The RabbleBerries —
2015 “Pie” CD:
The Song Lyrics

01) Scattin’ Your Tune
02) Bright Strands
03) Here’s to Mother Nature
04) Baltimore Conscript
05) Pastry in the Sky
06) Troublemaker
07) The Perfect Stranger
08) Cape Scott Lament
09) For England
10) The Sentinel’s Song
11) Draglines
12) Lighter than Air
13) Hannibal Crossed the Alps
14) Swimming With Hippos
15) Ogopogo
16) Song for Fallen Red Leaves
17) Solstice Song
18) Ms. Miles
19) Gather the Elements
20) Family Car
21) Keel-Haul ’em All

“Pie” (RABBLE 02)

The Song Lyrics

Scattin’ Your Tune  (Alan O’Dean, ©1988)

Mornin’ ain’t far away and I cain’t say if it’s the
Coffee or that dinner-plate moon
Flat on my back I’m lyin’, wigglin’ my foot in time
Wide awake and scattin’ yo’ tune

It’s been hours since I went to bed, my busy head is full of
All the nutty things you say and do
You fluff up my mood so quick, gives me such a kick
’cause that’s what I love most about you

| I used to have a house with ev’rything in its spot till you
| Come bustin’ right in and now my system is shot
| We’ll be meetin’ tomorrow nightguess it’s just my plight
| To be wide awake and scattin’ yo’ tune

Doo wadd-y ho dat bobb-a-loo-ey, wad-ja dib-bo dab-bo
Reet dow dow-mh!-ma 'Bam-a shoo-ga-boo-ga
Sham-ma ma shoo, sha-moog-a shay Mish-i-gam moom, in Joom?
Ga-bleez-up! Bo wee-bo! goo-mao goo-mao-mao brbrbrbr app-a-fack-ey
Hugh-ee-Lou-ee-Dew-ee, wa-Zoo, wa-Zoo, wa-Zoo

It’s my way of thanking you to write you a song or two
But hon, what did you see in such a dude?
I love what a mess you made, you surely weren’t afraid
To wade right in and adjust my attitude

Bright Strands  (Karen Gillmore, ©2005)

I paint the bright strands of my ancestors’ lands
Fragments of music flow through my hands
Covering pages with spiral and maze
Back through the ages my memories gaze :

: And the silver moon goes ’round the earth
: And we around the golden sun
: The spinning years reach out to us
: And ’round them we will run, will run
: And ’round them we will run

In melodies twining, on old parchment shining
A secret long kept in a cloud’s silver lining
Encoded in spirals, encoded in genes
Bequeathed by peasants and passed on by queens :

An essence in stories, disgraces and glories
Triumph transcendent and everyday worries
Distilled in these knots that I carefully weave
Are legends and melodies, things to believe :

Through all of the ages wise women and sages
Lay down their lives in song and on pages
Continuing patterns, evolving creations
Weaving the fabric of all our relations :

Here’s to Mother Nature   (© Lou & Peter Berryman)

Note: Lou and Peter have given us their permission to display their lyrics here. THANK YOU!
Please check out their website:

She made Kelowna peaches, the long Tofino beaches
 Cliffs along the moonlit bay
The lindens and the larches, the metatarsal arches
 Molybdenum and DNA
Here’s to Mother Nature, here’s to Mother Nature
 For dreaming up the moon and sun
We’d better break it gently, it seems that evidently
 Nearly all her work is done, and she’s been :

: Standin’ in the way of progress, someone oughta sit her down
: Except a coupla window boxes, she doesn’t have a place in town
: We appreciate her efforts, but we ought to make it clear
: She’s standin’ in the way of progresswe can take it on from here

She said, “I beg your pardon, but can’t you spare my garden
 When you put your pipeline through
Your wires and your towers electrocute the flowers
 Can’t you spare the birdbath, too?”
Here’s to Mother Nature, here’s to Mother Nature
 I do believe she works quite hard
But there is only one way we can build a runway
 And that is through her big backyard, for she’s been :

We tolerate her twisters, poison ivy blisters
 Learn to love her droughts and floods
We do a couple dishes, she bellies up the fishes
 Blame it on a few soap suds
Here’s to Mother Nature, here’s to Mother Nature
 A little overworked, no doubt
I hope that she can make it, she doesn’t seem to take it
 As well as she can dish it out, but she’s been :

