52 Week Song Cycle #48
Devil At Your Side (c) 2010 Mattroi Berger
Ok. I know I promised no more dark and dirty songs this year, but I assure you this one started out with different intentions: I wanted to explore harmonies and mountain music in a way I haven’t since Park Slope (In the Eye), but with a bit less winking and nudging this time around. Working in that vein, I began to enjoy buying into the Southern mythology of demons and rebels and ended up writing a pretty dark little story.
I can’t really say that I grew up in the “south” - Or, I should say, anyone that actually did would say that I didn’t. I grew up in the suburbs, and really didn’t develop any sort of southern twang or mannerisms until I came to NYC, adopting them, most likely, in reaction to my new surroundings. But since then, I’ve become extremely fascinated with the history and folklore of the south, and how it’s been explored in music - from Ledbelly to CCR to REM. I don’t pretend to have the insight that “actual” southerners do, but I do let my fascinations claim a good bit songwriting time.
I plan to keep exploring these themes and ideas in Teen Girl Scientist Monthly, my new band, though with a perhaps less affected genre focus. There will be harmonies though, and songs about the devil and such and such and such.
Music and lyrics by Mattroi
***
“My son, my son, oh won’t you roam,”
Said my father, as he gave to Sleep.
“My son, you must take to the road,
Before the earth does you as it does me.
My words can not apologize
For fear you see within my eyes;
My son you’re twice the man as me.”
And with that breath my father died
My hands still pressing at his side.
Done nothing t’stop the blood that wet the leaves.
My love, my love, oh won’t we run,
Find ourselves in the new country?
Our legs are sapling spritely young.
No roots are yet our company.
And though the life you hold inside
Is showing now, I think we time
To beat this winter’s march and slip the scene
Because, my love, I have this dream
That comes to me persistently
In forest dark, the voices ask of me:
“Will you work till you’re scraps
With the devil on your back
In the shadow of an earthly beast?
Will you lie on your life
While you bleed from your side
When they come for your family?
Oh, when they come for your family…”
My son, my son oh won’t you run,
Call the heavens to horizon’s knees?
And catch the subtle rising sun
In your smile as you come to me?
My son, oh won’t you sing again
Through the dirt and still my hand
That shakes with fear and rage but never stings.
And oh, my son, I have this dream
That comes to me persistently
In forest dark, the voices ask of me:
“Will you bury your pack
With the devil on your back
In the shadow of an earthly beast?
Or will you fight for your life
With the devil at your side
When they come for your family?
When they come for your wife
And your daughter with a knife
Will you lie on your side and bleed?”
That won’t be me.
Yes sir, yes sir, I’m on my feet
And begging for my just release
Yes sir, yes sir, I’m ready to be freed
Your gracious gift of my last words
Are but to say my earthly worth
Has now another’s name upon it’s lease.
Oh dear, oh my, but what a face
Your open eyes do seem to make
When one has slipped your guts down to your feet
A call is off, but it’s too late,
My legs are swift and so’s my blade
That sings the words I answer now in peace
“Will you work till you’re scraps
With the devil on your back
In the shadow of an earthly beast?
Or will you fight for your life
With the devil at your side
When they come for your family?
When they come for your wife
And your daughter with a knife
Will you lie on your side and bleed?”
That won’t be me.
