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David Ackles
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Montana Song
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Letra actual de la canción
I went out to Montana<br />with a bibble on my arm,<br />Looking for my fathers<br />on a long-abandoned farm,<br />and I found what I came looking for.<br /><br />I drove into a churchyard<br />of what used to be the town;<br />Walked along a cowpath<br />trough the fences falling down,<br />'til I found what I came looking for.<br /><br />Through the dust of summer noons,<br />over grass long dying,<br />To read the stone and lumber runes<br />where my past was lying.<br />High among hillsides and windmill bones,<br />soft among oak trees and chimney stones,<br />Blew the wind that I came looking for.<br /><br />And the wind ble#3;w over the dry land,<br />and dusted my city soul clean,<br />To read in my great-grandfather's hand<br />from his bible newly seen :<br /><br />Born James McKennon, 1862<br />Married Leantha, 1884<br />two sons born in Montana,<br />Praise the Lord !<br /><br />The gentle wind<br />of passing time,<br />Closed the bible pages;<br />and took my hand<br />and had me climb<br />closer to the ages.<br /><br />The picket fence, the lattice frame,<br />the garden gone to seed,<br />Leantha with the fragile name,<br />Defying place and need,<br />Declares this bit of prairie "tame",<br />and sees her fingers bleed,<br />and knows her sons won't live the same,<br />but she must live her creed.<br /><br />The fallen barn, the broken plow,<br />the hoofprint-hardened clay;<br />where is the farmer, now,<br />who built his dream this way ?<br />Who felled the tree and cut the bough<br />and made the land obey,<br />who taught his sons as he knew how,<br />but could not make them stay.<br /><br />Who watched until the darkness fell<br />To know the boys were gone, and never loved the land so well<br />from that day on.<br /><br />"Father James," they wrote him,<br />each a letter once a year,<br />words of change that broke him<br />with the new age that was here,<br />and the new world they'd gone looking for.<br /><br />The clouds arose<br />like phantom herds,<br />and by the dappled lighting<br />I read again<br />the last few words<br />in a woman's writing :<br />March 1st,1921<br />last night, Papa died.<br />Left one plow, a horse, his gun,<br />his bible, and his bride.<br /><br />The long grass moved beside me<br />in the gentle summer rain,<br />and made a path to guide me<br />to a sudden mound of grain.<br /><br />A man and wife are buried there,<br />children to the land;<br />with young green tendrils in her hair,<br />and seedlings in his hand.<br /><br />I went out to Montana<br />with a bibble on my arm,<br />Looking for my fathers<br />on a long-abandoned farm,<br />and I found what I came looking for.
Letra nueva de la canción
I went out to Montana<br />with a bibble on my arm,<br />Looking for my fathers<br />on a long-abandoned farm,<br />and I found what I came looking for.<br /><br />I drove into a churchyard<br />of what used to be the town;<br />Walked along a cowpath<br />trough the fences falling down,<br />'til I found what I came looking for.<br /><br />Through the dust of summer noons,<br />over grass long dying,<br />To read the stone and lumber runes<br />where my past was lying.<br />High among hillsides and windmill bones,<br />soft among oak trees and chimney stones,<br />Blew the wind that I came looking for.<br /><br />And the wind ble#3;w over the dry land,<br />and dusted my city soul clean,<br />To read in my great-grandfather's hand<br />from his bible newly seen :<br /><br />Born James McKennon, 1862<br />Married Leantha, 1884<br />two sons born in Montana,<br />Praise the Lord !<br /><br />The gentle wind<br />of passing time,<br />Closed the bible pages;<br />and took my hand<br />and had me climb<br />closer to the ages.<br /><br />The picket fence, the lattice frame,<br />the garden gone to seed,<br />Leantha with the fragile name,<br />Defying place and need,<br />Declares this bit of prairie "tame",<br />and sees her fingers bleed,<br />and knows her sons won't live the same,<br />but she must live her creed.<br /><br />The fallen barn, the broken plow,<br />the hoofprint-hardened clay;<br />where is the farmer, now,<br />who built his dream this way ?<br />Who felled the tree and cut the bough<br />and made the land obey,<br />who taught his sons as he knew how,<br />but could not make them stay.<br /><br />Who watched until the darkness fell<br />To know the boys were gone, and never loved the land so well<br />from that day on.<br /><br />"Father James," they wrote him,<br />each a letter once a year,<br />words of change that broke him<br />with the new age that was here,<br />and the new world they'd gone looking for.<br /><br />The clouds arose<br />like phantom herds,<br />and by the dappled lighting<br />I read again<br />the last few words<br />in a woman's writing :<br />March 1st,1921<br />last night, Papa died.<br />Left one plow, a horse, his gun,<br />his bible, and his bride.<br /><br />The long grass moved beside me<br />in the gentle summer rain,<br />and made a path to guide me<br />to a sudden mound of grain.<br /><br />A man and wife are buried there,<br />children to the land;<br />with young green tendrils in her hair,<br />and seedlings in his hand.<br /><br />I went out to Montana<br />with a bibble on my arm,<br />Looking for my fathers<br />on a long-abandoned farm,<br />and I found what I came looking for.
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