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We’ve had lyrics as poetry, surely time we did songs that are short stories

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Was listening to the Drive By Truckers magnificent version of 18 Wheels of Love on their splendid At SXSW album and thought how many great songs are actually short stories

Harry Chapin’s Cats in the Cradle is an obvious one, as is Nilsson’s Rainnaker and George Jones’ He Stopped Loving Her Today

So go ahead, fill yer boots as Patterson Hood might say

2

Comments

      • And this classic…

        A holiday, a holiday
        And the first one of the year
        Lord Donald’s wife came into the church
        The gospel for to hear

        And when the meeting, it was done
        She cast her eyes about
        And there she saw little Matty Groves
        Walking in the crowd

        “Come home with me, little Matty Groves
        Come home with me tonight
        Come home with me, little Matty Groves
        And sleep with me ’til light”

        “Oh, I can’t come home, I won’t come home
        And sleep with you tonight
        By the rings on your fingers
        I can tell you are Lord Donald’s wife”

        “But if I am Lord Donald’s wife
        Lord Donald’s not at home
        He is out in the far cornfields
        Bringing the yearlings home”

        And a servant who was standing by
        And hearing what was said
        He swore Lord Donald he would know
        Before the sun would set

        And in his hurry to carry the news
        He bent his breast and ran
        And when he came to the broad mill stream
        He took off his shoes and he swam

        Little Matty Groves, he lay down
        And took a little sleep
        When he awoke, Lord Donald
        Was standing at his feet

        Saying, “How do you like my feather bed
        And how do you like my sheet?
        How do you like my lady
        Who lies in your arms asleep?”

        “Oh well, I like your feather bed
        And well, I like your sheets
        But better I like your lady gay
        Who lies in my arms asleep”

        “Well, get up, get up”, Lord Donald cried
        “Get up as quick as you can
        It’ll never be said in fair England
        I slew a naked man”

        “Oh, I can’t get up, I won’t get up
        I can’t get up for my life
        For you have two long beaten swords
        And I not a pocket knife”

        “Well, it’s true I have two beaten swords
        And they cost me deep in the purse
        But you will have the better of them
        And I will have the worse”

        “And you will strike the very first blow
        And strike it like a man
        I will strike the very next blow
        And I’ll kill you if I can”

        So Matty struck the very first blow
        And he hurt Lord Donald sore
        Lord Donald struck the very next blow
        And Matty struck no more

        And then Lord Donald he took his wife
        And he sat her on his knee
        Saying, “Who do you like the best of us
        Matty Groves or me?”

        And then up spoke his own dear wife
        Never heard to speak so free
        “I’d rather a kiss from dead Matty’s lips
        Than you or your finery”

        Lord Donald, he jumped up
        And loudly he did bawl
        He struck his wife right through the heart
        And pinned her against the wall

        “A grave, a grave”, Lord Donald cried
        “To put these lovers in
        But bury my lady at the top
        For she was of noble kin”

  4. Nope , pop songs are popular songs. Not poetry, not short stories.
    Probably my favourite pop song is Cortez The Killer. Magnificent. Magnificent. Please, please don’t read this

    He came dancing across the water
    With his galleons and guns
    Looking for the new world
    And the palace in the sun
    On the shore lay Montezuma
    With his coca leaves and pearls
    In his halls, he often wandered
    With the secrets of the world
    And his subjects gathered ’round him
    Like the leaves around a tree
    In their clothes of many colors
    For the angry gods to see
    And the women all were beautiful
    And the men stood straight and strong
    They offered life in sacrifice
    So that others could go on
    Hate was just a legend
    And war was never known
    The people worked together
    And they lifted many stones
    And they carried them to the flat lands
    But they died along the way
    And they build up with their bare hands
    What we still can’t do today
    And I know she’s living there
    And she loves me to this day
    I still can’t remember when
    Or how I lost my way
    He came dancing across the water
    Cortez, Cortez
    What a killer

