin',
Had ridden when she was his wife.

Don't cross him, don't boss him.
He's wild in his sorrow:
He's ridin' an' hidin his pain.
Don't fight him, don't spite him;
Just wait till tomorrow,
Maybe he'll ride on again.

The yellow-haired lady came down to the tavern,
An' looked up the stranger there.
He bought her a drink, an' he gave her some money,
He just didn't seem to care.
She followed him out as he saddled his stallion,
An' laughed as she grabbed at the bay.
He shot her so quick, they had no time to warn her,
She never heard anyone say:

"Don't cross him, don't boss him.
"He's wild in his sorrow:
"He's ridin' an' hidin his pain.
"Don't fight him, don't spite him;
"Just wait till tomorrow,
"Maybe he'll ride on again."

The yellow-haired lady was buried at sunset;
The stranger went free, of course.
For you can't hang a man for killin' a woman,
Who's tryin' to steal your horse.
Tthis is the tale of the red headed stranger,
And if he should pass your way,
Stay out of the path of the ragin' black stallion,
And don't lay a hand on the bay.

Don't cross him, don't boss him.
He's wild in his sorrow:
He's ridin' an' hidin his pain.
Don't fight him, don't spite him;
Just wait till tomorrow,
Maybe he'll ride on again.

[joem15]

Willie Nelson "Red Headed Stranger".

The red-headed stranger from Blue Rock, Montana,
Rode into town one day.
And under his knees was a ragin' black stallion,
And walkin' behind was a bay.
The red-headed stranger had eyes like the thunder,
And his lips, they were sad and tight.
His little lost love lay asleep on the hillside,
And his heart was heavy as night.
Don't cross him, don't boss him.
He's wild in his sorrow:
He's ridin' an' hidin his pain.
Don't fight him, don't spite him;
Just wait till tomorrow,
Maybe he'll ride on again.

A yellow-haired lady leaned out of her window,
An' watched as he passed her way.
She drew back in fear at the sight of the stallion,
But cast greedy eyes on the bay.
But how could she know that this dancin' bay pony,
Meant more to him than life.
For this was the horse that his little lost darlin',
Had ridden when she was his wife.

Don't cross him, don't boss him.
He's wild in his sorrow:
He's ridin' an' hidin his pain.
Don't fight him, don't spite him;
Just wait till tomorrow,
Maybe he'll ride on again.

The yellow-haired lady came down to the tavern,
An' looked up the stranger there.
He bought her a drink, an' he gave her some money,
He just didn't seem to care.
She followed him out as he saddled his stallion,
An' laughed as she grabbed at the bay.
He shot her so quick, they had no time to warn her,
She never heard anyone say:

"Don't cross him, don't boss him.
"He's wild in his sorrow:
"He's ridin' an' hidin his pain.
"Don't fight him, don't spite him;
"Just wait till tomorrow,
"Maybe he'll ride on again."

The yellow-haired lady was buried at sunset;
The stranger went free, of course.
For you can't hang a man for killin' a woman,
Who's tryin' to steal your horse.
Tthis is the tale of the red headed stranger,
And if he should pass your way,
Stay out of the path of the ragin' black stallion,
And don't lay a hand on the bay.

Don't cross him, don't boss him.
He's wild in his sorrow:
He's ridin' an' hidin his pain.
Don't fight him, don't spite him;
Just wait till tomorrow,
Maybe he'll ride on again.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Some more Al Stewart:

The fishing boats go out across the evening water
Smuggling guns and arms across the Spanish border
The wind whips up the waves so loud
The ghost moon sails among the clouds
Turns the rifles into silver on the border

On my wall the colours of the maps are running
From Africa the winds they talk of changes coming
The torches flare up in the night
The hand that sets the farms alight
Has spread the word to those who're waiting on the border

In the village where I grew up
Nothing seems the same
Still you never see the change from day to day
And no-one notices the customs slip away

Late last night the rain was knocking at my window
I moved across the darkened room and in the lampglow
I thought I saw down in the street
The spirit of the century
Telling us that we're all standing on the border

In the islands where I grew up
Nothing seems the same
It's just the patterns that remain
An empty shell
But there's a strangeness in the air you feel too well

The fishing boats go out across the evening water
Smuggling guns and arms across the Spanish border
The wind whips up the waves so loud
The ghost moon sails among the clouds
Turns the rifles into silver on the border

On the border
On the border
On the border

[tiamat]

LOL!

Wondered if you were still with us!

Me and Knitting here have been kind of glomming onto the thread!

[Knitting A Conundrum]

I love ballads.

Another from Steeleye Span...might have been the first of theirs I heard. Sort of a ghost story:

King Henry

Let never a man a wooing wend
That lacketh things three
A store of gold, an open heart
and full of charity;
And this was seen of King Henry
Though he lay quite alone,
For he's taken him to a haunted hall
Seven miles from the town.

He's chased the deer now him before
And the doe down by the den
Till the fattest buck in all the flock
King Henry he has slain.
His huntsman followed him to the hall
To make them burly cheer,
When loud the wind was heard to sound
And an earthquake rocked the floor.

And darkness covered all the hall
Where they sat at their meat.
The grey dogs, yowling, left their food
And crept to Henry's feet.
And louder howled the rising wind
And burst the fastened door,
And in there came a grisly ghost
Stamping on the floor.

Her head hit the roof-tree of the house,
Her middle you could not span,
Each frightened huntsman fled the hall
And left the king alone,
Her teeth were like the tether stakes,
Her nose like club or mell,
And nothing less she seemed to be
Than a fiend that comes from hell.

