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American Gothic - David Ackles - WEA 1972 
American Gothic
Mrs. Molly Jenkins
Sells her wares in town,
Saturdays in the evening
when the farmhands come around,
and she sews all their names in her gown.
Ah, but is she happy ?
No, no, no.
She wants a better home and a better kind of life;
but how's she going to get the things she wants, the things she needs,
as some poor wretch of a farmer's wife ?
He trades the milk for booze,
and Molly wants new shoes.
And, as she snuggles down with a stranger
in some back-of-the-barroom bed.
It's much too dark to see the stranger,
so she thinks of shoes instead.
Old Man Horace Jenkins
Stays at home to tend his schemes;
Sends for pictures of black stockings
on paper legs with paper seams,
and he drinks 'til he drowns in his dreams.
Ah, but is he happy ?
No, no, no.
He wants to be re-born, to lead the pious life;
but how's he going to shed his boozey dreams
when he has to bear the cross of a wicked wife ?
as some poor wretch of a farmer's wife ?
She claims to visit shows,
and he pretends that's where she goes.
And, as he snuggles down to his reading
in a half-filled marriage bed,
He's so ashamed of what he's reading
that's he gets blind drunk instead.
Sunday breakfast with the Jenkins,
They break the bread and cannot speak.
She reads the rustling of his paper;
He reads the way her new shoes squeak,
and pray God to survive one more week.
Ah, but are they happy ?
You'd be surprised,
between the bed and the booze and the shoes,
They suffer least who suffer what they choose.
Love's Enough
Every time you fall in love
that's the best time of all.
It's holding sunlight in your hand,
it's heaven come to call;
and you wonder, will it last forever,
and you try to keep tomorrow locked away,
'cause tomorrow is forever
and love's enough for anyone today.
Every time you fall in love
that's the only time it's real;
and that girl is the only girl
Who shares the way you feel;
and you wonder how you lived without her,
and you tell yourself she'll never go away,
'cause without her there's no living is
and love's enough for anyone today.
Love's enough
To find your heart and lose it,
To see the doubt and choose it
over knowing how or when.
Love's enough
To know if she'd refuse it,
You'd take what's left
and try your luck again.
'Cause every time you fall in love
that's the one and only time.
It's living through the final verse
of a one and lonely rhyme,
'cause you know this one will last forever,
and you turn and watch tomorrow drift away,
'cause tomorrow is forever
and love's enough for anyone today.
Ballad of the Ship of State
Is the ship going home ?
Will you take some old young men for crew ?
We left our flag in tatters
where it fell along the shore.
They said a flag's what matters,
but nothing matters anymore
'cause you're ten years overdue !
Ten years !
Do you have some room within your hold
for some friends of ours who won't be growing old ?
Why won't you answer us ? Why aren't we told ?
Is this ship going home ?
Listen, all of you !
Shut up and listen to me !
You don't have to shout, we hear you.
You don't have to wave, we see.
It's just that we're very surprised
To find you alive.
We were told there was nothing going on
and that all of you'd gone.
Is the ship going home ?
You must have room, we are so few.
Ten years we've stood here waiting
for a ship to love in view.
We will have no more of waiting.
Tell the captain, tell the crew
that they're ten years overdue !
Ten years !
Listen, all of you !
Shut up and listen to me !
The captain is locked in his quarters.
He is busy and can't be disturbed;
and as for the crew,
I'd watch out were I you,
for we can't keep their appetites curbed.
No, we can't keep their appetites curbed.
Is the ship going home ...
Please, please. Get up off your knees.
You must see it's better this way.
You were such doughty fellows
while fighting the yellows
that they might even ask you to stay.
Yes, they might even ask you to stay.
Don' t you get the idea ?
You're much better off here.
You're not welcome at home anymore
'cause we're all so bored with the war.
Cast off, Mister Mate !
Is the ship going home ...
One Night Stand
Well, good morning.
How y' doin', honey ?
I've got to tell you
I've never met a girl so funny.
Yeah. Mm, I wish it wasn't
a one night stand.
Y' know, you're quite a girl.
You sure are pretty.
With just you in it,
this is one fine city.
Yeah. Mm, I wish it wasn't
a one night stand.
But I've got to be in Buffalo
by eight o'clock tonight,
Playin' in some two-bit dive
Sellin' little bits of my soul
for eighty bucks a week.
Ah, hell. It keeps the rest of me alive.
But I'd sure like to stay
ans get to know you better.
I'd say, "I'll write."
but you'd never get a letter.
