Over the last few years, Judy and I have corresponded off and on, to my everlasting benefit. She first sent me some verses to a song I wrote ("Hearth and Fire") which were so singular and striking that I took the liberty of writing a melody for them on their own. Having told her that, I was rewarded by receiving two more songs she had written over the next couple of years, "Boat of Silver" and. "Blackbird." Fine songs, fine poetry. Carlisle, Massachusetts, should be proud.
Blackbird, blackbird flying late
Grease in the pot and ash in the grate
They barred the door and they shut the
gate,
They've got no place for me.
My bottle's empty and my head is sore;
I don't know where I've been before.
Bar your gate and shut your door,
The blackbird 's flying free.
Where have I been to? I don't know.
Broken fiddle and crooked bow
Holes in my boots and I'm walking slow
As the last long shadows fall.
The boat I sailed lay down in the tide
The horse I stole got lame and died.
I don't need a friend; I don't want
a ride.
The blackbird knows it all.
What's this song the blackbird hears?
I sowed my days and I reaped my years
A basket of sins and a bucket of
tears,
And I can't come in to stay.
My life's a tale that I don't tell,
I did my worst and I did it well;
I never got to heaven but I stayed
out of hell
And still I'm on my way.
Where am I going to sleep tonight?
I can't turn left and I won't turn
right,
Where the road goes on in the cold
moonlight
And the lonely blackbird cries.
I'm going to sleep in a lonely bed
With white and whiter linen spread
A cold grey stone at my foot and head
And pennies on my eyes.
I'm going to sleep in a lonely bed
With white and whiter linen spread.
A cold grey stone at my foot and head
And pennies on my eyes.