Dear,
There is sanctity in my domain
that separates us from evil
If you cross the door no good will come
for outside there are devils.
I was a blacksmith years ago
I made the anvil ring
But since my Rosie up and died
niether of us sing.
My children went away long ago
to far and distant shores
leaving me to beg and steal
copper pennies from the whores.
Often when it rains out
I make a spot of tea
and concentrate on consequence
and how I left Rosie.
And seeing how you look so much
as she once did before
I thought that I would tell you
There are devils outside that door.
When I was but a smirky youth
I joined a minstrel show.
I covered my face with red paint
And told a joke or two.
I thought that I was quite the lad
but experience has shown
I was only made of wood while
castles require stone.
Rosie saw my failure, clown,
and loved me with it all.
A mother’s heart beat in her breast
as it does in women all.
So I opened up a smythe shop
and shoed the horses round
till sin came on silken heels
And took my Rosie down.
Her name was Mary, what a laugh
no Virgin Mary she.
Her perfume took my breath away
and liquor made me sing.
I did for her my minstrel prance
and even got a laugh.
But the joke was on me for that night of stealth
snuffed out my Rosie’s life.
My daughter, an apprentice seamstress,
was wandering through the snow
and hearing her dear father’s song did
peer through the window.
And Savage Grace please set me loose
the night that she did see
was her own father intimately intertwined
with that harlot Red Mary.
And I like drunken sailors do
the next morning had a head
and when I went unto my berth
I found my Rosie dead.
In her hand I found a note
Crushed to her still opened eyes.
In it she’d writ in letters big
“There are Devils Loose Outside”
So you see my dear
why I’ve brought you here
Please let an old man speak
For your eyes are clear
and you have no fear
and I am far too weak
to ask but only for one thing
and it will not take long,
let an old man spill his heart
out in a little song:
“Oh fairy maid and garden rose
I’ve loved you for a time
and if I send for Black McGhee we’ll
have a good old time.
“The waters flow and dancers strut
for camaraderie now
so let’s get off to the beerman’s pub
and laugh and drink and love.
“Oh I’m a friend of Black McGhee
and he’s a friend of me
and both of us have had our sport
of life without money.
“And though our wives be black as death
we’ll always have our times,
so here’s to sport and here’s to love
and here’s to my friend McGhee.”
So you see my girl it isn’t long
to have your portrait done
I do it with my eyes and words for
of paint I do have none
But my mind has of late come obsessed
all stories sound the same.
Rain to me seems winterish
and sunshine lays no claim.
McGhee is gond, my children too
and Rosie far too soon.
while age creeps round me like a withering vine
that makes me seem the prune.
So I hope that you will understand
when I say as but before,
be careful when you leave this room
there are Devils outside that Door.
* * *
I am no longer afraid of dying
I am no more afraid of death
for I know what does await me
when I take that final step.
I will go to Woodstock Heaven
and listen to the guitars there,
all the singers who are waiting
to serenade me in the sky.
Ohhh Janis, Jimi, and me
will dance among the moonbeams and the clouds,
and no one there will ever hassle us,
it’ll just be Janis (BONG) Jimi (BONG) and me.
I no longer listen to the radio,
my favorite music is no more,
all the musicians are in the Woodstock Choir
following the manic depressives law.
There is Frankie Lymon in his Golden robe
and Brian Jones is on the flute
and Baby Huey is softly playing
in a beautiful silver suit.
Oh I’m going to Woodstock Heaven
and dance among the moonbeams and the clouds.
And no one there will ever hassle us,
It’ll just be Janis (BONG) Jimi (BONG) and me.
BONG . . . . . .BONG . . . . .BONG
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