Yeah. Mm, I wish it wasn't
a one night stand.
Hey, why don't you take off work
and let's go for a ride ?
Someplace special just for us.
We could take along a picnic
and find a place to hide.
Yeah, I know, I've got to catch a bus.
Well, it's sure been nice.
I might even miss you.
Hey, what's your name,
Come here, I'm gonna kiss you.
Yeah. Mm, I wish it wasn't
a one night stand.
Oh, California!
I've been North and East and South.
Which one is the best ?
I found people are the same all over,
but the sun shines in the west.
I warm ya'
I'm coming back
to California.
Lend me a shack
and I'll perform ya'
all kinds of happy songs to ease your pain.
Think of all we will gain.
We'll be sunny
until it starts to rain.
Let me inform ya',
I'm coming home
to California.
Concrete and chromium
Adorn ya',
Land of MacDonald's and the Ice Capades.
Think of all the blond braids.
We'll be happy
behind our rose-coloured shades.
They say it's the wave of the future,
but the future's looking grim
'cause when the oil meets the redwoods
and the sun grows dim.
Then I can warn ya',
we're all going to live
in California.
Wherever we live
it's California
where the road to tomorrow is a dead-end doubt.
If we won't change the route,
Let's be happy
until the sun goes out.
Another Friday Night
Another Friday night,
Guess I'll put a clean shirt on
and hitch a ride to town.
No more work for two whole days,
there's no point hanging 'round.
Working on the road,
I sweat and ache and cuss the pain,
but it sure does pass the time.
Two days free and all I see
are the same old walls to climb.
Guess I could fall by Morreau's Bar
and maybe borrow Jack's guitar
and find a girl to sing to.
Lord knows, she's what I'm longin'.
Hey, who am I kidding ? She can't
the sort of girl who'd wait for me
in Sunday laces
in the kind of places I belong in.
But I hold on to my dreams, anyway,
I'll never let them die.
they keep me going through the bad times
while I dream of the good times coming by.
Ten years out from home,
I joined a circus, worked the fields,
but I never saved a dime.
Never stayed in one place long,
Less I was doing time.
Looking for my life,
I thought I'd found it once or twice,
but it turned out I was wrong.
Heard the music and learned to dance
to someone else's song.
I've had men tell me, "Be content
To spend your life for food and rent,
and give up trying."
They say life's dying jailor.
I just tell them I do all right.
Still, it's rough on Friday night
when there's time for thinking.
I spend it drinking up my failure.
But I hold on to my dreams, anyway,
I'll never let them die.
They keep me going through the bad times
while I dream of the good times coming by.
Family Band
I remember the songs
We sang Sunday evening
in a white church, in a green time
when faith was strong;
when my Dad played the bass
and Mom played the drums
and I played the piano,
and Jesus sang the song.
Now, those small-town days have come and gone,
and sometimes my faith grows weak.
Ah, but still, every time I hear those songs,
I hear my hold friend, Jesus, speak.
And I will cherish the faith
in the songs we knew then,
'til we all sing together
'til we all sing together,
'til we all sing together again.
Now, those small-town days have come and gone,
and sometimes my faith grows weak.
Ah, but still, every time I hear those songs,
I hear my hold friend, Jesus, speak.
And I will cherish the faith
in the songs we knew then,
'til we all sing together
'til we all sing together,
'til we all sing together again.
Midnight Carousel
She hears the beckoning call of night,
Neon fingers touching her with light,
and she runs to join the movers
on the midnight carousel,
Calling "faster !" to a barker
She knows all too well.
Hey, girl, you best slow down.
You'll lose your good name in town.
All o' God's children home in bed,
and you're out lookin' for a man in red.
She feels the wind of summer dark
Rolling down the alleys of her heart.
As she turns to join the dancers,
He is waiting in the line,
Staring at her soul and claiming,
"You are mine."
Hey, girl, you best go 'way.
Leave the dark, cleave to day.
All o' God's children home in bed,
and you're out runnin' with a man in red.
Yes, I know. I know it's true.
You are wise, but I'm not you.
I am flame and lightning and the stars.
Let me burn up in the night-time
in the springtime of my years.
I will not bear your pain of guilt,
or wear your tears.
She feels his hands upon her face.
He leads her dancing from this place
to a field of nightly revels
where the caller plants the seeds.
She burns her world behind her,
He is all she needs.
Hey, girl, you can't go home.
Leave your good folks alone.
All o' God's children home in bed,
and you're out sinnin' with a man in red.
When they knew all their fields were sewn,
He left her by the road alone,
but that road was going somewhere
worth the price there was to pay.
