独乐乐——Joan Baez

THREE HORSES
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

In the early dawn a stallion white
prances the hills in the morning light.
His bridle is painted with thunder and gold,
orchids and dragons, pale knights of old.
He is the horse of the ages past.
And now the children run to see
the stallion on the hill,
bringing bags of apples
and of clover they have filled.
And the white horse tells his stories
of the days now past and gone
and the children stand a-wondering
believing every song.
How brightly glows the past.

When the sun is high comes a mare so red,
trampling the graves of the living and dead.
Her mantle is heavy with mirrors and glass,
all is reflected when the red mare does pass.
She is the horse of the here and now.
And now there is confusion
amongst the children on the hill.
They cling to one another
and no longer can be still.
While the red mare's voice is trembling
with a rare and mighty call,
the children start remembering
the bearers and the pall.
And though their many-colored sweaters
are reflected in the glass,
and though the sun shines down upon them,
they are frightened in the grass.
How stark is the here and now.

When night does fall comes a stallion black,
so proud and tall he never looks back.
He wears him no emeralds, silver and gold,
not even a covering to keep him from cold.
He is the horse of the years to come.
And I will get me down
before this steed upon my knees
and sing to him the sorrows
of a thousand centuries.
And the children now will scatter
as their mothers call them home,
for the sadness of the evening horse
no child has ever known.
And I will hang about him
a bell that's never rung
and thank him for the many words
which from his throat have never sprung.
And I'll thank God and all the angels
that the stallion of the evening,
the black horse of the future,
comes to earth but has no tongue.

TIME IS PASSING US BY
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

The moon is low on the southland
The frogs are asleep on the lake
Did you know that tears run in rivulets
And hearts can repeatedly break?
And this may well be the last time
If my spirits don't pick up and fly
For though it's sad
It may well be true
That our time is passing us by

Occasionally you have called for me
I've always tried to be there
But it seemed whenever my train pulled in
You never did really care
And the only thing I could decipher
From the corner of your roving eye
Was that you and I
Were the first ones to know
That our time was passing us by

Well, it was fun for the first few years
playing Legend In Our Time
And there were those who discussed the fact
That we drifted apart in our prime
And we haven't got too much in common
Except that we're so much alike
And I hate it for though
You're a big part of me
But our time is passing us by

So I can sit here in my silver chair
You can stay there on your gold
You can say you've got commitments
And I can say I'm growing old
And I can get up and make comments
On the color of the evening sky
But our ships have come home
And the night's rolling in
And our time is passing us by

But cast us adrift
And cross a few stars
And I'm good for one more try

TIME RAG
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

Ripping along towards middle age
And my music career kind of missed a page
Record sales began to drop
The management all began to hop
Not worry, they said, you'll see
What you need is some fresh publicity
Just give us a nod and we'll all leap
Towards putting you back at the top of the heap
I said, Fine, I'll give it a whack
I hung up the phone and I turned my back
Began daydreaming I was somebody else
When the phone jumped over from the wall to the shelf
We just had a break, this is really fine
We can make the January issue of TIME
If you'll give us Monday, a week from today
From two to four, now what do you say?

I said, TIME, TIME mag, mag
You got me on the rag, rag
Take your insults about the queen
And shove them up your royal Timese machine

But I scribbled it down on the wall calendar
And wondered about my interviewer
Maybe he'd be just a real nice guy
Bright and sympathetic with a roving eye
We'd forget all about the assignment due
Formalities, photos, and the interview
We'd hop on into his big rent-a-car
Go for a lovely drive, not far....maybe France
As the big day approached it slipped my mind
Till my secretary showed up at the house to remind
Me to switch into gear for the big coup de gras
The meeting with the man from the media
I swept the driveway and polished the phone
Put on a Kenzo knit in two-tone
Fluffed the pillows in the burgundy chair
Made up my eyes and brushed my hair...all in that order
When he called to say he was three hours late
My cheerful facade began to disintegrate
The photographer'd be even later still
She was hopelessly lost in the nearby hills
He arrived not exactly the man of my dreams
Not bad for a rep from the Timese machine
Asked me a wandering question or three
And I thought he was actually listening to me