No one would deny ’er the option to retire
 We’ll throw the gal a great big roast
Mr. Iacocca will teach her how to polka
 Conrad Black will make a toast
Here’s to Mother Nature, here’s to Mother Nature
 We’ll put her in a lovely home
Cupid spends his days there, and now that Santa stays there
 She will never be alone, and she’s been… :

Note: Lou and Peter Berrymanwhere do they get this stuff?are still writing their cracked songs about human self-persuasion and bombast, folk myths and family drama. The new ones are just as good as the old onesthere’s no replacing any of them, so grows their catalogue of perennial delights, each hilarious addition a fresh bouquet of astonishments and aliens. Ostensibly a well-oiled team like Leiber & Stoller or the Gershwins, they are happy to reveal that the origins of their creativity include misreading bad handwriting.

Baltimore Conscript  (Alan O’Dean, ©2010)

A Baltimore birthplace gave her speed and grace
Chesapeake gentry hired a cut-rate crew
To follow the wind or close agin her
See another timely cargo through

Happened the Eagle to come and join us
So we must run where we can’t be found
Run like a hellion into the storm
Should the master care if debtors drown? :

: Come aboard brokers, see-gar smokers
: Seal your deals on deck, your glasses hoist
: Take your horse-and-buggy back to town
: In your continued health we do rejoice

: Billowing canvas pulling us seaward
: Where next we’re bound, ’tis not our choice
: For the master’s paid to beat us down
: And in courts of law we have no voice

Every man dreams of slipping to freedom
Casting his lot to the wind and wave
Or drinking his fill till the master finds him
Feels the club if he will not behave

Foamy white cloud-bank on the horizon
From the top I’d spy the whole world ’round
I would partake there of sunny fairgrounds
Lacking masters paid to beat us down : :

The American Revolution didn’t have a very tidy ending; both sides remained intransigent, regarding each other’s coastline as fair game. British impressment and blockades were met with piracy and blockade-running. The type of fast, manoeuvrable craft proven to be adept in these encounters was ripely hated by the Royal Navy, and well-marked for reprisal by 1812 was their origin in shipyards throughout the Chesapeake Bay area but particularly those at Fell’s Point in Baltimore. Resumption of warfare found the US infant Navy with only three frigates, although among the small stuff were what they had been calling “pilot schooners”, versatile two-masted vessels from Baltimore. The fruitless Chesapeake Campaign of 1814 and the subsequent debacle at New Orleans brought an end to British economic incursions and legendised the Baltimore schooners, by 1830 called “clippers”, as were all the latest and most rakish ships of the day capable of taking heavy seas “at a clip”. By definition, a proper “ship” is supposed to have three masts completely square-rigged. Back then schooners and even some sloops carried at least one square topsail and the manpower to set it for a run downwind or furl it when close-hauled.

Manpower was not a problem if you knew what you sought. Most of the vessels built during conflict had militarised crews for the brigs and large schooners, while the smaller privateers and merchant vessels were run as an enterprise by colleagues sharing in the spoils and risks according to the Articles of Piracy, a code seldom violated by even the worst of those involved. The nature of the speedy Baltimore clipper with its small hold lent it to trafficking in illicit, perishable cargos (like slaves) and contraband, for which crews would likely consist of convicts and conscripted debtors, and for whom management owned no enforceable liability, keeping a few bullies close at hand for crowd control. The term “master” was, and is, interchangeable with “captain”, but the golden age of piracy elevated the lowly office of quartermaster to second-in-command status, with the power to veto the captain’s orders (save whilst under challenge of storm, wreck or gunfire), and charged to mete out punishment in maintenance of discipline.

So far as I can say, in twenty years haunted by this wistful tune, episodic research finds its sole appearance on a recording called The Wind in the Rigging featuring over a dozen musicians playing nautical melodies. It was produced by Otis Read in 1988 for the New England Music Collection. “Baltimore Clipper” was played by Everett Brown, David Peloquin and Jon Campbell. The only copyright is claimed by North Star Records, clearly intended to protect the album against unauthorised duplication.