        • @jaygee Quickly, it was an excellent show with an amazing setlist. Only 2 repeats from last year’s CH gig. Cinnamon Girl and Like a Hurricane. I was in the pit at the front and only got there about a minute before he started (20 mins early)

          1. Ambulance Blues
          2. Cowgirl In The Sand
          3. Be The Rain
          4. Cinnamon Girl
          5. Southern Man
          6. Mr. Soul
          7. Tumbleweed
          8. Ohio
          9. Looking Forward
          10. Silver Eagle
          11. Harvest Moon
          12. Daddy Went Walkin’
          13. New Mama
          14. Sun Green
          15. Like A Hurricane
          16. Name Of Love
          17. Old Man

          Encores
          18. This Note’s For You
          19. Rockin’ In The Free World

      • And this.
        Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis

        Hey Charlie I’m pregnant and living on 9th Street
        right above a dirty bookstore off Euclid Avenue
        and I stopped takin dope and I quit drinkin whiskey
        and my old man plays the trombone and works out at the track

        he says that he loves me even though it’s not his baby
        he says that he’ll raise him up like he would his own son
        and he gave me a ring that was worn by his mother
        and he takes me out dancin every Saturday night

        and hey Charlie I think about you everytime I pass a fillin station
        on account of all the grease you used to wear in your hair
        and I still have that record of Little Anthony and the Imperials
        but someone stole my record player now how do you like that?

        hey Charlie I almost went crazy after Mario got busted
        I went back to Omaha to live with my folks
        but everyone I used to know was either dead or in prison
        so I came back to Minneapolis this time I think I’m gonna stay

        hey Charlie I think I’m happy for the first time since my accident
        and I wish I had all the money we used to spend on dope
        I’d buy me a used car lot and I wouldn’t sell any of em
        I’d just drive a different car every day dependin on how I feel

        hey Charlie for chrissakes if you want to know the truth of it
        I don’t have a husband he don’t play the trombone
        I need to borrow money to pay this lawyer and Charlie hey
        I’ll be eligible for parole come Valentine’s day

  9. A little vignette on male pride, a loved one taken for granted and leaving – and regrets, too late…

    On Tuesdays, she used to do yoga, while I’d sit and watch the box in a vegetable way – but always ready to say to myself that I was an “artist”, implying that she was not.
    It’s funny the way that self-pity can take over from self-esteem.
    Well, I was the Prince of Pride and though I’d cheat, I never lied –
    As if that were enough to make her happy!
    As if that could satisfy her dreams!

    It’s too late now to say that I’m so sorry,
    Too late to say that I can change and mend.
    The things that hurt – she didn’t need to worry – she always knew I’d get there in the end.

    Now I’m tying myself up in contortions: don’t know if yoga will do me any good.
    It’s about time I tried – though I’d rather be inside from the cold, studying tantra…still, I never did that when I could.
    I never did the things that really mattered: there seemed to be some key I couldn’t find to unlock myself.
    I could have done it with her help – but I was too busy scrabbling for each moment…now I don’t know what I did with all the time. Sometimes I’d play the “wild rover,” sometimes I’d just get smashed all day…

    On Tuesdays she used to do yoga:
    On Tuesday she went away.

  12. Bowie: Uncle Arthur, The London Boys, The Little Bombardier, There Is A Happy Land, The Wild-Eyed Boy From Freecloud, God Knows I’m Good, Cygnet Committee etc etc.

    Oh, and The Laughing Gnome, of course!

