Posted on 02/26/2005 1:13:23 PM PST by 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
Another version:
Black Jack Davy
Late last night when the squire came home
Enquiring for his lady
Some denied and some replied
She's gone with the Black Jack Davy
Go saddle to me the bonny brown steed
For the grey was never so speedy
I'll ride all day and I'll ride all night
Till I catch that Black Jack Davy
Chorus
He rode up hills and he rode down dales
Over many a wild high mountain
And they did say that saw him go
Black Jack Davy he is hunting
He rode east and he rode west
All in the morning early
Until he spied his lady fair
Cold and wet and weary
Why did you leave your house and land
Why did you leave your baby
Why did you leave your own wedded lord
To go with the Black Jack Davy
Chorus
What care I for your goose feather bed
With the sheets turned down so bravely
Well I may sleep on the cold hard ground
Along with the Black Jack Davy
Then I'll kick off my high healed shoes
Made of the Spanish leather
And I'll put on my lowland brogues
And skip it o'er the heathe
Chorus
HENRY (New Riders Of The Purple Sage)
Ev'ry year around this time
It seems it all goes dry.
Ain't a thing for love nor money.
That will get you high.
Henry got p*ssed off and said he'd run to Mexico.
Said that he would come back home with forty keys of Gold!
Well, the road to Acapulco is very hard indeed.
And it isn't any easier if you haven't any weed.
Henry drivin' hard and straight down twisty mountain roads.
While forty people wait back home for word of Henry's load.
(Chorus) Well, he's rolling down that mountain
Goin' fast, fast, fast!
And if he blows it this one's going to be his last
Run to Acapulco to turn the Golden Keys.
Henry, put your brakes on for this corner, if you please!
Sunday afternoon Tiajuana is a lonely town.
The Bullfights bring the tourists
And the money's flowin round.
Border guard's too weat there at five o'clock.
Henry's rolling right on through
He hardly even stops!
(Chorus)
Well, he got to Alcapulco and he turns his truck around.
He's talkin' to the man who's got it
Growin' from the ground
Henry tastes it. He got wasted. Couldn't even see!
How he's going to drive like this is not to clear to me.
(Chorus)
Thick As A Brick
Jethro Tull (Ian Anderson)
Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.
And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
in the tidal destruction the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.
But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.
And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today -- and you shake your head
and say it's a shame.
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.
See there! A son is born -- and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him put him to a trade
teach him to play Monopoly and to sing in the rain.
The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water --
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other --
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling --
but the master of the house is far away.
The horses stamping -- their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.
And the youngest of the family is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea, he dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside.
The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master -- thoughts moving ever faster --
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.
And the oldest of the family is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea, he challenges the son who puts him to the run.
What do you do when the old man's gone --
do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song.
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam --
and the whirlpool turns you `way off-beam.
I've come down from the upper class to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight just like I did with my old man --
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure that no-one judges me.
You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone --
you meet the stares. You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?
I see you shuffle in the courtroom with your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies and your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case, you follow the example
of the comic-paper idol who lets you bend the rules.
So!
Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well!
Make your will and testament. Won't you?
Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president let Robin save the day.
You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are --
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.
So!
Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.
See there!
A man born -- and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders
with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him put it to the test
teach it to be a wise man how to fool the rest.
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
cats are on the upgrade -- upgrade?
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured
(in neat little rows) sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny and good old Ernie:
he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.
The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn)
lie cradled in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made
are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn.
Light the sun.
Do you believe in the day? Do you?
Believe in the day!
The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.
Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night --
and fully pregnant with the day,
wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day? Do you?
Believe in the day!
Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression
the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie
in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements ar empty: the gutters run red --
while the fool toasts his god in the sky.
So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
Let me help you to pick up your dead
as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song
as the wise man breaks wind and is gone
while the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose
and the nursery rhyme winds along.
So!
Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See!
The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear?
So!
Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super-crooks
and show us all the way. Well!
Make your will and testament. Won't you?
Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.
So!
Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.
Stolen child by the waterboys - WBYeats poem.
I was trying to find that one, but I couldn't remember it well enough! Thanks!
Sure I asked for it!
It may not include Spanish leather, but it sure talks about dancin...........
Fancy
"Well, I remember it all very well lookin' back
It was the summer that I turned eighteen.
We lived in a one-room, run down shack
on the outskirts of New Orleans.
We didn't have money for food or rent
to say the least we was hard-pressed
when Momma spent every last penny we had
to buy me a dancin' dress.
Well, Momma washed and combed and curled my hair,
then she painted my eyes and lips.
Then I stepped into the satin dancin' dress.
It had a split in the side clean up to my hips.
It was red, velvet-trimmed, and it fit me good
and standin' back from the lookin' glass
was a woman
where a half grown kid had stood.
She said, "Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down!
Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
but if you want out girl it's up to you.
Now get on out, you better start sleepin' uptown."
Momma dabbed a little bit of perfume
on my neck and she kissed my cheek
Then I saw the tears welling up
in her troubled eyes as she started to speak
She looked at our pitiful shack and then
she looked at me and took a ragged breath
She said, Your Pa's runned off, and I'm real sick
and the baby's gonna starve to death.
She handed me a heart-shaped locket that said
"To thine own self be true"
and I shivered as I watched a roach crawl across
the toe of my high-healed shoe
It sounded like somebody else was talkin'
askin', "Momma what do I do?"
She said, "Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy.
They'll be nice to you."
She said, "Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down!
Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
But if you want out girl it's up to you
Now don't let me down,
now get on out, you better start sleepin' uptown."
That was the last time I saw my momma
when I left that rickety shack
The welfare people came and took the baby.
Momma died and I ain't been back.