Tidewater Triumph: the development and worldwide success of the Chesapeake Bay pilot schooner. Geoffrey M. Footner. Mystic Seaport Museum: 1998.
Greyhounds of the Sea. Carl C. Cutler. 1930, 3rd ed. Naval Institute Press: 1984.
Journal of Joseph Valpey, Jr., of Salem. Ann Arbor: 1922. Valpey was a privateer during the War of 1812 and gives a colourful and detailed account.

Pastry in the Sky  (Karen Gillmore, ©2009)

The jester shines the starlight down a million darkened wells
And the scientist holds the lantern over microscopic hells
The singer lifts the frilly skirts of random sacred cows
The naked, shivering emperor swears patriotic vows :

: We’re all just searching for that pastry in the sky
: Looking for the apple that will fit into our eye
: A tinker bell to live inside our private bedtime tale
: Rummaging for bargains in an infinite yard sale

The virgin longs to give it all and be kept in return
The miser longs to take it back, though money often burns
The soldier wants his glory until it comes around
The hare that flees the hunters only wants to go to ground :

Well, you and me, we’re really not as sane as all of that
Philosophies of heav’n and earth are mostly just old hat
But still we try to bend the light through prisms of our own
In hopes of making rainbows out of sparks and old rhinestones :

Troublemaker   (© Maria Dunn, 2001)

Note: Maria Dunn has given us her permission to display her lyrics here.
THANK YOU! Please check out her website:
Maria Dunn’s own recording of Troublemaker appears on her 2001 CD
“We Were Good People”, available at

They call me “troublemaker” ’cause I’m finally sayin’ No
I’ve been workin’ hard and yet my pay is still so low
But when I spoke my mind they said :

: “Troublemaker’s gotta go, troublemaker,
: Troublemaker’s got to go, troublemaker, troublemaker”

They call me “greedy worker” ’cause I want my rollback back
In my employer’s time of need I tried to help them get on track
And now I ask to share in the profits, they say :

They call me “troublemaker” ’cause I walk that picket line
Telling this new contractor they’ve taken what is mine
But when I walked where I’d be seen, they said :

They call me “scare monger” because I won’t agree
To someone making profits from the healthcare that we need
And when I asked “Who’s making the money”, they said :

They call me “troublemaker” ’cause I’m gonna demonstrate
And make sure human rights don’t take a back seat to world trade
But as I blocked their pipeline, they said :

They call me “an idealist” ’cause I want to close the gap
The poor are getting poorer in B.C.’s ample lap
So next time I cast my vote, I’ll say :

The Perfect Stranger  (Sharon Hazelwood & Alan O’Dean, ©2007)

I am a perfect stranger, your ignorance is to my gain
Both Reds and Greens decry me, but you don’t listen to them
I thieve the common treasure; your government’s key unlocks the gate
For I keep them in my service and not much happens to them :

: I will own your water like I own the trees
: You’ll be bogged to the knees in technicalities
: By the time you realise what I’ve done
: I’ll be long, gone, travelled on

: When I feed, I exceed my need
: As above, so below swim a [power of ten] of me
: By the time you realise what we’ve done
: We’ll be long-gone, travelled on

Around the clock I’m mining the mineral wealth of Canada
Quick bucks are what I’m seeking for a future squandered away
I buy the land around you, “development” is all I have to say
And the price goes up like magic, then I sell and it’s been a good day :

And all I do is “legalor close enough” gets a chuckle every time from the
Sharp young blades on Howe St. who’ll be running for office someday
As for the opposition, their fractured camp with rage so damp
They can’t get any traction, and that’s another thing going my way :

Cape Scott Lament, or “The Witness Tree”  (Alan O’Dean, ©1980)

I can still hear speaking, screen door creaking
Someone must be peekingme alone
You were once my neighbours, did me favours
Now you’ve ceased your labours, left your homes :

: Heartless promises unfulfilled
: Secrets from across the sea
: Scraps & messages, poems and wills
: Nail ’em to the Witness Tree

Oh, the land treats cruel the gift of tulips
We were made so foolish, full of doubt
Signs are pointing southward, northward, eastward
Any way but inward, all point out :