Some meat, some meet you King Henry,
Some meat you give to me,
Go kill your horse you King Henry
And bring him here to me;
He's gone and slain his berry brown steed
Though it made his heart full sore,
for she's eaten up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but hide and hair.

More meat, more meet you King Henry,
More meat you give to me,
Go kill your grey-hounds King Henry
And bring them here to me;
He's gone and slain his good grey-hounds,
It made his heart full sore,
She's eaten up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but hide and hair.

More meat, more meet you King Henry,
More meat you give to me,
Go fell your goss-hawks King Henry
And bring them here to me;
And when he's slain his gay goss-hawks,
It made his heart full sore,
She's eaten them up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but feathers bare.

Some drink, some drink you King Henry,
Some drink you give to me,
Oh you sew up your horse's hide,
And bring in a drink to me;
And he's sewn up the bloody hide,
And a pipe of wine put in,
And she's drank it up all in one draught,
Left never a drop therein.

A bed, a bed now King Henry,
A bed you'll make for me,
Oh you must pull the heather green
And make it soft for me;
And pulled has he the heather green
And made for her a bed,
and taken has he his gay mantle
And o'er it has spread.

Take off your clothes now King Henry
And lie down by my side,
Now swear, now swear you King Henry,
To take me for your bride.
Oh God forbid, says King Henry,
That ever the like betide,
That ever a fiend that comes from hell
Should stretch down by my side.

When the night was gone and the day was come
And the sun shone through the hall,
The fairest lady that ever was seen
Lay between him and the wall.
I've met with many a gentle knight
That gave me such a fill,
But never before with a courteous knight
That gave me all my will.

[HairOfTheDog]

Back in from cleaning stalls, and inspiring as it is, I couldn't think of a song about it.

You all have listed some great lyrics, here, many I don't think I've heard, some that are very familiar.

I love the words about Grandpa at 93, but I don't think I've heard it.

I wish posting them made us able to hear them!

[tiamat]

NOT sure this counts as a proper ballad, but the tune is pretty. I used to sing this to Caitlin when she was tiny.
(She didn't mind my terrible voice!LOL!)

besides, we need more cowboys


Sweet Baby James
(James Taylor)

There is a young cowboy he lives on the range
His horse and his cattle are his only companions
He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons
Waiting for summer, his pastures to change

And as the moon rises he sits by his fire
Thinking about women and glasses of beer
And closing his eyes as the doggies retire
He sings out a song which is soft but it’s clear
As if maybe someone could hear

(chorus)
Goodnight you moonlight ladies
Rockabye sweet baby james
Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose
Won’t you let me go down in my dreams
And rockabye sweet baby james

Now the first of december was covered with snow
And so was the turnpike from stockbridge to boston
Lord, the berkshires seemed dream-like on account of that frosting
With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go

There’s a song that they sing when they take to the highway
A song that they sing when they take to the sea
A song that they sing of their home in the sky
Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep
But singing works just fine for me

- chorus -

[groanup]

Granny's ballad:

Granny's in the celler,

Lordy can't you smell her,

Baking bisquits on that burned old dirty stove,

In her eye there is some matter

that keeps drippin' in the batter,

And she whistles while the snort goes down her nose.

[tiamat]

Good one for Halloween.

Ever hear the one about "With her head... tucked ....underneath her arm, she walks...the Blody Tower"?

[Gabz]

story ballads have always been my favorite.......and so I've been enjoying reading through so many...many I know well, some I had forgotten and ones that are new to me.

This was one I thought of right away and haven't seen it posted;

Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia

On his way his way home from Candletop
Been two weeks gone and he thought he'd stop
At Webb's and have him a drink fore he went home to her
Andy Wolo said hello he said hi what's a doin' Wo
Says sit down I got some bad news that's gonna hurt
Said I'm your best friend and you know that's right
But your young bride ain't home tonight
Since you been gone she's been seein' that Amos boy Seth
He got mad and he saw red and Andy said boy don't you lose your head
Cause to tell you the truth I've been with her myself
That's the night that the lights went out in Georgia
That's the night that they hung an innocent man
Don't you trust your soul to no backwoods southern lawyer
Cause the judge and the town's got bloodstains on his hands

Well Andy got scared and left the bar walkin' on home cause he didn't live far
See Andy didn't have many friends and had just lost him one
My brother thought his wife must've left town
So he went home and finally found the only thing papa had left up was a gun
Then he went off to Andy's house slippin' through the backwoods quiet as a mouse
Came upon some tracks too small for Andy to make
He looked through the screen at the backporch door
And he saw Andy lyin' on the floor in a puddle of blood and he started to shake
But Georgia patrol was makin' their rounds and he fired a shot just to flag 'em down
And a big bellied sheriff grabbed his gun and said why'd you do it
The judge said guilty in a make believe trial
Slapped the sheriff on the back with a smile
Said supper's waitin' at home and I gotta get to it
That's the night that the lights went out in Georgia...

Well they hung my brother before I could say the tracks he saw while on his way
To Andy's house out back that night were mine
His cheatin' wife had never left town that's one body that'll never be found
See little sister don't miss when she gets her gun
Oh that's the night that the lights went out in Georgia...
Oh that's the night that the lights went out in Georgia...

[tiamat]

Hi Hair.

We took it and ran with it.

So far, nobody has had the nerve to post the lyrics to "The Pina Colada song".

[tiamat]

Good one, Gabz!

[Gabz]

So far, nobody has had the nerve to post the lyrics to "The Pina Colada song".

That was going to be next on my list to find..........