1. |
The Big Move
03:57
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I’m moving to Paris, France, and there’s nothing you can do
To keep me living here, it’s time for something new.
I’m moving to Paris, France, and there’s nothing you can do.
Cela est que j’ai dit. Que dites-vous?
And I loved you, goodbye, goodbye.
I’m moving to New York City, and there’s nothing you can do
To keep my dream from coming true
I’m moving to New York City, and there’s nothing you can do
Cause the big city’s for me, and this small town is for you.
And I loved you, goodbye, goodbye.
I’m gonna skip this town, and there’s nothing you can do
To keep me in this house living with you.
I’m gonna skip this town, and I mean it, too.
Cause there’s nothing left for me in this house or with you.
And I loved you, goodbye, goodbye.
I’m gonna move crosstown, and I don’t wanna see you
Catching a crosstown bus just to see what’s new.
I’m gonna move crosstown, that’s what I’m gonna do
And I’ll be too busy there to mess around with you.
And I loved you, goodbye, goodbye.
I can’t believe you’re moving in with him so soon.
Won’t you stay here, babe? There’s plenty of room.
I can’t believe you’re moving in with him so soon.
Won’t you stay here, babe? There’s plenty of room.
And I…
And I…
And I…
And I…
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2. |
Great Hall
04:28
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When I worked on the farm,
I used to start up a tractor, head out, and mow the wide fields.
I used to shovel, sweep, and dig.
On the farm was a great hall.
A hundred fifty years old, it had a little carpeted stage.
Every week I’d clean it up.
I would take a giant broom
And sweep all the dust out of that old wooden room.
It would take me half the day.
One day I looked up
And saw a butterfly flying across the hall.
It was flying right towards me.
In the middle of its flight,
It stopped flapping its wings and fell to the ground suddenly,
Dying right at my feet.
You know, I should have learned
Something from the butterfly that died in an ordinary flight.
You know, I should have learned
That death is quick,
And life is slow, slow, slow.
Life is slow, slow slow.
I should have learned that life is slow.
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3. |
Train Station
04:59
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When I roll over, I see one green pillow
And a blue tapestry on the wall
But when I throw my leg across the bed
There’s no one to cushion its fall
My guitar, my clock, my dresser and bed
There’s nothing to look at in this dingy white room
But if I could have her with me one night
I’d look at her all the night through
Chorus:
And I wish I lived in an old train station
I’d think of my baby each time one rolled by
And if I knew one was going her way
I’d be gone in the blink of an eye
So I’ll read an old book, then I’ll strum my guitar
And I’ll wait by the phone for that long distance call
But when she hangs up, I’m left feeling lonesome
Lonesome like a leaf in the fall
Chorus
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4. |
Blackfish Creek
02:45
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5. |
Weddings and Engagements
04:57
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6. |
Boards
05:16
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I cut the boards down at the public works building.
I run the saw through the plywood till it fits in the door
Or in the window. I’m sure you’ve seen my craftsmanship
If you’ve ever been down to Baltimore.
You’ve seen them covered up by concert posters,
Or maybe a spray-painted “R.I.P.”
With broken windows staring down from above them.
You hurry by, pretending not to see.
This board will go up on the Robinson’s house.
They finally made it out to Owings Mills.
This one’s for Shanda’s house, she’s back on Section 8.
Her mortgage was a scam, now she can’t pay her bills.
Here’s a whole pile of them, they’ll cover up a whole block
Where some speculator bought some property.
He’s too busy counting all his filthy cash
To send a little to the gas company.
I curse each board I make,
I curse the saw, I curse my boss.
Each board’s a curse upon the neighborhood it casts its blighted gaze across.
I curse my tiny house,
And the last thing I see before I sleep.
A picture of my wife and a bottle of old whiskey.
My job’s secure because each board I make
Tempts the neighbors to leave their houses behind and skip this town,
And old Darrell Brooks just brought me a bonanza when he
Burned Angela Dawson and her children down.
Yeah, he kicked their door in and poured that gasoline.
He lit a match, I’m sure it took no time.
The father jumped out the second story window
Just to land in pain and hear his wife and children die.
Bridge:
They say that Angela would call the cops on Darrell
For selling drugs in front of her front door.
He’d had enough so he burned her first floor down.
Probably too thick to think he’d burn anymore.
I curse each board I make,
I curse the saw, I curse my boss.
Each board’s a curse upon the neighborhood it casts its blighted gaze across.
I curse my tiny house,
And the last thing I see before I sleep.
A picture of my wife and a bottle of old whiskey.
My buddy Bill, he nails the boards up, and he nails them up again
Each time the junkies peel them off to get inside
So they can sit together in the dark among the rats and piss
Again to stick that needle through their hides.
You know they robbed my son over at Collington and Orleans?
He volunteers at Johns Hopkins in the children’s ward.
But that don’t matter much to them as long as he’s got money.
It’s only junk that they are living for.
I don’t know why he stays, he’s got the means to leave here.
I don’t want to worry about my child now that he is grown.
He says, “Dad, you used to say, ‘Son, you must grow where you’ve been planted.’”
Why did I plant him at home?
I curse each board I make,
I curse the saw, I curse my boss.
Each board’s a curse upon the neighborhood it casts its blighted gaze across.
I curse my tiny house,
And the last thing I see before I sleep.
A picture of my wife and a bottle of old whiskey.
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Lawrence Lanahan Baltimore, Maryland
Lawrence Lanahan is a songwriter in Baltimore, MD.
He also plays with Disappearing
Ink.
A freelance journalist, Lanahan is the author of The Lines Between Us: Two Families and a Quest to Cross Baltimore's Racial Divide (2019, The New Press).
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