Sunday, April 1, 2012

Blues & Roots Festival ....

It's ALWAYS a miracle to watch artists BE what they are 
 born to be ... compelled to be ... driven to be ... only know how to be 
... love to be ... strive to be .... break all the rules to BE ...



On the day that I turned 23
I was curled up underneath a dogwood tree
When suddenly a girl
Her skin the color of a pearl
She wandered aimlessly, but she didn't seem to see
She was listening for the angels just like me
So I stood and looked about
I brushed the leaves off of my snout
And then I heard my mother shouting through the trees
You should have seen that girl go shaky at the knees
So I took her by the arm
We settled down upon a farm
And raised our children up as gently as you please

And now my fur has turned to skin
And I've been quickly ushered in
To a world that, I confess, I do not know
But I still dream of running careless through the snow
Through the howling winds that blow
Across the ancient distant flow
To fill our bodies up like water till we know


By Shane MacGowan (1985)

McCormack and Richard Tauber are singing by the bed
There's a glass of punch below your feet and an angel at your head
There's devils on each side of you with bottles in their hands
You need one more drop of poison and you'll dream of foreign lands

When you pissed yourself in Frankfurt and got syph down in Cologne
And you heard the rattling death trains as you lay there all alone
Frank Ryan brought you whiskey in a brothel in Madrid
And you decked some fucking blackshirt who was cursing all the Yids
At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we'll kneel and say a prayer
And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil's in the chair

And in the Euston Tavern you screamed it was your shout
But they wouldn't give you service so you kicked the windows out
They took you out into the street and kicked you in the brains
So you walked back in through a bolted door and did it all again
At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we'll kneel and say a prayer
And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil's in the chair

You remember that foul evening when you heard the banshees howl
There was lousy drunken bastards singing Billy is in the bowl
They took you up to midnight mass and left you in the lurch
So you dropped a button in the plate and spewed up in the church

Now you'll sing a song of liberty for blacks and paks and jocks
And they'll take you from this dump you're in and stick you in a box
Then they'll take you to Cloughprior and shove you in the ground
But you'll stick your head back out and shout "we'll have another round"
At the graveside of Cuchulainn we'll kneel around and pray
And God is in His heaven, and Billy's down by the bay


::The Beetle Shack:: said...

Loved your frantic comment at my place. Hope your recovery is going well. Sounds like your juices are just the shot. Would you mind sharing your recipe with us over at The Beetle Shack? I'd LOVE to try it out- especially the smaller portion sizes in glass jars... please, please, please!

xo em

Eleni said...

Fantastic lyrics all round! Looks like a cool festival :)

In My Wild Eden said...

Wow! I would have loved to have been there to hear the music with you. The Pogues were my favorite band in college and my son introduced me to Blitzen Trapper about a year ago. I listened to Furr over and over and over. What a great festival! Thank you so much for the poem you shared with me. It helped me now and it will help me for years to come. Your Prince has a wise and wonderful mom.