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Slugs leave trails, sheep leave droppings, bees make honey, and humans leave two things: art and garbage. Where these meet is called entertainment.

Robyn Hitchcock


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🦋 Working on a ballad

I heard a snatch of melody the other day (I was listening to The Ebony Hillbillies, playing on the sidewalk, Broadway and 78th St.) and it stuck in my head on the train ride home; so I decided to try writing a ballad. Got the first half but the second is vexing me.

Fair Elaine

Sweet my darling listen well
And sweet my darling mind ye
Sweet my darling when I tell you
Leave the past behind ye

I went down to Jansson's place
To drink my worries down
Behind the bar stood fair Elaine
In a long black satin gown

Elaine says I How came ye here
You never did look finer
But you've been lying ten long years
In a grave in Carolina

That night she said the bandits came
And where were you my Charlie
Out with your fair Irish lass
Drinking the fruit of the barley

They cut me up they cut me down
They threw me to the floor
My ghost looked back on that sad sight their foul crime
Through the open door

Clearly she should chastise him for another stanza or so and then leave, maybe after pouring him a cup of whiskey or of poison. But I'm not sure how to work this. Suggestions are welcome*. It is sounding very nice on my violin though.

Update: Here is an idea of an ending:

Then Charlie you did bury me
You never shed a tear
Neither on that day nor once
These ten long lonesome years

Now Charlie here's your barley-wine
I know you love it so
She set the cup down on the bar
I hung my head down low [or, "I cast my gaze down low"]

And slowly slowly she came out
And slow she went away
My grief is going to follow me
Until my dying day


* [pre-emptively defensive mini-rant deleted; I'd really love to hear what you think.]

posted afternoon of Tuesday, September 13th, 2005

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