large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/10_songofthemouthorgan_service_hp_64kb_1
large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/10_songofthemouthorgan_service_hp_64kb
English
2254
Do you think the silent herd did not hear "The Mocking Bird", Or relish "Silver Threads among the Gold"? DO YOU THINK THE SILENT HERD DID NOT HEAR THE MOCKING BIRD OR RELISH SILVER THREADS AMONG THE GOLD
efore you made a rotten mess of things. Then a dreamy look will come into your eyes, And you break off in the middle of a note; And then, with just the dreariest of sighs, You drop me in the pocket of your coat. But somehow I have bucked you up a bit; And, as you turn around and face the wall, You don't feel quite so spineless and unfit-- You're not so bad a fellow after all. Do you recollect the bitter Arctic night; Your camp beside the canyon on the trail; Your tent a tiny square of orange light; The moon above consumptive-like and pale; Your supper cooked, your little stove aglow; You tired, but snug and happy as a child? Then 'twas "Turkey in the Straw" till your lips were nearly raw, And you hurled your bold defiance at the Wild. Do you recollect the flashing, lashing pain; The gulf of humid blackness overhead; The lightning making rapiers of the rain; The cattle-horns like candles of the dead You sitting on your bronco there alone, In your slicker, saddle-sore and sick with cold?  THE TUNES YOU USED TO FANCY LONG AGO BEFORE YOU MADE A ROTTEN MESS OF THINGS THEN A DREAMY LOOK WILL COME INTO YOUR EYES AND YOU BREAK OFF IN THE MIDDLE OF A NOTE AND THEN WITH JUST THE DREARIEST OF SIGHS YOU DROP ME IN THE POCKET OF YOUR COAT BUT SOMEHOW I'VE BUCKED YOU UP A BIT AND AS YOU TURN AROUND TO FACE THE WALL YOU DON'T FEEL QUITE SO SPINELESS AND UNFIT YOU'RE NOT SO BAD A FELLOW AFTER ALL DO YOU RECOLLECT THE BITTER ARCTIC NIGHT YOUR CAMP BESIDE THE CANYON ON THE TRAIL YOUR TENT A TINY SQUARE OF ORANGE LIGHT THE MOON ABOVE CONSUMPTIVE LIKE AND PALE YOUR SUPPER COOKED YOUR LITTLE STOVE AGLOW YOU TIRED BUT SNUG AND HAPPY AS A CHILD THEN TWAS TURKEY IN THE STRAW TO YOUR LIPS WERE NEARLY RAW AND YOU HURLED YOUR BOLD DEFIANCE AT THE WILD YOU RECOLLECT THE FLASHING LASHING PAIN THE GULF OF HUMID BLACKNESS OVERHEAD THE LIGHTNING MAKING RAPIERS OF THE RAIN THE CATTLE HORNS LIKE CANDLES OF THE DEAD YOU SITTING ON YOUR BRONCHO THERE ALONE IN YOUR SLICKER SADDLE SORE AND SICK WITH COLD
large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/10_songofthemouthorgan_service_hp_64kb
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download/librilight/large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/10_songofthemouthorgan_service_hp_64kb.flac