And I said, TIME, TIME mag, mag
You got me on the rag, rag
Take your insults about the queen
And shove them up your royal Timese machine

Curious about his interest
I babbled my way through the worldwide list
Ireland, Chile and the African states
Poetry, politics and how they relate
Motherhood, music and Moog synthesizers
Political prisoners and Commie sympathizers
Hetero, homo and bisexuality
Where they all stand in the nineteen-seventies
Then suddenly it stopped and he started to lobby
Said, Tell me some inside stuff about Bobby
Bobby who? I smiled and said
And the TIME man's face was laced with red
I know you guys used to know each other
I know you refer to him as being your brother
And I know that you know where he's coming from
I said, You know alot for being so Goddamned dumb

And I said, TIME, TIME mag, mag
You got me on the rag, rag
Take your insults about the queen
And shove them up your royal Timese machine

Well I never gave him quite what he came for
The inside story and it's really a shame
For I never made the January issue of TIME
And just before I run out of words that rhyme
I really should tell you that deep in my heart
I don't give a damn where I stand on the charts
Not as long as the sun sinks into the west
And that's going to be a pretty serious test.....of time

TO BOBBY
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

I'll put flowers at your feet and I will sing to you so sweet
And hope my words will carry home to your heart
You left us marching on the road and said how heavy was the load
The years were young, the struggle barely had its start
Do you hear the voices in the night, Bobby?
They're crying for you
See the children in the morning light, Bobby
They're dying

No one could say it like you said it, we'd only try and just forget it
You stood alone upon the mountain till it was sinking
And in a frenzy we tried to reach you
With looks and letters we would beseech you
Never knowing what, where or how you were thinking
Do you hear the voices in the night, Bobby?
They're crying for you
See the children in the morning light, Bobby
They're dying

Perhaps the pictures in the Times could no longer be put in rhymes
When all the eyes of starving children are wide open
You cast aside the cursed crown and put your magic into a sound
That made me think your heart was aching or even broken
But if God hears my complaint He will forgive you
And so will I, with all respect, I'll just relive you
And likewise, you must understand these things we give you

Like these flowers at your door and scribbled notes about the war
We're only saying the time is short and there is work to do
And we're still marching in the streets with little victories and big defeats
But there is joy and there is hope and there's a place for you
And you have heard the voices in the night, Bobby
They're crying for you
See the children in the morning light, Bobby
They're dying

WARRIORS OF THE SUN
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

We are the Warriors of the Sun
We are the Warriors of the Sun

If it's true about no more water but the fire next time
Will the children of the eighties be ashes or live to their prime
If we don't heed reasonable people and their warnings of days to come
We'll all be incinerated Warriors of the Sun

We'll be there to feed the hungry and to tend to the sick
We'll be there when the night gets black and the going gets thick
We'll be there to carry your feeble, your hopeless and your weary ones
We are the Warriors of the Sun

The black angel of Memphis is by our side
He walked and he talked in truth until the day that he died
He said, "It ain't what you can do for me, ah, but what can I do for thee?"
And he took us to the mountaintop and he set us free

We are the Warriors of the Sun
We may be crazy
And it may be our final run
We are the Warriors of the Sun

Everybody knows that the whale is smarter than we
Probably that's why we call him the king of the sea
We're killing everything on dry land, why don't we just let the fishes be
Some of us are Greenpeace Warriors of the Sea

We are the Warriors of the Sun
We are the Warriors of the Sun
We are the Warriors of the Sun
We are the Warriors of the Sun

WHEN TIME IS STOLEN
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

The music stopped in my hand
my hand
my hand
Sadly smiled the band
the band
the band
Softly echoes your laughter
riddled with tears
When time is stolen it flies
it flies
it flies
Lovers leave in disguise
disguise
disguise
Weariness hangs like a curtain
heavy and old
heavy and cold.