: Heartless promises unfulfilled
: Secrets from across the sea
: Scraps and messages, poems and wills
: Nail ’em to the Witness Tree |

| The Witness Tree, the Witness Tree,
| Nail ’em to the Witness Tree
| Scraps & messages, poems and wills
| Nail ’em to the Witness Tree

Sandy beaches endless, waves relentless
All this beauty senseless, since you’ve gone
Will the road be built now, coffers spilt now
To assuage their guilt now, since you’ve gone? :

: Heartless promises unfulfilled
: Secrets from across the sea
: Scraps and messages, poems and wills
: Nail ’em to the Witness Tree |

| The Witness Tree, the Witness Tree
| Nail ’em to the Witness Tree
| Scraps and messages, poems and Wills
| Nail ’em to the Witness Tree

A hundred years ago, two successive groups of Danish pioneers settled the extreme northwest corner of Vancouver Island, convinced of the farming potential of certain areas and with no notion of the vile weather to be had any day of the year. Encouraged by the Dominion government’s promise of land titles and a proposed wagon route to southern markets, they hauled stoves and packed in supplies. They built houses, stores, a school, a post office, wharves and plank or corduroy paths through the mud. They dyked Hansen’s Lagoon and irrigated the flat land there, even stabilised dunes near the Cape. But feckless Ottawa reneged on the road and title. Half-a-century’s perseverance was for nought, an entry in the history of exploitation of trusting immigrants with humble aspirationsa waste of industrious, conscientious citizenry. Rain, wind and waves wiped out many constructions and the demoralised, isolated settlers left rusting implements in rotting fields. Some folks affixed mementos to the Witness Tree, which stood where two paths crossed in the woods.

If a tree survives the mark of man it can be called a “witness tree”; indeed, trees present at the time of great and/or terrible deeds are said to witness these acts. While carved symbols and images typify the subclassification of “dendroglyph” (with a nod toward bent saplings and boundary markers) witness trees may already bear some natural trait or abnormality, for they are as often chosen for wiry indestructibility as for grandeur. They serve to communicate warning or other vital/legal information, carry shrines, signs and directional pointers, keep records, commemorate events and celebrate culture.

The Cape Scott Story. Lester Ray Peterson. Mitchell Press 1974
Cape Scott Provincial Park, Scott Islands Provincial Park: background doc. Lib. BC Leg.

For England  (Karen Gillmore, ©2001)

: Green fields and friendly faces, will I ever see
: Your lovely island once again set in its silver sea?
: Halfway ’round the world I flew to play a melody
: From one western Island to another

I grew up in a land that makes the new a sacrament
And travelled it from end to end before my youth was spent
And settled on the western coast a long way from my kin
Seeking any foothold where my life I could begin
Unencumbered by the dice my ancestors had cast
Shrugging off the bones of time, denial of the past :

I’ve stood encircled by your stones where sheep and cattle graze
And wandered through your village streets as lost as in a maze
And wondered what it must be like, to me a mystery
To grow up in a land that is so steeped in history
Surrounded by the dice that all your ancestors have cast
Acceptance of antiquity, the assurance of the past :

In dreams I fly back to your shores a welcome there to find
And it always seems a homecoming within my dreaming mind
And in my blood and bones and heart, I find a resonance
With an ancient land whose melodies I play to lead the dance
Still tumbling with the dice that all our ancestors have cast
An offering to the future of the treasures from the past :

The Sentinel’s Song  (Alan O’Dean, ©2008)

Here we sit in the trees, forest trees
To protect these lands, native lands
From an entitled class’s
Greed and crass disrespect, we object
To their wholesale, heedless devastation
False assurance, sorrow, nothing for tomorrow
Their demands turn the land to rocks and sand |

| Help us, brothers, sisters
| Come with us to the trees, forest trees
| Their machines are here to overrun us!