  14. There’s a whole load of Gretchen Peters songs that fit the bill but I will go with Five Minutes:

    I’ve got five minutes to sneak a cigarette
    Five minutes to myself
    Back behind the screen door of Andy’s luncheonette
    And I ain’t got time to worry ’bout my health
    My boss Andy says I smoke myself to death
    Andy he reminds me some of you
    Back when you were Romeo and I was Juliet
    West Texas Capulet and Montague
    Now I don’t think too much about you anymore
    We weren’t much more than kids
    It was nearly twenty years ago I shut and locked that door
    Now I’ve got five minutes
    Not much time to reminisce
    Most nights I come home from work and I pour a glass of wine
    Sometimes it’s three or four before I stop
    And Jessie makes a sandwich if I sleep through suppertime
    And she leaves me on the couch to sleep it off
    Now Jessie just turned 17 and she’s wild as she can be
    And there ain’t nothin’ I can do
    Last weekend she ran off to meet a boy in Tennessee
    Just like I used to run to you
    I gave her hell when she came home this afternoon
    Mascara runnin’ down her face
    Seems like history repeats itself, and it ain’t up to you
    And in five minutes
    Your whole life can change
    Andy he’s good to me, and I can see it in his eyes
    He’d love to take your place
    But somethin’ deep inside me just withers up and dies
    To make love to him and only see your face
    Somehow I’ve let myself go gently down the stream
    A fine example I have set
    Between the working and the livin’ and the ghosts that haunt my dreams
    I’ve got five minutes and I’m gonna smoke this cigarette

  15. God in Chicago – Craig Finn. A novel
    In 4 minutes

    Her mom found her brother
    Then she found the container wrapped up in a newspaper
    Stuffed in a duffel bag with hockey pads
    And seven grand in rubber bands
    We didn’t speak at the service
    But then later, a message from a number that wasn’t familiar said
    “Hey it’s Charlie’s sister, would you do me a favor?
    There’s unfinished business
    It’s roughly the size of a baseball”
    I said I wasn’t totally sure, but yeah I could probably call someone
    I knew this kid from my dorm when I went to school in Wisconsin
    My two semesters were a total disaster, and he was part of the problem
    Hadn’t talked in forever
    But Wayne from Winnetka picked up on the first ring
    I explained the situation
    He said he’d be interested, but we’d have to come to him
    We said lunch time on Wednesday
    A Mexican restaurant a mile north of Midway
    He worked for his father’s shipping company out west of the city
    Right now I’m not working
    She said we could split it
    Just glad to be finished and not even tempted
    But it’s so goddamn sad in her house right now
    He’s still here in everything
    She just needs a break from it
    Said she wants to come with
    We left really early
    Went from St. Paul to Cicero
    In my Chevrolet that didn’t have any radio
    Had a boombox in the back seat that was running out of batteries
    Played 1999 and Led Zeppelin III
    When the tape deck got all wobbly
    She still sang the harmonies
    The transaction was easy
    My buddy looked similar, just a little bit heavier
    And counting all the money in front of him seemed silly
    This isn’t the movies
    It was over so quickly
    Wayne got in his car
    Drove into the sunset, turned left onto Cermak
    She turned to me and said
    I’ve never been to Chicago
    I’ve got nothing going on tomorrow
    Maybe we could stay here tonight
    Lose ourselves in the glass and light
    I’ve never been to Chicago
    I’ve got nothing going on tomorrow
    Maybe we could stay here tonight
    Lose ourselves in the glass and light
    We got a room at the Hyatt
    Michigan Avenue, I can still picture you
    We each got a toothbrush at Walgreens
    We drank in the taverns, we ate somewhere Italian
    Then she’s on the sidewalk
    Trying to ask for a cigarette from oncoming traffic
    I felt God in the buildings
    The light from the skyscrapers showing up in the river
    And four years didn’t seem like much anymore
    We both want the same things
    We kiss on the corner
    We kiss in the corridors
    We fumbled with clothing
    We all want the same things
    And then it was morning
    We drove back all hungover
    And all the way to Eau Claire, she played with her hair
    Came up on St. Paul and she was sobbing

  19. Decemberists – The Tain. Or the Mariners Revenge Song.

    King of Rome,
    Famous Flower of Seving Men
    The Gypsy (MrFox)
    Band Played Waltzin Matilda. and what seemed like most early 70s folk and folk rock output

    Billy Don’t Be a Hero

    I’ll stop there.

