This Boy Needs a Maid . . .

Round and round and round we spin,
To weave a wall to hem us in,
It won't be long, it won't be long
How slow and slow and slow it goes,
To mend the tear that always shows.
It won't be long, it won't be long.

It's hard enough losin'
the paper illusion
you've hidden inside,
Without the confusion
of findin' you're usin'
the crutch of the lie
To shelter your pride when you cry.

Round and round and round we spin,
To weave a wall to hem us in,
It won't be long, it won't be long
How slow and slow and slow it goes,
To mend the tear that always shows.
It won't be long, it won't be long.

Now you're movin' too slow
and wherever you go
there's another beside.
It's so hard to say no
to yourself and it shows
that you're losing inside,
When you step on your pride and you cry.

Round and round and round we spin,
To weave a wall to hem us in,
It won't be long, it won't be long
How slow and slow and slow it goes,
To mend the tear that always shows.
It won't be long, it won't be long.

How the hours will bend
through the time that you spend
till you turn to your eyes,
And you see your best friend
looking over the end
and you turn to see why,
And he looks in your eyes and he cries.

Round and round and round we spin,
To weave a wall to hem us in,
It won't be long, it won't be long
How slow and slow and slow it goes,
To mend the tear that always shows.
It won't be long, it won't be long.

Set, that's beautiful. Who wrote it?

(Pssst, Miss Letty, don't tell nobody, i wants 'em to figure it out for theyselves . . . it's Neil Young. Not a word now, 'k?)

tick a lock... Well, it sorta made me sit up and think..SET.

Quoting Canajuns again eh, Set?

Why, whatever could you mean, Cav?

Heh heh, well, here's another Canajun song on a similar theme, "Lies" by Stan Rogers:

At last the kids are gone now for the day
She reaches for the coffee as the school bus pulls away
Another day to tend the house and plan
For Friday at the Legion when she's dancing with her man
Sure was a bitter winter but Friday will be fine
And maybe last year's Easter dress will serve her one more time
She'd pass for twenty nine but for her eyes
But winter lines are telling wicked lies

All lies, all those lines are telling wicked lies
Lies, all lies. Too many lines there in that face
Too many to erase or to disguise, they must be telling lies

Is this the face that won for her the man
Whose amazed and clumsy fingers put that ring upon her hand
No need to search that mirror for the years The menace in their message shouts across the blur of tears

So this is beauty's finish! Like Rodin's "Belle Heaulmie're"
The pretty maiden trapped inside the ranch wife's toil and care
Well, after seven kids, that's no surprise
But why cannot her mirror tell her lies

(Chorus)

Then she shakes off the bitter web she wove
And turns to set the mirror, gently, face down by the stove
She gathers up her apron in her hand
Pours a cup of coffee, drips Carnation from the can
And thinks ahead to Friday, 'cause Friday will be fine!
She'll look up in that weathered face that loves hers, line for line
To see that maiden shining in his eyes
And laugh at how her mirror tells her lies

(Chorus)

This might be the only folk song ever to make reference to Rodin.

neat lines all. Im partial to the Stan Rogers songs. I usually quote em in couplets.
I especially like the one that ends

As he puts another seasons promise in the ground.

Anybody whose ever farmed knows the meaning of that

cav, is there a website of Stan Rodgers songs? Ive got 2 tapes and I need to copy and put them on a CD before too long.

Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc
as she came riding through the dark;
no moon to keep her armour bright,
no man to get her through this very smoky night.
She said, "I'm tired of the war,
I want the kind of work I had before,
a wedding dress or something white
to wear upon my swollen appetite."
Well, I'm glad to hear you talk this way,
you know I've watched you riding every day
and something in me yearns to win
such a cold and lonesome heroine.
"And who are you?" she sternly spoke
to the one beneath the smoke.
"Why, I'm fire," he replied,
"And I love your solitude, I love your pride."

"Then fire, make your body cold,
I'm going to give you mine to hold,"
saying this she climbed inside
to be his one, to be his only bride.
And deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and high above the wedding guests
he hung the ashes of her wedding dress.

It was deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and then she clearly understood
if he was fire, oh then she must be wood.
I saw her wince, I saw her cry,
I saw the glory in her eye.
Myself I long for love and light,
but must it come so cruel, and oh so bright?



(i wasn't thinkin' Canajun songs when i started this, just had ol' Neil runnin' round my brain--but sure, i can do Canajun songs . . . )