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
|
Westbound and down, eighteen wheels a'rollin', Keep your foot hard on the pedal! Westbound and down, eighteen wheels a'rollin', Westbound and down, eighteen wheels a'rollin', Ol' Smokey's got them ears on and he's hot on your trail. Westbound and down, eighteen wheels a'rollin', |
Eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin', Keep your foot hard on the pedal! Eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin', Eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin', Ol' Smokey's got them ears on and he's hot on your trail. Eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin', |
See...that's the one *I* know.
Doc Watson's version of almost anything he's done is definitive for me! ;-)
In the southern part of Texas, in the town of San Antone,
There's a fortress all in ruin that the weeds have overgrown.
You may look in vain for crosses and you'll never see a one,
But sometime between the setting and the rising of the sun,
You can hear a ghostly bugle as the men go marching by;
You can hear them as they answer to that roll call in the sky:
Colonel Travis, Davy Crockett and a hundred eighty more;
Captain Dickenson, Jim Bowie, present and accounted for.
Back in 1836, Houston said to Travis:
"Get some volunteers and go fortify the Alamo."
Well, the men came from Texas and from old Tennessee,
And they joined up with Travis just to fight for the right to be free.
Indian scouts with squirrel guns, men with muzzle loaders,
Stood together heel and toe to defend the Alamo.
"You may never see your loved ones," Travis told them that day.
"Those that want to can leave now, those who'll fight to the death, let 'em stay."
In the sand he drew a line with his army sabre,
Out of a hundred eighty five, not a soldier crossed the line.
With his banners a-dancin' in the dawn's golden light,
Santa Anna came prancin' on a horse that was black as the night.
He sent an officer to tell Travis to surrender.
Travis answered with a shell and a rousin' rebel yell.
Santa Anna turned scarlet: "Play Degüello," he roared.
"I will show them no quarter, everyone will be put to the sword."
One hundred and eighty five holdin' back five thousand.
Five days, six days, eight days, ten; Travis held and held again.
Then he sent for replacements for his wounded and lame,
But the troops that were comin' never came, never came, never came.
Twice he charged, then blew recall. On the fatal third time,
Santa Anna breached the wall and he killed them one and all.
Now the bugles are silent and there's rust on each sword,
And the small band of soldiers lie asleep in the arms of The Lord.
In the southern part of Texas, near the town of San Antone,
Like a statue on his Pinto rides a cowboy all alone.
And he sees the cattle grazin' where a century before,
Santa Anna's guns were blazin' and the cannons used to roar.
And his eyes turn sort of misty, and his heart begins to glow,
And he takes his hat off slowly to the men of Alamo.
To the thirteen days of glory at the seige of Alamo.
Of course, all Texans get misty when we hear this one.
I've become a big fan of celtic music, and my hubby likes blue grass...sometimes the songs are the same, or overlap.
This is a neat one...It's an Civil War Era song from the point of view of an Irish Emmigrant:
Paddy's Lament
Well it's by the hush, me boys, and sure that's to hold your noise
And listen to poor Paddy's sad narration
I was by hunger stressed, and in poverty distressed
So I took a thought I'd leave the Irish nation
Well I sold me ass and cow, my little pigs and sow
My little plot of land I soon did part with
And me sweetheart Bid McGee, I'm afraid I'll never see
For I left her there that morning broken-hearted
Here's you boys, now take my advice
To America I'll have ye's not be going
There is nothing here but war, where the murderin' cannons roar
And I wish I was at home in dear old Dublin
Well myself and a hundred more, to America sailed o'er
Our fortunes to be making we were thinkin'
When we got to Yankee land, they put guns into our hands
"Paddy, you must go and fight for Lincoln"
Here's you boys, now take my advice
To America I'll have ye's not be going
There is nothing here but war, where the murderin' cannons roar
And I wish I was at home in dear old Dublin
General Meagher to us he said, if you get shot or lose your head
Every murdered soul of youse will get a pension
Well in the war lost me leg, they gave me a wooden peg
And by soul it is the truth to you I mention
Here's you boys, now take my advice
To America I'll have ye's not be going
There is nothing here but war, where the murderin' cannons roar
And I wish I was at home in dear old Dublin
Well I think myself in luck, if I get fed on Indianbuck
And old Ireland is the country I delight in
To the devil, I would say, it's curse Americay
For the truth I've had enough of your hard fightin
Here's you boys, now take my advice
To America I'll have ye's not be going
There is nothing here but war, where the murderin' cannons roar
And I wish I was at home in dear old Dublin
I wish I was at home
I wish I was at home
I wish I was at home
I wish I was at home in dear old Dublin
Well, I do like'em. Here's a good'un.
Along about eighteen twenty-five,
I left Tennessee very much alive.
I never would have got through the Arkansas mud
If I hadn't been a-ridin' on the Tennessee Stud.
I had some trouble with my sweetheart's pa,
And one of her brothers was a bad outlaw.
I sent her a letter by my Uncle Bud,
And I rode away on the Tennessee Stud.
The Tennessee Stud was long and lean,
The color of the sun, and his eyes were green.
