hadn't sung this song in easily a year. recorded it for a buddy - the ending is actually pretty cool.

Beren and luthien (new and improved)

Walk on Boy

Bobby Lee and the Butternuts first official track

Marc: bass, singing, james ready
Guy: Guitar, singing, bells, bitterness

I don't give a fuck about christmas
I don't give a fuck about trees
I don't give a fuck about Jesus
filled your stocking full of bees

I don't give a fuck about Hanukkah
I don't give a fuck about lights
don't wanna light a menorah
for eight shitty nights

so let's get drunk because it's cold
let's get drunk before we're old
let's get drunk, it's snowin tonight
and let's get drunk coz we hate our families
let's get drunk coz we sure aint Ghandi
let's get drunk, it's fuckin freezin tonight

I don't give a fuck about solstice
I don't give a fuck about stars
I don't give a fuck about wiccans
when I hit them with my car

I don't give a fuck about new years
I don't even like champagne
don't wanna be a good person
and I ain't gonna change

so let's get drunk because it's cold
let's get drunk before we're old
let's get drunk, it's snowin tonight
and let's get drunk coz we hate our families
let's get drunk coz we sure aint dandies
let's get drunk, it's fuckin freezin tonight

I don't give a fuck about Kwanzaa
I don't even know what that means
I just heat people sayin it
when I'm watchin TV

I don't give a fuck about holidays
coz no one gives a fuck about me
I'm gonna listen to the Vandals
and hang myself from the tree

so let's get drunk because it's cold
let's get drunk before we're old
let's get drunk, it's snowin tonight
and let's get drunk coz we hate our families
let's get drunk coz, give each other handies
let's get drunk, it's fuckin freezin tonight

Sentimental Winter Holiday Song

Gin Soaked Boy - Fish In The Jailhouse

So this is a Gaelic Storm song, I didn't realize the recorder was still going (blame the whiskey) while I sang this (in my bathroom with a banjo)
I'll record this with a cigar box once I have one in canada.

A hundred days at sea, A wretch away from misery
Rummies and rats and tarry jacks my only family
The island of salvation is still a scream a way
As the lungs of the night blow out the light my heart kneels down to pray

Lord why did you take her She meant so much to me
Now I’m a wretched soul on a privateer drowning out at sea
I’m killing and I’m drinking my blue heart to black
But I swear, oh Lord, I’ll never sin again if you bring her back

Gypsy was a siren, Dripping with desire
Her moonless hair and skin so fair as warm as frozen fire
She had the loyalty of a cat, behind those pale green eyes
And through her cherry lips the devil slipped, a thousand lies
A clan of rogues and vagabonds occupied her head
That thieving band took her pale white hand and stole her from my bed
And like a ghost ship in the night she drifted out once more
To land upon the sand of another lover’s shore

Lord why did you take her she meant so much to me
Now I’m a wretched soul on a privateer drowning out at sea
I’m killing and I’m drinking my blue heart to black
But I swear, oh Lord, I’ll never sin again If you bring her back

In my sleeping mind she sings a sad and lonely lullaby
When I wake there’s just the ache it will haunt me till I die
When those winds of vanity no longer blow her west
I pray they’ll guide her home (across the foam) and put my heart to rest
Press gang filled this Man-o-War To make the black mouthed cannon roar
Now all my trade is ball and blade, and blood forever more
And the sting of salt and spray, the ocean’s howl and squall
A stumbling wreck, I roam the deck, at the devil’s beck and call.. at the devil’s beck and call

Oh, Lord, why did you take her She meant so much to me
Now I’m a wretched soul on a privateer Drowning out at sea
I’m killing and I’m drinking my blue heart to black
But I swear, oh Lord, I’ll never sin again if you bring her back

Lover's Wreck

Love the hiss

Lyrics belong to John Ronald Reuel Tolkien

The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinúviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.

There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.

Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.

He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beachen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.

He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.

When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.

Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tinúviel! Tinúviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinúviel
That in his arms lay glistening.

As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinúviel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.

Long was the way that fate them bore,
O'er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.

I Laer Beren a Lúthien

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down 
of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee."
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the "Gales of November" came early. 

The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the Gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.

When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.

"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
"Fellas, it's bin good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the Gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral."
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"




The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

There was a man who dwelt alone,
as day and night went past
he sat as still as carven stone,
and yet no shadow cast.
The white owls perched upon his head
beneath the winter moon;
they wiped their beaks and thought him dead
under the stars in June.

There came a lady clad in grey
in the twilight shinning:
one moment she would stand and stay,
her hair with flowers entwining.
He woke, as had he sprung from stone,
and broke the spell that bound him;
he clasped her fast, both flesh and bone,
and wrapped her shadow round him.

There never more she walks her ways
by sun or moon or star;
she dwells below where neither days
nor any nights there are.
But once a year when caverns yawn
and hidden things awake,
they dance together then till dawn
and a single shadow make.

J.R.R. Tolkien

Shadow-Bride

here we stand as brothers in arms
penance to pay to the fallen
men who gave their lives for our cause
they make their way to undying shores

here as in the legends untold
fearless in face of this iron.
throne that's lain with bodies and bone
vengeance has come to these dying shores

and while lost
he has beguiled us
he has set the winds in time

light lost
at high cost
reclaim the silmarils

Here bearing the banners of kings
Grasping in reach of our crystal.
Thief who brings us ashes and grief
Fire gives birth in his shadow-keep

here we die as fathers and sons
Given our lives for the shaper's
song which brings us glory aloft
far from the gates of old Mandos' hall



Dagor Bragollach

ENT:
When Spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough;
When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow;
When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain-air,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair!

ENTWIFE:
When Spring is come to garth and field, and corn is in the blade;
When blossom like a shining snow is on the orchard laid;
When shower and Sun upon the Earth with fragrance fill the air,
I'll linger here, and will not come, because my land is fair.

ENT:
When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold
Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves the dreams of trees unfold;
When woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best!

ENTWIFE:
When Summer warms the hanging fruit and burns the berry brown;
When straw is gold, and ear is white, and harvest comes to town;
When honey spills, and apple swells, though wind be in the West,
I'll linger here beneath the Sun, because my land is best!

ENT:
When Winter comes, the winter wild that hill and wood shall slay;
When trees shall fall and starless night devour the sunless day;
When wind is in the deadly East, then in the bitter rain
I'll look for thee, and call to thee; I'll come to thee again!

ENTWIFE:
When Winter comes, and singing ends; when darkness falls at last;
When broken is the barren bough, and light and labour past;
I'll look for thee, and wait for thee, until we meet again:
Together we will tkae the road beneath the bitter rain!

BOTH:
Together we will take the road that leads into the West,
And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest.

geitfaust

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