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The Orphans
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For An Old Kentucky Anarchist
High upon a forgotten mountaintop lay a garden
Unattended and dry
'Twas a yard that hadn't felt childrens' feet running
For the mother long ago taught her children how to fly
Within a simple cabin, untouched by industrial hands
Sat the aged mother in her home
'You can't escape the picture frames - there's too many,' she said,
'They keep me from bein' alone'
Well she spoke, 'He was an honest man
He worked hard to put food on our plates
Well we had more babies than we had arms
We struggled all our lives, but the rewards were great
'And when my son came home from the war,
He rested his head on my breast
And said, 'Ma, I'm tired of being used and grinded down
I feel so low, can you make me feel like I'm the best?''
Well my best friend truly wed a savage man
He wore her like a bad tattoo
For his only love was for a bottle
She said, 'There's only one thing left for me to do
'To be wild once again, to take back my life and run away,
Set flames to his truck
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He won't ever know what he's been missing; I did every day:
Joy, freedom, dance and love, dance and love'
These are the stories that this mother spoke to me
As I brought her garden back to grow
I was rewarded with a warm meal, tales never to be heard
Some call it poverty, but they'll never know
She said, 'All I got is my stories and this old guitar,
My crops have all come and gone away
I got a head full of recipies enticing to the taste
And a liking to wake up and greet the day
'Got a bad back from raising my children,
From huggin' my husband so tight
Hell, I never cared much for any government;
I got my Jesus when I feel the time right'
Singin' I'm the richest I'll ever be
I embrace the world I have all around me
So sing a dying song and slap your knee
Have a taste of true anarchy, yeah anarchy
Hey!
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