  22. 1952 Vincent Black Lightning – Richard Thompson

    Says Red Molly, to James, “Well that’s a fine motorbike
    A girl could feel special on any such like”
    Says James, to Red Molly, “My hat’s off to you
    It’s a Vincent Black Lightning, 1952
    And I’ve seen you on the corners and cafes, it seems
    Red hair and black leather, my favorite color scheme”
    And he pulled her on behind
    And down to Boxhill
    They’d Ride
    Says James, to Red Molly, “Here’s a ring for your right hand
    But I’ll tell you in earnest I’m a dangerous man
    For I’ve fought with the law since I was seventeen
    I’ve robbed many a man to get my Vincent machine
    And now I’m twenty-one years, I might make twenty-two
    And I don’t mind dyin’ but for the love of you
    But if fate should break my stride, then I’ll give you my Vincent, To Ride”
    “Come down Red Molly, ” called Sargent McQuade
    “For they’ve taken young James Aidee for Armed Robbery
    Shotgun blast hit his chest, left nothing inside
    Oh, come down, Red Molly, to his dying bedside”
    When she came to the hospital, there wasn’t much left
    He was runnin’ out of road. He was runnin’ out of breath
    But he smiled, to see her cry
    And said, “I’ll give you my Vincent
    To Ride”
    Said James, “In my opinion, there’s nothing in this world
    Beats a ’52 Vincent and a Redheaded girl
    Now Nortons and Indians and Greevses won’t do
    Oh, they don’t have a Soul like a Vincent ’52”
    Well he reached for her hand and he slipped her the keys
    He said, “I’ve got no further use for these
    I see Angels on Ariels in leather and chrome
    Swoopin’ down from Heaven to carry me home”
    And he gave her one last kiss and died
    And he gave her his Vincent
    To Ride

  25. The Road Goes On Forever – Robert Earl Keen

    Sherry was a waitress at the only joint in town
    She had a reputation as a girl who’d been around
    Down Main Street after midnight, brand new pack of cigs
    A fresh one hangin’ from her lips, a beer between her legs
    She’d ride down to the river and meet with all her friends
    The road goes on forever and the party never ends

    Sonny was a loner, older than the rest
    He was goin’ in the Navy but couldn’t pass the test
    So he hung around town, he sold a little pot
    The law caught wind of Sonny and one day he got caught
    But he was back in business when they set him free again
    The road goes on forever and the party never ends

    Sonny’s playing eight-ball at the joint where Sherry works
    When some drunken out-of-towner put his hand up Sherry’s skirt
    Sonny took his pool cue, laid the drunk out on the floor
    Stuffed a dollar in her tip jar, walked on out the door
    She’s runnin’ right behind him, reaching for his hand
    The road goes on forever and the party never ends

    They jumped into his pickup, Sonny jammed her down in gear
    Sonny looked at Sherry, said “Let’s get on outta here”
    The stars were high above ’em, the moon was in the east
    The sun was settin’ on ’em when they reached Miami Beach
    They got a hotel by the water and a quart of Bombay gin
    The road goes on forever and the party never ends

    They soon ran out of money but Sonny knew a man
    Who knew some Cuban refugees that dealt in contraband
    Sonny met the Cubans in a house just off the route
    With a briefcase full of money and a pistol in his boot
    The cards were on the table when The Law came bustin’ in
    The road goes on forever and the party never ends

    The Cubans grabbed the goodies, Sonny grabbed the Jack
    He broke a bathroom window and climbed on out the back
    Sherry drove the pickup through the alley on the side
    Where a lawman tackled Sonny and was readin’ him his rights
    She stepped out in the alley with a single-shot .410
    The road goes on forever and the party never ends

    They left the lawman lyin’ and they made their getaway
    Got back to the motel just before the break of day
    Sonny gave her all the money and he blew a little kiss
    “If they ask you how this happened, say I forced you into this”
    She watched him as his tail lights disappeared around the bend
    The road goes on forever and the party never ends

    It’s Main Street after midnight just like it was before
    Twenty-one months later at the local grocery store
    Sherry buys a paper and a cold six-pack of beer
    The headlines read that Sonny is goin’ to the chair
    She pulls back onto Main Street in her new Mercedes Benz
    The road goes on forever and the party never ends