He had the nerve and he had the blood,
And there never was a horse like the Tennessee Stud.
One day I was riding in a beautiful land
I run smack into an Indian band
They jumped their nags with a whoop and a yell
And away we rode like a bat out of hell.
I circled their camp for a time or two,
Just to show what a Tennessee horse can do.
The redskin boys couldn't get my blood,
'Cause I was a-riding on the Tennessee Stud.
We drifted on down into no man's land,
We crossed that river called the Rio Grande.
I raced my horse with the Spaniard's foal
'Til I got me a skin full of silver and gold.
Me and a gambler, we couldn't agree,
We got in a fight over Tennessee.
We jerked our guns, and he fell with a thud,
And I got away on the Tennessee Stud.
I got just as lonesome as a man can be,
Dreamin' of my girl in Tennessee.
The Tennessee Stud's green eyes turned blue
'Cause he was a-dreamin' of a sweetheart, too,
We loped right back across Arkansas;
I whupped her brother and I whupped her pa.
I found that girl with the golden hair,
And she was a-riding on the Tennessee Mare.
Stirrup to stirrup and side by side,
We crossed the mountains and the valleys wide.
We came to Big Muddy, then we forded the flood
On the Tennessee Mare and the Tennessee Stud.
A pretty little baby on the cabin floor,
A little horse colt playing 'round the door,
I love that girl with the golden hair,
And the Tennessee Stud loves the Tennessee Mare.
Heh...I already beat you to that one. Posted up thread.
That shapeshifting thingie goes back at least to Homer's era...and probably to the dawn of time...
Second time tonight...cause I'm using hubby's computer cause I am having to get a new one made...
another bad lover song:
I asked my love to take a walk,
Just a little way's with me.
An' as we walked,
Then we would talk
All about our wedding day.
CHORUS:
"Darlin', say that you'll be mine;
In our home we'll happy be,
Down beside where the waters flow,
On the banks of the Ohio."
I took her by her pretty white hand,
I led her down the banks of sand,
I plunged her in
Where she would drown,
An' watched her as she floated down.
CHORUS:
"Darlin', say that you'll be mine;
In our home we'll happy be,
Down beside where the waters flow,
On the banks of the Ohio."
Returnin' home between twelve and one,
Thinkin', Lord, what a deed I've done;
I'd killed the girl
I love, you see,
Because she would not marry me.
The very next day, at half past four,
The sheriff walked right to my door;
He says, "Young man,
Don't try to run.
You'll pay for this awful crime you've don."
CHORUS:
"Darlin', say that you'll be mine;
In our home we'll happy be,
Down beside where the waters flow,
On the banks of the Ohio."
I'm surprised that you could find a Frank Zappa song that wouldn't give the Mods heart-failure! I tried and couldn't think of one.
Uncle Frank was great.
:-)
Let me tell the story,
I can tell it all,
About the mountain boy who ran illegal alcohol.
His daddy made the whiskey; son, he drove the load.
When his engine roared, they called the highway Thunder Road.
Sometimes into Ashville, sometimes Memphis town,
The revenuers chased him but they couldn’t run him down.
Each time they thought they had him, his engine would explode,
He'd go by like they were standin’ still on Thunder Road.
And there was thunder, thunder over Thunder Road!
Thunder was his engine, and white lightning was his load!
There was moonshine, moonshine to quench the Devil’s thirst!
The law they swore they'd get him, but the Devil got him first!
On the first of April, nineteen fifty-four,
A Federal man sent word he’d better make his run no more.
He said two hundred agents were coverin’ the state.
Whichever road he tried to take, they’d get him sure as fate.
"Son," his daddy told him, "make this run your last.
The tank is filled with hundred-proof, you’re all tuned up and gassed.
Now, don’t take any chances, if you can’t get through,
I’d rather have you back again than all that mountain dew."
And there was thunder, thunder over Thunder Road!
Thunder was his engine, and white lightning was his load!
There was moonshine, moonshine to quench the Devil’s thirst!
The law they swore they'd get him, but the Devil got him first!
Roarin’ out of Harlan, revvin’ up his mill,
He shot the gap at Cumberland, and screamed by Maynordsville.
With T-men on his taillights, roadblocks up ahead,
The mountain boy took roads that even angels feared to tread.
Blazing right through Knoxville, out on Kingston Pike,
Then right outside of Bearden, they made the fatal strike.
He left the road at ninety; that’s all there is to say.
The devil got the moonshine and the mountain boy that day.
And there was thunder, thunder over Thunder Road!
Thunder was his engine, and white lightning was his load!
There was moonshine, moonshine to quench the Devil’s thirst!
The law they swore they'd get him, but the Devil got him first!
Thanks, tiamat:
Pulled it down from memory. And hours of listening to "Overnight Sensation" and "Mothers, Roxy and Elsewhere".
"Dyna-Mo-Hum" was out of the question.
Could have used "Zombie Woof" or "Saint Alphonso", though both are a bit long.
Glad you liked it.
Uncle Frank was great. And sorely missed.
Jack.