Now, she waits for morning
To be on her way.
Hey, girl, we told you so.
Strangers come and strangers go.
While good girls were home in bed,
You were taken by a man in red.
Yes, I know. I know it's true.
You are wise, but I'm not you.
I am flame and lightning and the stars.
Waiting for the Moving Van
Standing on the front porch
of the old frame house in town,
in another day or two,
It all starts coming down.
I wonder what they'll do
about the oak tree with the swing.
I never built the tree house,
but I had plans for so many things
I am trying not to think of while I can,
Waiting for the moving van to come.
The front door has that noisy hinge
I never did repair.
You used to hear it late at night
and meet me on the stair.
Well, I work the daylight, now;
I'm always home by six.
Now, there's lots of time
and nothing left to fix,
except the things I am trying
not to think of while I can,
Waiting for the moving van to come.
It's almost summer here.
Your favourite time of year.
Hey, didn't we love to hear
the children play.
We had some happy times.
Ten years is so much time,
You'd think we both could
Find a way.
No, I won't get maudlin.
It's just being here alone.
It took some getting used to,
but I like it on my own.
I just wish they'd get here soon,
I have so much work to do,
plans to make and a whole new life
To think about; but you
I am trying not to think of while I can,
Waiting for the moving van to come.
Blues for Billy Whitecloud
Billy Whitecloud works for peanuts.
Give him penauts, he goes wild.
Sweeps the market, keeps the sweepings.
Takes them home to his wife and child.
Hey, Billy, don't be blue.
Lots of richer people envy you.
Billy Whitecloud went to high school,
Learned to read and write real good;
then he left the reservation
To find a job. He knew he would.
He went to the city
where the people are nice,
They sent him around to the back door
and they gave him advice.
They told him, "No, Billy. No, no.
You gotta go slow, Billy, Slow, slow.
You know we like you fine,
but if you step out of line,
You'd better go, go, Billy, Go, go."
Billy Whitecloud took to drinking.
Spent his cash on low-grade rye.
Can't afford to buy a blanket.
He don't like it, but he don't cry.
Hey, Billy, don't be sad.
For an Indian, you're not so bad.
Billy Whitecloud, last December,
Went and made a first-class bomb.
Bombed the high scholl. When we found him,
He was dancing on his tom-tom.
Hey, Billy, don't be sore.
What you want to go and do that,
Do that, do that, do that for ?
Montana Song
I went out to Montana
with a bibble on my arm,
Looking for my fathers
on a long-abandoned farm,
and I found what I came looking for.
I drove into a churchyard
of what used to be the town;
Walked along a cowpath
trough the fences falling down,
'til I found what I came looking for.
Through the dust of summer noons,
over grass long dying,
To read the stone and lumber runes
where my past was lying.
High among hillsides and windmill bones,
soft among oak trees and chimney stones,
Blew the wind that I came looking for.
And the wind blew over the dry land,
and dusted my city soul clean,
To read in my great-grandfather's hand
from his bible newly seen :
Born James McKennon, 1862
Married Leantha, 1884
two sons born in Montana,
Praise the Lord !
The gentle wind
of passing time,
Closed the bible pages;
and took my hand
and had me climb
closer to the ages.
The picket fence, the lattice frame,
the garden gone to seed,
Leantha with the fragile name,
Defying place and need,
Declares this bit of prairie "tame",
and sees her fingers bleed,
and knows her sons won't live the same,
but she must live her creed.
The fallen barn, the broken plow,
the hoofprint-hardened clay;
where is the farmer, now,
who built his dream this way ?
Who felled the tree and cut the bough
and made the land obey,
who taught his sons as he knew how,
but could not make them stay.
Who watched until the darkness fell
To know the boys were gone,
and never loved the land so well
from that day on.
"Father James," they wrote him,
each a letter once a year,
words of change that broke him
with the new age that was here,
and the new world they'd gone looking for.
The clouds arose
like phantom herds,
and by the dappled lighting
I read again
the last few words
in a woman's writing :
March 1st,1921
last night, Papa died.
Left one plow, a horse, his gun,
his bible, and his bride.
The long grass moved beside me
in the gentle summer rain,
and made a path to guide me
to a sudden mound of grain.
A man and wife are buried there,
children to the land;
with young green tendrils in her hair,
and seedlings in his hand.
I went out to Montana
with a bibble on my arm,
Looking for my fathers
on a long-abandoned farm,
and I found what I came looking for.
tutti i testi sono stati scritti da David Ackles
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