Sunday, April 12, 2009

Out of my head

Before Simon and Garfunkel came along, songs that stuck in my head were mostly ones like this, which I tried to learn to play on our Sears Silvertone guitar:

Come listen, you fellows, so young and so fine,
And seek not your fortunes in the dark, dreary mine.
It'll start as a habit and seep in your soul
Till the blood in your veins runs as black as the coal.

Where it's dark as a dungeon, damp as the dew,
Where danger is double and pleasures are few,
Where the rain never falls and the sun never shines,
It's dark as a dungeon way down in the mine.

It's many a fellow I've known in my day
Who lived just to labor his whole life away.
Like a fiend for his dope, or a drunkard his wine,
A man will have lust for the lure of the mine.


I hope when I've died and the ages shall roll,
My body will blacken and turn into coal.
Then I'll sit at the door of my heavenly home
And pity the miners a-digging my bones.


Not quite sure why I replaced that with songs like this, which I couldn't even try to play:

Let us be lovers, we'll marry our fortunes together.
I've got some real estate here in my bag.
So we bought a pack of cigarettes, and Mrs. Wagner's pies,
And walked off to look for America.

"Kathy," I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh,
"Michigan seems like a dream to me now.
"It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw,
"They've all come to look for America."

Laughing on the bus, playing games with the faces.
She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy.
I said, "Be careful, his bowtie is really a camera."

"Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat."
"We smoked the last one an hour ago."
So I looked at the scenery, she read her magazines,
And the moon rose over an open field.

"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping.
"I'm empty and aching, and I don't know why."
Counting the cars on the New Jersey turnpike,
They've all come to look for America,
All come to look for America,
All come to look ...

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