John McCutcheon
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The Ride
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano & organ
JT Brown: bass
Pete Kennedy: electric guitar
Tim O’Brien: harmony vocalKathy Mattea: harmony vocal


​When you’ve taken that great leap…
I’ve never been the sort
Accused of living on the edge
But at this quarry I just reared back
And jumped right off the ledge
My grandad used to say
“If you ain’t living, then you’re dying”
Still, I cannot be certain
If I’m falling or I’m flying
Chorus
There’s a surprise ‘round every corner
You’d best learn this from the start
Knuckle down and buckle up
And hold on to your heart
It’s a matter of perspective
If what you attempt
Can only be accomplished
In the way that you have dreamt
It’s what you might discover
After making that wrong turn
If you only pay attention
It’s amazing what you’ll learn Chorus
Bridge
‘Cause it’s over ‘fore you know it
So, it’s best you understand

Most of living happens
‘Tween the things that you have planned
So, when you’ve taken that great leap
And you’re out there in the air
All the courage that it took to jump
Happened back up there
If it was a good decision
Well, the water will decide
If you ain’t living, then you’re dying
So just enjoy the ride Chorus

October 21, 2020
Smoke Rise, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
​Third Way
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: mandolin
Jon Carroll: piano & organ
JT Brown: bass
A true story of my father-in-law Carlos Agra’s first day at his first job in this
country. Coaxed back by his daughter, my wife, Carmen Agra Deedy


First day at the steel mill
First job in this land
Another refugee
Another working man
A freshly ironed uniform
“Carlos” stitched upon the breast
He waited at the gates
With all the rest
He knows nothing of the language
Of millwork, even less
But a man must feed his family
Nonetheless
From his thermos he drank Cuban coffee
By the cup
‘Til it’s empty by the time the mill gates
Open up
He’s to be trained by Darnell
Hired twenty years before
The brown man and the black man
On the welding floor
A couple hours in his bladder
Let him know
About the thermos-full of coffee
And he had to go
He cried, “Donde está el baño?”
As the mill he scanned

Darnell shrugged his shoulders
Didn’t understand
A few graphic gestures later
Darnell laughed, “I see”
Took Carlos by the arm, said,
“Follow me”

This was Decatur, Georgia
Back in ‘64
Darnell presented Carlos with
Two different doors
One was marked for “Colored”
And the other “White”
In all his life he’d ne’er seen
Such a sight
The millworkers soon had gathered
‘Round these two
Everyone was wondering just what
He would do
After weighing both his options
He did the only thing he could
Went outside and pissed out
In the woods
For over fifty years
Until the day he died
He’d tell the story and we’d laugh
Until we cried
If you’re told you have two options
No matter what they say
It’s best to understand there’s often
A third way
September 25, 2020
Smoke Rise, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
The Song When You Are Dead
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
JT Brown: bass
After The Night John Prine Died (on the album Cabin Fever)


It was nice to get your call the other day
All the complimentary things about my songs you had to say
How you couldn’t keep from cryin’
At the one about John Prine
How it was such a lovely eulogy
And you wondered just what you meant to me
Chorus
I’ll write you a great song when you are dead
You’ll be embarrassed by the praises
That I’ll heap upon your head
But I know that you won’t care
‘Cause, in fact, you won’t be there
Each listener will weep and nod their head
When they hear the song I sing when you are dead
I’ll begin it soon as I receive the news
It might be a solemn dirge or perhaps a talking blues
It’ll be a catchy song
Everyone will sing along
They’ll love you without even knowing why
When they hear the song I write the day you die Chorus
I really have to make this one admission
You’re my very first pre-mortem song commission
(When you) Shuffle off this mortal coil
Sleep the other side of the soil
Rest in peace, knowing I will be composing
As the same time that you are decomposing
Bridge

Some will have an epitaph in stone
On a building or a marker made of granite
Seems to me a legacy is earned, not owned
It’s just a bit contrived to have to plan it

So, I promise I’ll sit down when you have croaked
And contemplate the feelings that your passing has evoked
And when your time is toast
And at last give up the ghost
They’ll be singing as they lower down your coffin
A song that sure to be requested often Chorus
August 30, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Second Hand
words & music by John McCutcheon
for Esther Cohen
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano & organ
JT Brown: bass
After reading an obituary of Esther Cohen, a Holocaust survivor from
Greece, who spent her life talking to school children about her experiences.


