Her voice never trembled, her look never waned
As she showed me the photos in the solemn black frames
A cousin, a sister, a daughter, a son
Lost in the night or in the sight of a gun
The Guarda left her father, Luis, on the track
And her son picking coffee just never came back
On the roadside the crosses look always the same
But each has a story and each has a name (They were...)
CHORUS:
Caught in the crossfire, lost in the fray
The battle broke out and they just got in the way
The story is always the same in the end
Caught in the crossfire again
Caught in the crossfire again
Juancito, her husband had visions and plans
Struggled his whole life to work his own lands
His faith was a mountain, but her world would explode
When the wheel of his truck found a mine in the road (And he was...) CHORUS
So many stories, so many lives
The parents, the children, the husbands, the wives
A whole population just pawns in the game
For the East and the West the rest is only terrain (Where they're...) CHORUS
Now I lie in the night and I just try to resist
But a hand that is empty soon curls to a fist
The cry in the cradle, the knock on the door
The blood in the speeches we've all heard before (We are...)
CHORUS (2x)
Copyright 1987 by John McCutcheon. Published by Appalsongs (ASCAP).
Dearest Martha, when you find this, there'll be nothing you can do
To change the way our lives have turned out, it's not up to me and you
All the bills are paid through New Years, all the notes are in the drawer
The insurance ought to help, I wish I could have left you more
Now, no one could call me lazy and I know that I ain't dumb
And no one in this valley knew these awful times would come
As the costs keep climbing higher, the prices never rise
While our mouths are filled with questions they just fill our ears with lies
That banker I made wealthy just ten short years ago
Now sits across his pin-striped desk politely saying "No"
Men who've never known a hard time or soiled their soft white hands
Turn farmers into failures and drive us from our lands
In years to come there'll be the stories, such tales they're sure to tell:
"A fourth generation farmer, and he let it go to hell!"
I know that I'm a good man, but I never can forget
There's nothing left to leave the children but a thousand acre debt
But I read it in the papers and I see it on TV
How everything is back on track, what the hell is wrong with me?
I've worked as hard as any man to bring the ground to grain
But each September brings the harvest, the heartache and the blame
So, Martha, lay me in the orchard underneath the flowering plum
And face me to the east so I can see the rising sun
And remember when the days were young and happy ones for me
And the land was ripe with promises as far as I could see
repeat 1st verse
©1986 by John McCutcheon. Published by Appalsongs (ASCAP).
I remember the year that my granddaddy died
Gone, gonna rise again
They dug his grave on the mountainside
Gone, gonna rise again
I was too young to understand
The way he felt about the land
But I could read his history in his hand
Gone, gonna rise again
It's corn in the crib and apples in the bin
Ham in the smokehouse and cotton in the gin
Cows in the barn and hogs in the lot
You know, he never had a lot
But he worked like a devil for the living he got
These apple trees on the mountainside
He planted the seeds just before he died
I guess he knew that he'd never see
The red fruit hanging from the tree
But he planted the seeds for his children and me
High on the ridge above the farm
I think of my people that have gone on
Like a tree that grows in the mountain ground
The storms of life have cut them down
But the new wood springs from roots in the ground
© Joe Hill Music
One night I dreamed I was in slavery, 'bout 1850 was the time
Sorrow was the only sign, nothing around to ease my mind
Out of the night there came a lady leading a distant pilgrim band
"First mate!" she yelled, pointing her hand
"Make room on board for this young man" (and she said)
CHORUS:
Come on up, mm-mm, I got a lifeline
Come on up to this train of mine
Come on up, mm-mm, I got a lifeline
Come on up to this train of mine
She said her name was Harriet Tubman
And she drove for the Underground Railroad
Hundreds of miles we travelled onward gathering slaves from town to town
Seeking every lost and found, setting those free that once were bound
Finally my heart was growing weaker, I fell by the wayside sinking sand
Firmly did this woman stand, she lifted me up and took my hand (and she said) CHORUS
(bridge:)
Who are these children dressed in red?
They must be the ones that Moses led
Who are these children dressed in red?
They must be the ones that Sister Moses led CHORUS
Then I awoke, no more I faltered, finding new strength for the tasks we're shown:
Sisters and brothers leaving their homes, their history, their people, all they've known
And they are fleeing their homes in Guatemala, Chile, Brazil, El Salvador
Fleeing from the prisons and war, through the night and through Mexico to our door
(will we sing) CHORUS
(end tag:)
Follow the drinking gourd(3x)
There's a moon tonight like I've never seen spilling down on this old farm
The stars are glistening in the rivers of sweat threaded down my arm
But the corn's laid by and the evening sky is the only thing that knows
How me and my Daddy and his Daddy 'fore him hacked a life from these stony rows
The plowing was done about an hour ago but I can't go home just yet
I know Martha thinks I'm crazy, but I need some time to forget
About the empty fields and the houses and the neighbors gone from here
Forewarnings and foreclosures, now there's four more gone this year
Reach back in the tool box, boy, and get you another beer
This same moon shines on the cities far from these cool clear night of home
My boy heard about a job, said, "I'll go, by God!", left Martha and me alone
Now the apartment lights are his stars at night and he don't play the fiddle no more
He wrote, "I love you, Dad, this ain't so bad. I just couldn't stand being poor."
