Duck Lake
Title: | Duck Lake |
Creator: | Don Freed |
Subject: | Lyrics |
Description: | Duck Lake
There’s a little town a short ways north of here A speck upon the prairie And every hand was calloused there when idle hours were few I’d go there as a boy in the long vacation times Tractors purring in the distance – horseflies buzzing I’d roam my uncle’s fields and the sandy roads With a slingshot, my little brother and my cousins. ‘Round that little town with its myth of a rebel A memory of a struggle long ago put down But it’s still around. There’d be people loafing outside the hotel Seldom speaking – never smiling Hellish faces holding empty eyes, like they belonged just to the shadows I was reared to fear them, “Donny don’t go near them They belong on the reservation” Even the jukebox in Perret’s Café said, “Son don’t go near the Indians”. In that little town with its myth of a rebel A memory of a struggle long ago put down But it’s still around. One Saturday night in Perret’s movie house The whole town was there, watching Elvis Presley He slammed a bully against the jukebox and sang a song on his own terms And the movie ended triumphantly There was a burst of applause – felt good to hear it And the shadows left with a spring in their steps Eyes flashing fire with some special spirit. In that little town with its myth of a rebel A memory of a struggle long ago put down But still it hangs around. ©Don Freed |
Type: | Collection |