A whole world died…from here on it is second-hand.
A whole world died this morning
When she passed away
She took her history with her
She’s got nothing more to say
More than a mere witness
She managed to live through
And spent her lifetime since
Telling everything she knew
From here it is all second hand
Tales to be retold
The horror and uncertainty
Of all those days of old
The boots upon the staircase
The pounding at the door
The trains, tattoos, the showers
All hidden by the war
Back then, no one believed it
We refused to see the signs
It’s easy from a distance
To be deaf and to be blind
She lives on in our own lives
She is more than memory
She is the guide reminding us
How to hear and how to see

Bridge
A university
A library
All she did and knew
What are we to learn?
What are we to do?

Of course, we will remember
We promised all of them
Now eighty short years later
There they are again
In Paris, Munich, Charlottesville
Boldly in the streets
The flags, the flames, the uniforms
Awakened from defeat
So, how will we explain it
To our ancestors, our kids
All that we remembered
Everything we did
History is not destiny
It need not be the same
Will they find the courage needed
When they recall our name

December 3, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Touched
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
JT Brown: bass
After a lesson on the Canterbury Pilgrimage and Chaucer by my wife,
Carmen.


He was the one they only knew by his first name
At best he garnered pity
At worst fear and disdain
Poor old crazy sod
He was touched, some say by God
But either way, his path in life was plain
To beg out in the street, all on his own
Never have a family or a home
If was not the world he wanted
“Village idiot!” kids taunted
The loneliest of lives one could have known
But at the Canterbury pilgrimage that year
Our man tagged along far to the rear
With the priests and all the rest
Took his place among the blest
No one’s ecstasy was more sincere
Bridge
Suffer the little children unto me
The simple hearted, simple minded
All those saints-to-be
I don’t count wealth or intellect
Only faith from the elect
Welcome, pilgrims, gather unto me
In day’s clear light may we each understand
All of us are pilgrims in this land

Struggling every day
Just trying to find our way
May we all be touched by God’s own hand
November 6, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Nobody Knows
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: vocal
Jon Carroll: piano & organ


Last summer I filled up a box
On the bedroom floor
When I was finally done
It wouldn’t close
Years of sweaters, shirts and socks
Bound for the Goodwill Store
And where from there?
Nobody knows
Last night I was walking home
A shortcut through the park
I saw him ‘neath a streetlight
All the rest was dark
Sleeping face down in the dirt
He snored in sweet repose
Who is this man inside my shirt?
Nobody knows
Chorus
Nobody knows
And nobody is askin’
Nobody knows
‘Cause you can never tell
Everyone has highs and lows
That’s just the way it goes
Nobody knows
I got it for a birthday
And loved it from the start
Wore it nearly everyday
‘Til it slowly fell apart
I sewed on buttons, mended seams
As you do with well-loved clothes
Why do we go to such extremes?

Nobody knows

He’s a kid, not more than twenty
Fallen on hard times
Troubles, he’s got plenty
At least he’s got this shirt of mine
It’ll keep him good and warm
When winter blows
But will it keep him safe from harm?
Nobody knows Chorus
Bridge
This world is cold and hard
Beyond these doors
Until we’re seen
We are all John Does
Each battle-scarred
From our private wars
And nobody knows
In the pocket of the shirt
I slipped a tenner
He’ll smile when he finds it
I suppose
Will it go for beer or go for dinner
Nobody knows, nobody knows
Last Chorus
Everyone has highs and lows
You know this ain’t the life he chose
Wearing someone else’s clothes
That’s just the way it goes
Nobody knows
September 7, 2020
Elon, NC