It is said to never look back
look back
look back
To shadows you left on the track
the track
the track
Gather your roses and run
the long way around
And if time should ever be right
my love
my love
I'll come to you in the night
my love
my love
But now there is only the sorrow
parting is near
parting is here
parting is here
parting is here

WHERE ARE YOU NOW, MY SON?
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

It's walking to the battleground that always makes me cry
I've met so few folks in my time who weren't afraid to die
But dawn bleeds with the people here and morning skies are red
As young girls load up bicycles with flowers for the dead

An aging woman picks along the craters and the rubble
A piece of cloth, a bit of shoe, a whole lifetime of trouble
A sobbing chant comes from her throat and splits the morning air
The single son she had last night is buried under her

They say that the war is done
Where are you now, my son?

An old man with unsteady gait and beard of ancient white
Bent to the ground with arms outstretched faltering in his plight
I took his hand to steady him, he stood and did not turn
But smiled and wept and bowed and mumbled softly, "Danke shoen"

The children on the roadsides of the villages and towns
Would stand around us laughing as we stood like giant clowns
The mourning bands told whom they'd lost by last night's phantom messenger
And they spoke their only words in English, "Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger"

Now that the war's being won
Where are you now, my son?

The siren gives a running break to those who live in town
Take the children and the blankets to the concrete underground
Sometimes we'd sing and joke and paint bright pictures on the wall
And wonder if we would die well and if we'd loved at all

The helmetless defiant ones sit on the curb and stare
At tracers flashing through the sky and planes bursting in air
But way out in the villages no warning comes before a blast
That means a sleeping child will never make it to the door

The days of our youth were fun
Where are you now, my son?

From the distant cabins in the sky where no man hears the sound
Of death on earth from his own bombs, six pilots were shot down
Next day six hulking bandaged men were dazzled by a room
Of newsmen. Sally keep the faith, let's hope this war ends soon

In a damaged prison camp where they no longer had command
They shook their heads, what irony, we thought peace was at hand
The preacher read a Christmas prayer and the men kneeled on the ground
Then sheepishly asked me to sing "They Drove Old Dixie Down"

Yours was the righteous gun
Where are you now, my son?

We gathered in the lobby celebrating Chrismas Eve
The French, the Poles, the Indians, Cubans and Vietnamese
The tiny tree our host had fixed sweetened familiar psalms
But the most sacred of Christmas prayers was shattered by the bombs

So back into the shelter where two lovely women rose
And with a brilliance and a fierceness and a gentleness which froze
The rest of us to silence as their voices soared with joy
Outshining every bomb that fell that night upon Hanoi

With bravery we have sun
But where are you now, my son?

Oh people of the shelters what a gift you've given me
To smile at me and quietly let me share your agony
And I can only bow in utter humbleness and ask
Forgiveness and forgiveness for the things we've brought to pass

The black pyjama'd culture that we tried to kill with pellet holes
And rows of tiny coffins we've paid for with our souls
Have built a spirit seldom seen in women and in men
And the white flower of Bac Mai will surely blossom once again

I've heard that the war is done
Then where are you now, my son?

WHERE'S MY APPLE PIE?
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

Been sitting on old park benches
Brother, hasn't it been fun?
But you remember me from the trenches
I fought in World War One
Yes, you saw us off at the troop train
Smiling a brave goodbye
But where were you when we came home
To claim our apple pie

Oh where's our apple pie, my friends?
Where's our apple pie?
We've walked and wheeled from the battlefield
Now where's our apple pie?

World War Two was a favorite
God was surely on our side
The teenage kids enlisted with
The blessings of their daddys' pride
Well the wars may change but not so the glaze
In the young boys' eyes
When they cry out for their mamas
In the hours before they die

Oh where's our apple pie, my friends?
Where's our apple pie?
We've walked and wheeled from the battlefield
Now where's our apple pie?

I volunteered for the last one
And I don't want to moralize
But somehow I thought we deserved the best
For the way we threw away our lives
For we all believed in something
I know it wasn't very clear
But I know it wasn't rats in a hospital room
And a broken-down wheelchair

Oh where's our apple pie, my friends?
Where's our apple pie?
We've walked and wheeled from the battlefield
Now where's our apple pie?

Yes, Johnny finally got his gun
Before he got his apple pie
Now he hasn't got a hand to eat it with
But still he doesn't want to die
Because he prefers to go on fighting
And let his baby brother know
When the next time around the call goes out
It's "Hell no, we won't go!"