  26. Folk and country are the perfect idioms for the long tale narrative. So much so that, for the former, the news was often transmitted in the medium of song, murder ballads being one especially good example, then crossing back and forth across the Atlantic, becoming less “new” and ever more embellished.
    Mainly Norfolk is a good site for investigating this sort of song. Here’s an example, the song then subject to some commentary about the whole phenomenon of hand me down song traditions.
    https://mainlynorfolk.info/lloyd/songs/themillersapprentice.html

  27. Jason Isbell does noir. Cormac McCarthy would be proud.

    “Yvette”

    I can barely make out a little light from the house on the cul-de-sac
    A bedroom upstairs, it’s a family affair

    I’ve watched you in class, your eyes are cut glass and you stay covered up
    Head to your toes, so nobody will notice you

    I might not be a man yet, but that bastard will never be
    So I’m cleaning my Weatherby
    I sight in my scope, and I hope against hope, I hope against hope

    Your mother seems nice, I don’t understand why she won’t say anything
    As if she can’t see who he turned out to be

    I might not be a man yet, but your father will never be
    So I load up my Weatherby
    I let out my breath, and I couple with death, I couple with death

    Saw your father last night, in the window the light made a silhouette
    Saw him hold you that way,
    He won’t hold you that way anymore, Yvette

  28. Unless my scrolling has slipped past it, I haven’t yet seen this little yarn:

    Lowell drops a verse or so, but it’s a great performance anyway. The full recorded version tells even more of the torrid story.

  29. Louise by Paul Siebel

    All in two verses!!
    “Well they all said Louise was not half bad
    It was written on the walls and window shades
    And how she’d act the little girl
    A deceiver, don’t believe her that’s her trade
    Sometimes a bottle of perfume,
    Flowers and maybe some lace
    Men brought Louise ten cent trinkets
    Their intentions were easily traced
    Yes and everybody knew at times she cried
    But women like Louise they get by
    Well everybody thought it kind of sad
    When they found Louise in her room
    They’d always put her down below their kind
    Still some cried when she died this afternoon
    Lousie rode home on the mail train
    Somewhere to the south I heard it said
    Too bad it ended so ugly,
    Too bad she had to go this way
    Ah but the wind is blowing cold tonight
    So good night Louise, good night”

  30. Jets To Brazil’s Conrad is a sad and tender vignette of someone ending their life, and a great piece of capsule storytelling

    A hounds-tooth coat
    Pockets are bulging with Nembutal, bought from some doctor
    Who also was bought to keep those pockets full.
    The face was lost, partly recovered.
    I’m half asleep, half in a frenzy
    One side tries to smile enough for two

    Pictures remain, spit at the image,
    Cupboards well-stocked with things to diminish
    The pain that comes with clarity and mirrors in well-lit rooms.

    She checks in, in dwindling daylight,
    A week up front, asks not to be bothered.
    The registry will show her mother’s name.
    Locks the door, sits on the bed just a minute before
    She picks her purse up from the floor.
    She’s pulling out what she needs.

    Warming her wrists in promising water
    Somebody’s love, another one’s daughter,
    Readies herself, apologizing to the motel maids

    Double edged and super blue, vertically letting the light from you
    Casting a new darkness through the room
    Angels lay their odds on you, know not quite what they should do
    Only that they can’t quite tear themselves from the view.

  31. And this could be a film, if you like depressing desert noir.
    Townes Van Zandt/Marie

    “I stood in line and left my name
    Took about six hours or so
    Well, the man just grinned like it was all a game
    Said they’d let me know
    I put in my time ’till the Pocono line
    Shut down two years ago
    I was staying at the mission till I met Marie
    Now I can’t stay there no more

    ‘Fella ‘cross town said he’s lookin’ for a man
    To move some old cars around
    Maybe me and Marie could find a burned-out van
    Do a little settlin’ down
    Aw, but I’m just dreamin’, I ain’t got no ride
    And the junkyard’s a pretty good ways
    That job’s about a half week old besides
    It’d be gone now anyway