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Recess
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Jon Carroll: piano & organ
JT Brown: bass


When the bell rang at 11
For once he wasn’t watching
All the kids broke from the classroom on a run
Just a quarter hour of freedom
But he dreaded every minute
And he wondered, “Am I the only one?”
He begged to stay inside
But the teacher shooed him out
She didn’t understand what it took for him to make it
Yes, it was only recess
It was play time, it was fun
But he simply didn’t have the tools to fake it
It wasn’t bullying or meanness
That made him awful and alone
Or that he was always last when sides were chosen
It was the easy way the others
Moved about their lives
That left him feeling small, apart, and frozen
For he’d learned the lesson early
That invisible was best
Keep your head down, keep quiet, and keep clear
Uncertainty forever lurked
Drawing notice never worked
And everything unknown was met with fear
So he read his way down deep
Where he knew no one could find him
Into houses that were nothing like his home
Where he could hit a ball, have a friend,
Be chosen 2 nd last

And the life he lived was nothing like his own

Just like that recess is over
And thirty 9-year-olds
Fall into line in answer to the bell
Back to class, back inside
Find another place to hide
The tortoise draws his head back in his shell
August 27, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Mistaken
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano
JT Brown: bass
The line “most of what I love mistakes itself for nothing” comes from the poem Transubstantiation by Molly McCully Brown. Many thanks to Molly for allowing me to use this amazing line. You can get the book containing this poem and loads of other wonderful revelations, The Virginia Colony for Epileptics and Feebleminded , at
https://www.perseabooks.com/virginia-state-colony-for-epileptics-and-feebleminded


This chair thinks it is furniture
On the porch outside my home
A thing of frayed upholstery
Draped o’er its wooden bones
But it is my destination
It’s where I start each day
And watch the fleeting shadows
As the sunlight slips away
Most of what I love
Mistakes itself for nothing
This room here on the second floor
Thinks it is there for guests
For the occasional visitor
A place to find some rest
It is the keeper of the memory
The child off on her own
Whose fingerprints are left here
On my heart and on this home
Most of what I love
Mistakes itself for nothing
This job thinks it is meaningless
No need to pretend

It’s any more than mindless work
A means unto an end
But it’s how I feed my family
And every day I’ve tried
To do what I was asked to do
With sweat and skill and pride
Most of what I love
Mistakes itself for nothing

This town thinks it is dying
A shadow of its glory
And every day is writing
The last chapter of its story
It is the ground that birthed me
And where my parents lie
It is the place I will call home
Until the day I die
Most of what Iove
Mistakes itself for nothing
This woman thinks she’s used up
Tired, old, and sore
Nothing like the young girl
That won me years before
But my eyes have gotten older, too
My vision’s gotten clear
All my bursting heart can see
Is this one I love so dear
Most of what I love
Mistakes itself for nothing
October 19, 2020
Smoke Rise, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Kora in the Subway
Words & music by John McCutcheon
John: vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano
This is the lone song penned pre-pandemic, recalling an incident in New York City subway station. The kora is a west African instrument, a harp-like instrument made from a large gourd. It is beautiful beyond imagining.


It was Friday on the L train
Got on at Union Square
Heading off to Brooklyn
And a son who’s waiting there
Weary, hot, and crowded
Near dead upon my feet
I swept out of the car at last
And headed toward the street
I heard him ‘fore I saw him
A waterfall of notes
I stopped, transfixed and purified
My heart up in my throat
Forgotten was my destination
All that went before
And ‘midst the rush on every side
I sat down on the floor
He raised a weary eyebrow
But never said a word
He closed his eyes, I closed my eyes
And this is what I heard