But the wheels of fate had started to turn
and for me there was no other way out.
It wasn't very long after that I knew exactly
what my momma was talkin' 'bout.
I knew what I had to do.
Then I made myself this solemn vow:
I's gonna to be a lady someday
though I didn't know when or how.
But I couldn't see spendin' the rest of my life
with my head hung down in shame.
You know I mighta been born just plain white trash.
but Fancy was my name.
She said, "Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down!
Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
but if you want out girl it's up to you.
Now get on out, you better start sleepin' uptown."
Wasn't long after that a benevolent man
took me in off the streets
One week later I was pourin' his tea
in a five roomed penthouse suite.
Since then I've charmed a king, a congressman
and an occasional aristocrat
and I got me an elegant Georgia mansion
and a New York townhouse flat.
Now I ain't done bad
Now in this world there's a lot of self-righteous
hypocrites who call me bad.
They criticize Momma for turning me out
No matter how little we had.
But I haven't had to worry 'bout nothin'
now for nigh on fifteen years
But I can still hear the desperation
in my poor mommas voice ringin' in my ears.
"Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down!
Oh, here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
but if you want out girl it's up to you.
Now get on out, you better start sleepin' uptown."
City of New Orleans written by Steve Goodman is great, but I can't find the lyrics.
Here's another good one by Steve Goodman. On the lighter side
THIS HOTEL ROOM
This hotel room got a lot of stuff
A laundry bag and a shoe shine cloth
Thirty-two hangers and a touch-tone phone
Well a light that comes on when I'm not home
I ain't home, I ain't home
You better leave a message cause I ain't home
They got an air conditioner for when I'm hot
A radiator for when I'm not
Two big chairs sittin' side by side
With a Holy bible and a TV guide
TV guide, TV guide, great God o' mighty
It's a TV guide
I got a second story view from curb to curb
I got a sign that reads "Do not disturb"
A monogram towel and a bucket of ice
A chest of drawers and a mirror that lies
Mirror that lies, mirror that lies,
That couldn't be me in the gorilla disguise
They got a room service menu for food and drinks
A porcelain thrown and an aluminum sink
Two big pillows to rest my head
A magic fingers and a king size bed
Put in a quarter, turn out the light
Magic fingers makes you feel alright
Feel alright, feel alright
Magic fingers makes you feel alright
Oh this ole' hotel's alright with me
They pay the postage if you loose the key
This hotel has got a lot of stuff
But I do believe I have had enough
Call my baby said, don't you pout
I'm packin' my bags and I'm checking out
Just as soon as you hang up the telephone
Stick a candle in the window I'm comin' home
Comin' home, comin home
Stick a candle in the window, I'm comin' home
And you ought to be sorry now.
You're so late getting home from the office!
Did you miss your train?
Where you caught in the rain?
No, don't bother to explain.
Can I fix you a quick martini?
As a matter of fact
I'll have one with you,
For to tell you the truth
I've had quite a day too!
Guess who I saw today, my dear?
I went in town to shop around for something new,
And thought I'd stop and have a bite
When I was through.
I looked around for someplace near,
And it occurred to me
Where I had parked the car,
There is a most attractive French cafe
And bar.
It really wasn't very far.
The waiter showed me to a dark, secluded corner,
And when my eyes became accustomed
To the gloom,
I saw two people at the bar
Who were so much in love,
That even I could spot it
Clear across the room.
Guess who I saw today, my dear?
I've never been so shocked before.
I headed blindly for the door.
They didn't see me passing through.
Guess who I saw today?
Guess who I saw today?
Guess who I saw today?
I saw you!
Shameful!
City of New Orleans
by Steve Goodman
Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.
CHORUS:
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
CHORUS
Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.
Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Ours goes to eleven.
El Paso is a great tune, and I have loved it for decades.
Funny but only recently did I come to the realization that the singer/narrator doesn't (necessarily) get violent first - it says that he 'challenged his right for the love of this maiden," not that he drew his gun first.
Seems to me that the handsome young cowboy draws for his gun first (down went his hand for the gun that he wore), and that our singer/narrator merely voiced some kind of protest that the guy was moving in on the woman he loved, but he didn't necessarily come down with his gun ready.
For some reason, I had always thought that the singer/narrator drew first. That isn't (necessarily) true.
Well, I thought it was interesting.... ;-)
Thanks!
Heh.... some of them are pretty funny. :~D
I am a lighthouse worn by the weather and the waves
I keep my lamp lit to warn the sailors on their way
I'll tell a story, paint you a picture from my past
I was so happy but joy in this life seldom lasts
I had a keeper, he helped me warn the ships at sea
We had grown closer 'til his joy meant everything to me
And he was to marry a girl who shown with beauty and light
They loved each other, and with me watched the sunsets into nights
And the waves crashing around me
The sand slips out to sea
And the winds that blow remind me
Of what has been and what can never be
She'd had to leave us; my keeper, he prayed for a safe return
But when the night came, the weather to a raging storm had turned
He watched her ship fight, but in vain against the wild and terrible wind
And me so helpless, as dashed against the rocks she met her end
And the waves crashing around me
The sand slips out to sea
And the winds that blow remind me
Of what has been and what can never be
Then on the next day, my keeper found her washed up on the shore
He kissed her cold face, and that they'd be together soon he swore
I saw him crying, watched as he buried her in the sand
Then he climbed my tower, and off the edge of me he ran
And the waves crashing around me
The sand slips out to sea
And the winds that blow remind me
Of what has been and what can never be
I am a lighthouse worn by the weather and the waves
And though I'm empty I still warn the sailors on their way
Interesting!!!!!!!
Another trucker song!
I remember that one.
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