    Unemployment said I got no more checks
    And they showed me to the hall
    My brother died in Georgia some time ago
    I got no one left to call
    Summer wasn’t bad below the bridge
    A little short on food that’s all
    Now I gotta get Marie some kind of coat
    We’re headed down into fall

    I used to play the mouth harp pretty good
    Hustled up a little dough
    but I got drunk and I woke up rolled
    A couple of months ago
    They got my harp and they got my dollar
    Them low life so-and-sos
    Harps cost money and I ain’t got it
    It’s my own fault I suppose

    Well the Pocono’s down but the Chesapeake’s runnin’
    Two freights everyday
    If it was just me I’d be headed south
    But Marie can’t catch no train
    She’s got some pain and she thinks it’s a baby,
    Says we gotta wait and see
    In my heart I know it’s a little boy
    Hope he don’t end up like me

    Well, the man’s still grinnin’ says he lost my file
    I gotta stand in line again
    I want to kill him but I just say, “no,
    I had enough of that line my friend”
    I head back to the bridge, its getting kinda cold
    I’m feelin’ too low down to lie
    I guess I’ll just tell Marie the truth
    Hope she don’t break down and cry

    Marie, she didn’t wake up this morning
    She didn’t even try
    She just rolled over and went to heaven
    My little boy safe inside
    I laid ’em in the sun where somebody’d find ’em
    caught a Chesapeake on the fly
    Marie will know I’m headed south
    So’s to meet me by and by
    Aw, Marie will know I’m headed south
    so to meet me by and by”

  32. Arguably, the OP should have been titled “We’ve had lyrics as poetry, surely time we did Americana songs that are short stories”.

    That would cover 94.86% of this thread. Interesting…

  33. Laurie Anderson – The Dream Before

    Hansel and Gretel are alive and well
    And they’re living in Berlin
    She is a cocktail waitress
    He had a part in a Fassbinder film

    And they sit around at night now
    Drinking schnapps and gin
    And she says, ‘Hansel, you’re really bringing me down.’
    And he says, ‘Gretel, you can really be a bitch.’

    He says, I’ve wasted my life on our stupid legend
    When my one and only love was the wicked witch

    She said, What is history?
    And he said, History is an angel
    Being blown
    Backwards
    Into the future
    He said: History is a pile of debris
    And the angel wants to go back and fix things
    To repair the things that have been broken

    But there is a storm blowing from Paradise
    And the storm keeps blowing the angel
    Backwards
    Into the future

    And this storm, this storm
    Is called
    Progress

    ___
    A short story with multiple layers
    https://www.bbc.co.uk/culture/article/20160401-how-klees-angel-of-history-took-flight

  34. Steve Earle’s “Taneytown” from the brilliant “El Corazón” album:

    I went down to Taneytown
    I went down to Taneytown
    To see what I could see
    My mama told me never go
    I’m damn near 22 years old
    Sometimes I fear this holler swollow me
    She ran off to Gettysburg
    Went off with that new boy of hers
    I snuck off after dark
    It’s long way down the county road
    Stars were bright
    And the moon was low
    Down to where the black top highway starts
    I went down to Taneytown
    I went down to Taneytown
    I went down to see what I could see
    Now everybody stared at me
    You’d think that they ain’t never seen
    A colored boy before
    They chunked at me at me
    And they called me names
    They’d have whipped me sure but the sheriff came
    I slipped off, ran through the dry goods store
    I ran down Division Street
    Some of them boys followed me
    Down to the railroad track
    Well, there’s four of them and I can’t fight
    But I got my old Randall knife
    I cut that boy and I never did look back
    I went down to Taneytown
    I went down to Taneytown
    I went down to see what I could see
    Cross the fields and woods I run
    Like a bullet from a rabbit gun
    Back home to my bed
    Ma came in from Gettysburg
    Her and that new boy of hers
    “Boy you look like hell” was all she said
    Month went by without a word
    Somebody down the holler heard
    About that boy they hung
    He begged those men to spare his life
    But I dropped my bloody Randall knife
    He picked it up so they thought he was the one
    I went down to Taneytown
    I went down to Taneytown
    I ain’t goin’ back there anymore

  37. Leo Kottke’s wonderful cover of Tom T Hall’s Pamela Brown

    When I first heard the song (when LK supported TMT on the HH tour
    In 1978), I thought he sang the line

    “Especially for what she did FOR me”

    as

    “Especially for what she did TO me”

    Which changes the whole mood and meaning of the song from one
    of yearning for a lost love to bitterness at being left lost and rootless.