He played the plains of Senegal
The Veldt found to the south
The gathering each evening
Down at the river’s mouth
The color of new-woven cloth
The women at the well
The bustling of the marketplace
A world of taste and smell
The call to prayer at noontide
The old men drinking tea
Children playing in the dust
A lone acacia tree
He played,
My mother in the kitchen
My father in his chair
An August day as thick as water
At the county fair
The pungent smell of fresh-caught fish
A kiss behind the barn
Grandfather at the graveside
A child in my arms
I felt his hand upon my arm
And I was right back there
He packed his instrument away
And headed for the stair
He refused the twenty
That I pressed into his palm
He made his way into the crowd
And was gone
June 18, 2017
New York to Atlanta

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Picture

The Troubles
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocals
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano
JT Brown: bass
Tim O’Brien: bouzouki & harmony vocal
Seamus Egan: low whistles
Tommy Sands: 3 rd verse
The last verse is adapted from “Ceasefire” by Michael Longley
​

In the times of the Troubles
Tired and aggrieved
Neighbors killed neighbors
For what they believed
Then they knelt in their churches
Prayed to the same God
Never once doubting
The path that they trod
The confusion and enmity
On full display
Revenge, retribution
The rule of the day
To the history of hatred
We all were made slaves
But to kill in revenge
You’d best dig two graves
We think of the Troubles
The far and the few
Protestant, Catholic
Palestinian, Jew
Hutu and Tootsi
Sunni, Shiite
Fascist and communist
The left and the right

The Troubles begin
With the thinnest of wedge
And before you imagine
You’re out on the ledge
One path or the other
They ask you to choose
Casting your lot
With a bet you all lose

We think of the Troubles
The far and the few
Protestant, Catholic
Palestinian, Jew
Hutu & Tootsi
Sunni, Shiite
Republican, Democrat
The left and the right
Achilles and Priam
Sat down at the table
And shared a sad feast
Then as well as was able
Priam knelt down
Knowing what must be done
Kissed the hand of the man
Who had murdered his son
November 11, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Shadowland
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano & organ
JT Brown: bass
Inspired by film Through the Shadowlands. It is the story of CS Lewis’
marriage, late in his life to Joy Gresham. He called our life on this earth

“Shadowland.”


By the light of a small candle
Sooner than she planned
She takes his trembling hand
Into her own
He smiles and breathes a deep sigh
“I never thought you’d be
“Better far than me
“I should have known”
She looks into the eyes she’s loved
“You know you cannot tell
“But you have taught me well
“It’s surely so
“That it is easier for the first one
“On this mysterious ride
“To have you by my side
“Because you know, we live…”
Chorus
In Shadowland
It is not the pitch of night
In Shadowland
A dark reflection of the light
Turning toward the sun
True life is just begun
When your time is done
In Shadowland

We cannot know for certain
If we have been deceived
By all that we’ve believed
For all these years
Still I have gambled with this joy
Blessed by faith and doubt
We play our small lives out
By love or fear Chorus

Will you stay here a bit longer
Until this night is through?
I have got some work to do
I must be brave
I could use some small familiar
Give me leave, give me permission
Because I know my mission’s
Not the grave Chorus
August 29, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Sorry Land
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
JT Brown: bass
Tim O’Brien: mandolin & harmony vocal
Kathy Mattea: harmony vocal

Whether they call it “strip mining” or “mountaintop removal” the result…and the consequences…are the same. The “broad form deed” was peddled to unsuspecting folks assigning their mineral rights to a coal company, usually or a pittance. It allowed the holder of the deed to access the minerals using any means they chose. You can finish this story on your own…

Here comes a truck full of gravel again
Guess the road washed out up around the bend
I can’t imagine how this will end
Won’t be for them not trying
But they bought it cheap at the old strip site
Knew it’d never work, but they thought it might
Spent every dime trying to make it right
But it’s like the land is dying

Chorus
It was the law, the lawyers, and a D-9 dozer
Took all we had ‘fore it was over
Covered up the graves where our people sleep
Greed and power don’t come cheap
Each night upon my knees I pray
These rains won’t wash my dreams away
Right here is where I’m gonna make my stand
‘Cause I ain’t got more than this sorry land
When I was a kid I fished these creeks
Deep in the woods I played hide and seek
Hiked these hollers ‘til my knees got weak
Was a long lifetime ago
Then the man showed up with the broad-form deeds
Lies as thick as jimson weeds