Well, it's a long way back to Georgia, son, and it's a long way back from where
That steady check hanging 'round your neck is a yoke you learn to wear
And the hot sun shines on the anxious lines and the surging tide of men
And women to the factories and away from home again
He's got half-runner beans and turnip greens and four corn rows out back
The only pick-up on the block, country ham in a sack
Out on the porch where the apples are drying and the sun shines an hour a day
I know he'd trade those hollers of stone and steel for just a thimble of Ga. clay
Well, I know he's on the hootowl now and he can always pay his bills
Still I know his heart is torn apart at the thought of these old hills
But the hard times and the credit lines, well, it broke him to the bone
And there ain't no measure of luck or treasure that could ever bring him home
I've never been a religious man, I just ain't inclined that way
But sometimes at home when I'm all alone I bow my head and pay
Saying, "Full moon, bless these furrowed fields and the furrowed brows of men
And women in the factories and here at home again."
He turned his tractor to the barn and whispered low, "Amen."
©1985 by John McCutcheon. Published by Appalsongs (ASCAP).
How many times have you heard someone say,
"If I had his money I would do things my way."
How little they know, well, it's so hard to find,
One rich man in ten with a satisfied mind.
Oh, once I was waiting for fortune and fame,
Had everything that I needed to get a start in life's game.
Then suddenly it happened, I lost every dime,
But I'm richer by far with a satisfied mind.
No money can buy back your youth when you're old,
Or a friend when you're lonely or a love that's grown cold.
And the world's richest person is a pauper at times,
Compared to the one with a satisfied mind.
When my life is over and my time has run out,
All my friends and my loved ones I'm gonna leave them no doubt.
But there's one thing for certain, when it comes my time,
I'm gonna leave this old world with a satisfied mind.
My Daddy used to sing to me, "The Farmer Is the Man"
As I rode on his lap while he plowed up the land,
"No clock to punch, no boss to rule
"He's the king of the country and nobody's fool!"
But the weather is the strawboss, rain or shine
You get the wrong damn thing at the wrong damn time
Working like the devil just to beat out the frost
Down go the prices and up go the costs
Well, if the creek don't rise and the drought don't come
And the tractor holds together till the work gets done
If we don't get sick and the 'hoppers stay gone
We might hold out if the luck holds on
So I grew up smelling of the sweat and the soil
The manure and the fertilizer, grease and the oil
And hearing how the farmer was the man and the king
But to a girl of twelve that don't mean a thing
'Cause I can pitch hay bales the whole dern day
Smell a thunderstorm a-comin' still an hour away
Killed many a hog, birthed many a calf
Plowed many an acre, and that ain't the half
I cursed many a banker, many a loan
Many a hailstorm, all on my own
I don't need no man, I don't need no king,
But I need a little harmony while I sing
(That) The farmer is the woman, the farmer is the man
And the farmer is the child old enough to lend a hand
In the barn, in the kitchen, on the tractor, on the truck
We'll all hold on if the farmer holds up
And if the creek don't rise and the drought don't come
And the tractor hold together till the work gets done
If we don't get sick and the 'hoppers stay gone
We might hold out if the luck holds on
'Cause the farmer is the woman, the farmer is the man
And the farmer is the child old enough to lend a hand
In the barn, in the kitchen, on the tractor, on the truck
We'll all hold on if the farmer holds up
©1986 by John McCutcheon. Published by Appalsongs (ASCAP).
He raised a knarled finger, "There's the place we used to meet
"Where old John L. would beller, bring each miner to his feet
"And the boys would dream about the day they'd each be underground
"And the greenbacks flowed like Paint's Creek through the town"
"I remember back in '29, times was hard back then
"It was fifty cents a ton, young boys would do the work of men
"And the faces in the lamplight shone on families all alone
"Waiting for the ones that never would come home"
CHORUS:
"But the young ones don't remember, how are they to know
"All the fights we fought to give them futures down below
"And they'll cheer for solidarity off in some foreign land
"But not a one will take the union stand"
"They called us everything back then from outlaws to 'damn reds!'
"And many was the time whole families murdered in their beds
"But the dead marched on before us as we turned the tyrants' tide
"And we raised our union's banner high with pride" CHORUS
"Then the times got bad again and they swallowed all the lies
"The flame dimmed to a flicker, you could see it in their eyes
"But those who can't learn from the past are cursed with it again
"And mock the ones who've suffered so in vain
"Now from my home where all we pensioners live across the tracks
"I watch the children walk the rails to gather coal in sacks
"To drive away the chill that haunts too many a miner's home
"Until they realize they're not alone" CHORUS
©1986 by John McCutcheon. Published by Appalsongs (ASCAP).
New mown hay on a July morn
Grandkids running through the knee-high corn
Sunburned nose and a scabbed-up knee
From a rope on the white oak tree
Just another summer's day at Grandpa's farm
With Grandma's bucket hanging off my arm
You know, the old pump's rusty but it work fine
Primed with water from another time
CHORUS:
The old ways help the new ways come
Just leave a little extra for the next in line
They're gonna need a little water from another time
Tattered quilt on the goose-down bed
"Every stitch tells a story," my Grandma said
Her mama's nightgown, her grandpa's pants
And the dress she wore to her high school dance
Now wrapped at night in its patchwork scenes
I waltz with Grandma in my dreams
My arms, my heart, my life entwined
With water from another time
Chorus
Newborn cry in the morning air
The past and future are wedded there
This wellspring of my sons and daughters:
The bone and blood of living waters
And, though Grandpa's hand have gone to dust,
Like Grandma's pump: reduced to rust,
Their stories quench my soul and mind
Like water from another time
Chorus