    Great song whichever way you look at it

  38. Two songs with twists:
    “The Hangman and The Papist” Strawbs
    “Shirt of Blue”. The Men They Could Not Hang.

    My favourite story songwriter: Stan Ridgway. He wrote a lot more than “Camouflage” you know.

  40. (A bit of science fiction: a cautionary tale of the fate awaiting the first astronauts to travel faster than the speed of light…)

    We left the Earth in 1983, fingers groping for the galaxies.
    Reddened eyes stared up into the void: a thousand stars to be exploited.
    Somebody help me, I’m falling into sky, into earth, into sky, into earth.
    It is so dark around: no life, no hope, no sound, no chance of seeing home again.

    The universe is on fire, exploding without flame
    We are the lost ones, we are the pioneers…we are the lost ones.
    We are the ones they were going to build a statue for, ten centuries ago –
    or were going to, fifteen forward.

    One last brief whisper in our loved ones’ ears, to reassure them and to pierce the fear.
    Standing at controls then still unknown, we told the world we were about to go.
    Somebody help me, I’m missing…
    I touch with my mind, I have no frame.
    Well now, where is the time? And who the hell am I, here floating in an aimless way?

    No one knows where we are.
    Though they can’t feel us precisely, there is no fear here: how could such a thing exist in this place, where living and knowing and being have never been heard of, have never been heard of?
    Doomed to vanish in the flickering light, disappearing to a darker night
    Doomed to wander in a living death, living anti-matter, anti-breath.
    Somebody help me, I’m losing, people around, no one to touch…

    I am now quite alone, part of a vacant time-zone
    Floating in the void, only dimly aware of existence –
    A dimly existing awareness.

    I am the lost one, I am the one you fear…I am the lost one.
    I am the one who crossed through space, or stayed where I was –
    Or didn’t exist in the first place.

  41. I would imagine Ray Davies would provide a few good scenarios, he’brough our a collection of short stories called Waterloo Sunset.

    Village Green Preservation Society would lend itself to a short crime novel a la Midsomer Murders poisoned jam at the village fete (worse than death)

  43. I suppose it counts as Americana, but I love this by Rhiannon Giddens. The end is devastating. Like all good short stories, it leaves you filling in all that isn’t said.

    Julie oh Julie
    Won’t you run
    ‘Cause I see down yonder
    The soldiers have come
    Julie oh Julie
    Can’t you see
    That them devils have come
    To take you far from me

    Mistress oh mistress
    I won’t run
    ‘Cause I see down yonder
    The soldiers have come
    Mistress oh mistress
    I do see
    And I’ll stay right here
    Till they come for me

    Julie oh Julie
    You won’t go
    Leave this house
    And all you know
    Julie oh Julie
    Don’t leave here
    Leave us who love you
    And all you hold dear

    Mistress oh mistress
    I will go
    Leave this house and all I know
    Mistress oh mistress
    I will leave here
    With what family I got left
    They’re all I hold dear

    Julie oh Julie
    Won’t you lie
    If they find that trunk of gold by my side
    Julie oh Julie
    You tell them men
    That that trunk of gold
    Is yours my friend

    Mistress oh mistress
    I won’t lie
    If they find that trunk of gold by your side
    Mistress oh mistress
    That trunk of gold
    Is what you got
    When my children you sold

    Mistress oh mistress
    Don’t you cry
    The price of staying here is too high
    Mistress oh mistress
    I wish you well
    But in leaving here
    I’m leavin’ hell