Said the country had its needs
That’d be satisfied by coal Chorus
So they stripped and blasted, raised pure hell
Poisoned everybody’s well
The true cost only time will tell
But they got what they was after
But the jig is up and when the rains come down
The mountain slides and the creeks run brown
Each day more folks are leaving town
In search of greener pastures Chorus

​Now the coal is gone and the comp’ny too
And we’re left wondering what to do
‘Cause we pay the cost when the note comes due
Ain’t that the way it goes
So, out here on the rural route
And we truck in gravel when the roads wash out
Wondering what the hell was that about
I surely hope God knows Chorus
October 24, 2020
Smoke Rise, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Fuller Brush
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano
JT Brown: bass


He stands at the door and straightens his tie
Nervously fingers his ring
Never imagined that he’d by the guy
With a briefcase of useless damn things
Still, he takes off his hat and invents a warm smile
Bravely extends a thin hand
“Ma’am I can see you’re a woman of style
“You’re in luck, I’m the Fuller Brush man!”
“I know just what you need, a mop or a broom”
He stands with his foot in the door
“A life-time guarantee, you can clean every room
“They’ll last longer than will your floor”
“A brush for your teeth, for your nails, for your head
“And a special one just for your car
“And extension that’s meant to reach under your bed
“A set designed for your boudoir”
Day after day, street after street
House after house, he’ll go knocking
A heart full of hope and a mouth full of speech
If he only were paid for his talking
He’s sold everything from bibles to vacuums
The World Book, subscriptions, and knives
Downed gallons of coffee, been trapped in sad rooms
In the company of lost, lonely wives
Bridge
For the times are a-changing, the work is so slow
He’s thinking of giving up here

For it’s few that will open for those they don’t know
These days it’s all deadbolts and fear

But a man’s gotta work and a man’s gotta eat
Feel the sweet sweat of toil at day’s end
And bring home the bread with his charm and his feet
And tomorrow go right back again
So, with his hat in his hand and his foot in the door
He’ll once again make his small stand
“I’ve got just what you have been waiting for
“You’re in luck, I’m the Fuller Brush man.”
August 24, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Everyday
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano & organ
JT Brown: bass
Pete Kennedy: electric guitar


Everyday
When I open up my eyes
Everyday
I feel a little bit surprised
That I was given one more chance
To try to get it right
That this world has somehow
Survived another night
And, most of all, this woman
Sleeping to my right
Everyday
Everyday
Has come to feel the same
Everyday
I have forgotten how to name
Eight months now and counting
Life confined to home
Finding a simplicity
I never could have known
And praying for the ones
Who are out there all alone
Everyday
Bridge
Everyday
Fully occupy this space
Everyday
We disappear without a trace
Everyday
We try to leave a little grace

Everyday

Everyday
We all do what we can do
Everyday
I know that when this one is through
I’ll surrender this brief moment
To the ones that went before
Despite what I deserve
I was somehow given more
For all my blessings and my trials
I am grateful to my core
Everyday
November 8, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
The First Ones
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar, autoharp, & vocal
Most of these songs were written at our north Georgia cabin, a writing retreat for Carmen and me. The original settlers of the area, from the Cherokee Eastern Nation, were led by Chief Whitepath settled in the valley just below.


