Sparrows Point

Richard Shindell Sparrows Point written by Richard Shindell My name is William Taylor I was born in twenty four Too late to know the great fallen But in time to know the great fall When my father died of money My mother lived in spite We laughed when nothing was funny But how we wept when nothing was left So I left her there in boom town When I reached fifteen years And I travelled mostly northeast With my head held mostly down Cause they said there was more in Baltimore Where those shipyards never close You can sell the man your labor Send the money home Broadway found me pennyless And the mission found me last They gave me a coat and three days rest And when I awoke and left a shroud of steam surrounded me And I was born away I found myself at Sparrows Point With a sling-shot in my hand And standing there around me Two thousand idle hands With their heads bowed low Their hopes not high Their hearts weaned of their homes And their pockets full of photographs And their eyes full of goodbyes I took my place among my kind And I held my place in line Now I'm twenty one and well employed And I send home most my pay Which leaves plenty left for cigarettes To help me pass the days With beloved friends surrounding me The cold street so far away Three days west of Normandy With a rifle in my hand From Richard Shindell "Live At The Postcrypt Coffeehouse" Columbia University Fast Folk Records 1992 FF CD 509