There'll be no World War Three, my friends
There'll be no World War Three
We've walked and wheeled from the battlefield
There'll be no World War Three

WINDS OF THE OLD DAYS
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

The lady's adrift in a foreign land
Singing on issues both humble and grand
A decade flew past her and there on the page
She read that the prince had returned to the stage
Hovering near treacherous waters
A friend saw her drifting and caught her
Unguarded fantasies flying too far
Memories tumbling like sweets from a jar

And take me down to the harbor now
Grapes of the summer are low on the bough
Ghosts of my history will follow me there
And the winds of the old days will blow through my hair

Breath on an undying ember
It doesn't take much to remember
Those eloquent songs from the good old days
That set us to marching with banners ablaze
But reporters, there's no sense in prying
Our blue-eyed son's been denying
The truths that are wrapped in a mystery
The sixties are over so set him free

And take me down to the harbor now
Grapes of the summer are low on the bough
Ghosts of my history will follow me there
And the winds of the old days will blow through my hair

Why do I sit the autumnal judge
Years of self-righteousness will not budge
Singer or savior, it was his to choose
Which of us knows what was his to lose
Because idols are best when they're made of stone
A savior's a nuisance to live with at home
Stars often fall, heroes go unsung
And martyrs most certainly die too young

So thank you for writing the best songs
Thank you for righting a few wrongs
You're a savage gift on a wayward bus
But you stepped down and you sang to us

And get you down to the harbor now
Most of the sour grapes are gone from the bough
Ghosts of Johanna will visit you there
And the winds of the old days will blow through your hair

WINGS OF FANTASY
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

Come all of ye fair and silver ladies
Who rise with the dawn
Dreaming of lovers
Sing to the swans
The count gave me a jet black saddle to ride upon
Showed me the view
Showed me the horses
And he showed me you

And you were young as morning sunlight
You lit up another cigarette
And silent, silent, clear and silent were your eyes
I never will forget
And I rode off on the wings of fantasy

Wandering through the corridors
In an ancient violet evening gown
Drunk on champagne
Had to see you again
Found you in the stable, would you saddle me a thoroughbred
And where will you be
When the moon's in the trees
Oh, come to me please

And there I stood a modern Madame Bovary
In a party dress
And silent, silent, yes, your silent eyes said yes
The lady in distress
And the night came down on the wings of fantasy

Well, I had been over a dozen times or more
To the red sand on Normandy's shore
Seen the Abby of Mont. St. Michel
Diamonds of Deauville
Ah, but I've never kissed you before
And you gave your heart to me

Yes, I am a fair and silver lady
I dance in the snow
And follow the stallions
Where the north winds blow
While I was lamenting over my lost youth
You came along
Dreaming of lovers
And an evening song

And, if I am a rose of summer
You are a breath of spring
A garden of delights
And when I feel lonely in days of winter you will ride
To the castle light
And we will fly on the wings of fantasy
On the wings of fantasy
Far as the eye can see
Off the shores of Normandy
On the wings of fantasy

A YOUNG GYPSY
(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

A young gypsy fell out in a slumber
Heading north with a driver he knew
Someone he'd lived with and trusted
A young woman who trusted him too

That very same day the young gypsy
Had come from a farm in the west
Where the children had played throughout the heat of the day
Affording the gypsy no rest

And the gypsy's bones were weary
And the front seat looked secure
And the gypsy slept on until the sun it was gone
And the stars pierced the eyes of the girl at his side

The next morning's day would be Easter
He'd dress in his only fine shirt
And shuffle through clusters of strangers
With his gaze and his shoes in the dirt

And the woman who loved him would watch him
Protect him from curious stares
For the womenfolk tend to be friendly
And the gypsy's as young as he's fair

And the evening brought on laughter
And jars of bright red wine
And the gypsy drank some and the gypsy had fun
And his dancing got wild and the grandmothers smiled

Sleeping came easily after
In the arms of the woman that fold
Up the secrets and dreams of the gypsy
That will never be sought or be sold
In fact, they will never be told
For the gypsy is two years old