The first ones to this country
However did they know
Traveling the deer paths
Or where the rivers flow
The forest thick with undergrowth
Beneath the ancient trees
What vision guided
And provided
Possibilities
The game must be abundant
Waters must be near
And defense against the dangers
That were surely lurking here
These very first, brave humans
To ever walk this ground
Must grub for root
And harvest fruit
Whatever could be found
What was it set them roaming
Was it restlessness or fear
The burden of their history
That finally brought them here
Or longing for the peace
That wilderness provides
Were they wooed
By solitude
To mount that lonely ride

And was it some great spirit
That prompted them to stop
This valley ‘tween two mountains
To recognize this spot
As none had done before them
Guided by some grace
Their journey past
Now home at last
They knew this was the place
How many centuries later
I could have only guessed
I, too, have ventured outward
With wilderness my quest
Guided by a spirit
Unburdened of my past
Like those long ago
I finally know
That I am home at last
August 31, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Listen
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano & organ
JT Brown: bass
Pete Kennedy: electric guitar
Tim O’Brien: harmony vocal
Kathy Mattea: harmony vocal


I tried to warn you
Tried to tell you he’s a jerk
I stuck my neck out
Though I knew it wouldn’t work
You were pissed and you were hurt
I probably should have known
Now your pissed and hurt and heartbroke and alone
Chorus
They say that love is blind
But love is deaf as well
Love will make you stupid
And stubborn as all hell
I’ve been there, sister,
So I know it’s true
Love can make a damn fool out of you
I take no pleasure
In your admission I was right
This is no “told you so”
You were my lone dog in that fight
No need for apologies
Or dragging out the past
I only hope that you might understand at last Chorus
Bridge
A hungry heart
Is open, brave, and true
But if you’re made of sugar

The ants will feed on you

And the next time
You decide to go another round
Just remember
That I’ll still be around
And you probably won’t listen
Just know, I won’t shut up, for sure
‘Cause that’s the kind of love that will endure Chorus
September 1, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
You Used to Be
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano & organ
JT Brown: bass


It was suddenly so silent
Just an echo of the roar
Blood upon your knuckles
And plaster on the floor
The animal uncaged
You tried your whole life not to be
The look upon her face
You prayed you’d never see
Chorus
In the moment it is over
And everything’s revealed
You thought it was behind you
Now nothing is concealed
Every way you turn now
The only thing you see
Is you’ll never be the man
You used to be
It is a secret you had guarded
One you could never name
A terrible inheritance
The source of all your shame
Lurking in the shadows
Never far away
It had taken every ounce of strength
To keep it there at bay Chorus
Bridge
There is that moment
When you face the awful truth
You’re not the man

You thought you would be in your youth
So, you sweep up all the damage
You bandage up the wound
Search in vain for words
That might repair what you have ruined
But the curtain has been parted
You can’t excuse it or deny
For the only way back home
Is look the shadow in the eye Chorus
October 17, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Work
words & music by John McCutcheon
John: guitar & vocal
Stuart Duncan: fiddle
Jon Carroll: piano & organ
JT Brown: bass


The gold watch sits shiny and useless
In the drawer with his mother’s old locket
His time, as ever, hangs from a chain
Securely tucked in his front pocket
He putters about filling his days
With the list of forgotten old chores
Marking his hours with silence he never heard
Down on the factory floor
He remembers the day he showed up at the mill
A promise all shiny and new
Ready for anything, eager to mount
The work that they gave him to do
His father had struggled to build a small life
New to this language and land
Now he knew that his family was looking to him
To take up their fate in his hands
Eight hours a shift of the heat and the noise
You’ve earned the brief respite after
Wash up and walk down to the place down the corner
For the beer and the tales and the laughter
And it’s day after day, week after week
Year after year it’s the same
You do your small part, a piece of the whole
For a man you know only by name
Now they meet in the morning for coffee
And relive the old days once again
Stooped by the years into the shadows
Of what once were these eager young men
Who took up their tools, who took up the task

With work that was honest and real
Building a nation, a world, and a future
As strong and as bright as the steel

Like a relay you hand off the tongs and the hammer
To the next one that’s coming along
And the work, it gets done, the same as before
They scarcely will notice you’re gone
And they say that one day there will be a machine
That’ll make every bit of this steel
And you wonder where will all the young people go
To find work that is honest and real
November 3, 2020
Ellijay, GA

©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
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