  46. The above reminded me of this, if for no discernible reason:

    “Bentley said to Craig “Let him have it Chris”
    They still don`t know today just what he meant by this
    Bentley said to Craig “Let him have it Chris”
    They still don`t know today just what he meant by this
    Craig fired the pistol, but was too young to swing
    So the police took Bentley and the very next thing
    Let him dangle
    Let him dangle
    Bentley had surrendered, he was under arrest,
    When he gave Chris Craig that fatal request
    Craig shot Sidney Miles, he took Bentley`s word
    The prosecution claimed as they charged them with murder
    Let him dangle
    Let him dangle
    They say Derek Bentley was easily led
    Well what`s that to the woman that Sidney Miles wed
    Though guilty was the verdict, and Craig had shot him dead
    The gallows were for Bentley and still she never said
    Let him dangle
    Let him dangle
    Well it`s hard to imagine it`s the times that have changed
    When there`s a murder in the kitchen that is brutal and strange
    If killing anybody is a terrible crime
    Why does this bloodthirsty chorus come round from time to time
    Let him dangle
    Not many people thought that Bentley would hang
    But the word never came, the phone never rang
    Outside Wandsworth Prison there was horror and hate
    As the hangman shook Bentley`s hand to calculate his weight
    Let him dangle
    From a welfare state to society murder
    Bring “back the noose” is always heard
    Whenever those swine are under attack
    But it won`t make you even
    It won`t bring him back
    Let him dangle
    Let him dangle (String him up)”

  48. The Gift by The Velvet Underground. It’s a short story set to music as opposed a song that could be a short story but I think that the voice, the music, the context of the rest of the record all make it more than just a rather juvenile tale. I used to listen to it on one channel only, without the words.

  50. Ode to Billie Joe: Bobbie Gentry 1967

    Such a mysterious tale. A film was made about it a few years ago.

    Was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day
    I was out choppin’ cotton and my brother was balin’ hay
    And at dinnertime we stopped and walked back to the house to eat
    And Mama hollered out the back door y’all remember to wipe your feet
    And then she said I got some news this mornin’ from Choctaw Ridge
    Today Billie Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge
    And Papa said to Mama as he passed around the blackeyed peas
    Well, Billie Joe never had a lick of sense, pass the biscuits please
    There’s five more acres in the lower forty I got to plow
    And Mama said it was shame about Billie Joe, anyhow
    Seems like nothin’ ever comes to no good up on Choctaw Ridge
    And now Billie Joe MacAllister’s jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge
    And Brother said he recollected when he and Tom and Billie Joe
    Put a frog down my back at the Carroll County picture show
    And wasn’t I talkin’ to him after church last Sunday night?
    I’ll have another piece of apple pie, you know it don’t seem right
    I saw him at the sawmill yesterday on Choctaw Ridge
    And now you tell me Billie Joe’s jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge
    Mama said to me, Child, what’s happened to your appetite?
    I’ve been cookin’ all mornin’ and you haven’t touched a single bite
    That nice young preacher, Brother Taylor, dropped by today
    Said he’d be pleased to have dinner on Sunday, oh, by the way
    He said he saw a girl that looked a lot like you up on Choctaw Ridge
    And she and Billie Joe was throwing somethin’ off the Tallahatchie Bridge
    A year has come and gone since we heard the news ’bout Billie Joe
    And brother married Becky Thompson, they bought a store in Tupelo
    There was a virus goin’ ’round, Papa caught it and he died last spring
    And now mama doesn’t seem to wanna do much of anything
    And me, I spend a lot of time pickin’ flowers up on Choctaw Ridge
    And drop them into the muddy water off the Tallahatchie Bridge

  51. Warren Zevon – Jeannie Needs A Shooter
    Various singers – Long Black Veil
    Johnny Cash – I Hung My Head

    This.

    Diamanda Galás – 25 Minutes To Go

  58. What more fitting way to bring up the ton than by featuring the wonderful David Bromberg (accompanied by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s John McKuen) doing a typically compelling version of one of the greatest short story songs of them all – Jerry Jeff Walker’s Mr Bojangles

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