This one was written (or worked over) by Robert Burns:
My heart was ance as blythe and free
As simmer days were lang,
But a bonnie westlin weaver lad
Has gart me change my sang.
Chorus:
To the weaver's gin ye go fair maid,
To the weaver's gin ye go,
I rede ye richt, gang ne'er at nicht,
To the weaver's gin ye go.
My mither sent me to the toon
To warp a plaiden wab;
But the weary weary warpin o't
Has gart me sigh and sab.
Chorus
A bonnie westlin weaver lad
Sat workin at his loom
He took my heart as wi a net
In every knot and thrum
Chorus
I sat beside my warpin-wheel
And ay I ca'd it roun'
But every shot and every knock
my heart it gae a stoun.
Chorus
The moon was sinkin in the west
Wi' visage pale and wan,
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad
Convoy'd me thro' the glen.
Chorus
But what was said or what was done
Shame fa' me gin I tell
But Oh, I fear the kintra soon
Will ken as weel's mysel.
Chorus
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
as well as the haunting beautiful, "Roads to Moscow"
They crossed over the border the hour before dawn
Moving in lines through the day
Most of our planes were destroyed on the ground where they lay
Waiting for orders we held in the wood
- word from the front never came
By evening the sound of the gunfire was miles away
Ah, softly we move through the shadows, slip away through the trees
Crossing their lines in the mists in the fields on our hands and our knees
And all that I ever was able to see
The fire in the air glowing red silhouetting the smoke on the breeze
All summer they drove us back through the Ukraine
Smolyensk and Viyasma soon fell
By autumn we stood with our backs to the town of Orel
Closer and closer to Moscow they come
- riding the wind like a bell
General Guderian stands at the crest of the hill
Winter brought with her the rains, oceans of mud filled the roads
Gluing the tracks of their tanks to the ground while the sky filled with snow
And all that I ever was able to see
The fire in the air glowing red silhouetting the snow on the breeze
In the footsteps of Napoleon the shadow figures stagger through the winter
Falling back before the gates of Moscow, Standing in the wings like an avenger
And far away behind their lines the partisans are stirring in the forest
Coming unexpectedly upon their outposts, growing like a promise
You'll never know, you'll never know
Which way to turn, which way to look, you'll never see us
As we're stealing through the blackness of the night
You'll never know, you'll never hear us
And the evening sings in a voice of amber, the dawn is surely coming
The morning road leads to Stalingrad, and the sky is softly humming
Two broken Tigers on fire in the night
flicker their souls to the wind
We wait in the lines for the final approach to begin
It's been almost four years that I've carried a gun
At home it'll almost be spring
The flames of the Tigers are lighting the road to Berlin
Ah, quickly we move through the ruins that bow to the ground
The old men and children they send out to face us, they can't slow us down
And all that I ever was able to see
The eyes of the city are opening now it's the end of the dream
I'm coming home, I'm coming home
Now you can taste it in the wind, the war is over
And I listen to the clicking of the train wheels as we roll across the border
And now they ask me of the time
That I was caught behind their lines and taken prisoner
"They only held me for a day, a lucky break", I say; They turn and listen closer
I'll never know, I'll never know
Why I was taken from the line and all the others
To board a special train and journey deep into the heart of holy Russia
And it's cold and damp in the transit camp, and the air is still and sullen
And the pale sun of October whispers the snow will soon be coming
And I wonder when I'll be home again and the morning answers "Never"
And the evening sighs and the steely Russian skies go on forever.
True, those would have worked.
(What? "No Illinois Enema Bandit"? THAT one will get you talked about! LOL!)
i think the one you picked was perfect.
It was Frank, but not so bad as to cause conniptions.
I like On the Border myself...it's a cool song. I like Al Stewart alot.
NANCY WHISKEY
I'm a weaver, a Calton weaver
I'm a rash and a roving blade
I've got silver in my pocket
And I follow the roving trade
Chorus:
Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy Whiskey
Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy-o
As I rode in through Glasgow city
Nancy Whiskey, I chanced to smell
I went in, sat down beside her
Seven long years, I loved her well
The more I kissed her, the more I loved her
The more I kissed her, the more she smiled
Soon I forgot my mother's teaching
Nancy soon had me beguiled
So I rose early in the morning
To slack my thirst, it was my need
I tried to rise, but I was not able
Nancy had me by the knees
So, I'm going back to the Calton weaving
I'll surely make them shuttles fly
For I made more at the Calton weaving
Than ever I did in a roving way
So, come all you weavers, you Calton weavers
Come all you weavers, where'er you be
Beware of whiskey, Nancy Whiskey
She'll ruin you like she ruined me
Oh man, does that one take me back!! Every time I hear it, I'm transported back to MS, 1967, and my sister and I, and some friends of ours are walking on a back road in Gautier near the old creosote plant. I can even SMELL the creosote when I'm listening to the song!!
I love "Highwayman" For some reason, Waylon's verse always gives me the chills.
After I'd posted it, I saw you had posted it earlier. I have a CD of "The Best of Al Stewart". I was listening to it just the other day.
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