What’s the price of a life, tender life
To these men who come with sticks and guns
Armed intimidation
They believe might makes right, while our plight
Lies in having done as much as to delay them
Roads and interchanges, neighbourhoods of perfect strangers
Blight these lands, native lands |

So they’ve won the battle, tanks may roll and sabres rattle
Yet we’ll sit where we please |

Draglines   (© Deborah Silverstein)

Note: Deborah Silverstein has given us her permission to display her lyrics here. THANK YOU!
Please check out her website:

Coalport (PA) just a little town
Tucked too far away for anyone to know
But the folks born and raised for six generations
Workin’ day-by-day, tryin’ to keep themselves a home :

: Draglines at my heart, they’re tearin’ us apart
: And the mountainside where we were bornmust I weep and
: Mourn for the land that took six million years to form
: Now all my eyes can see are just the bleedin’ scars
: Across the mountainside, ’cross the mountainside

Our neighbours down the road, they farmed twelve acres
Worked a heavy loadpoor as dirt, though they tried
Till the coal company came through, said “We’ll mine your land
Take the burden off of you, and we’ll see that you get by” :

First they tore down their home where the grandma and
All they kids were born, they just brushed it all aside
Then came the big machines, ripped up the trees
And muddied all the streams while the family stood and cried :

: Draglines at my heart, they’re tearin’ us apart
: And the mountainside where we were bornOh, take warning
: That the storm-clouds will come and block out all the sun
: That’s shinin’ on the folks that seek their fortunes off the
: Families that have died tryin’ to survive across the mountainside

Note: Dragline bucket excavators are among the largest earthmoving machines in the world. Coal pit mine draglines have direct high-voltage connections and may cause local blackouts. Too heavy for caterpillar tracks, they can “walk”, taking an eight-foot step each minute.

Lighter than Air  (Karen Gillmore, ©1998)

Angela always had wanted to fly
In a coloured balloon to the top of the sky
Swaying along in the basket below
Skimming the treetops, so silent and slow :

: To be lighter than air
: Riding the currents over jungle and plain
: To be lighter than air
: High in the atmosphere of a realm with no name
: To be lighter than air
: Yes, lighter than air

And as she grew older and life whirled along
Her dream of flying like a favourite old song
Always there in her mind, not too far away
But always tomorrow, always someday :

: She’ll be lighter than air…

One day Angie woke up and knew it was time
To fly like an angel, on the rainbow to climb
Seventy winters and sweet summers, too
The sky was still calling, she knew what to do :

: To be lighter than air…

So Angela scheduled the flight of her dreams
In a rainbow balloon, from the basket she beams
And she knows that the first flight will not be the last
As she sings from the sky to a world green and vast :

: Oh, I’m lighter than air
: Riding the currents over jungle and plain
: Oh, I’m lighter than air
: High in the atmosphere of a realm with no name
: Oh, I’m lighter than air
: Yes, lighter than air

Hannibal Crossed the Alps   (© Cosy Sheridan)

Note: Cosy Sheridan has given us her permission to display her lyrics here. THANK YOU!
Please check out her website: and Cosy on Facebook

FANFARE: Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal!

Hannibal crossed the AlpsDid you learn that in History?
Hannibal crossed the AlpsThe elephants were a mystery
To the Roman army on the other side
Elephants in SwitzerlandBoy, were they surprised!

Hannibal crossed the AlpsHe said, “There’s nothing to it”
Hannibal crossed the Alps“C’mon, boys, we can do it”
Just a little further and Rome could be taken
Hindsight says Hannibal was mistaken

Hannibal crossed the AlpsHe started out in Spain
Hannibal crossed the AlpsImagine the baggage train
Food and shelter for a hundred thousand troops
Imagine that on your next morning commute

Hannibal crossed the AlpsCan you say “Carthaginian”
Hannibal crossed the AlpsBut now we’d call them “Libyan”
or “Phoenician,” “Tunisian,” or to confuse you more
The Romans called it the Punic War

Hannibal crossed the AlpsIt was brilliant and bold
Hannibal crossed the AlpsHis men were very cold
These were not the Goths nor the Vandals
These were Africans marching through snow in sandals

Hannibal crossed the AlpsA long, long time ago
Hannibal crossed the AlpsThat’s all you need to know!

Swimming With Hippos  (© Karen Gillmore)

The hippo is a mighty steed, he feeds on delicate water-weed
And though his dietary need does not encompass flesh, take heed :

: Don’t go swimming with hippos who doze where the wide river flows
: Don’t go swimming with hippos or intrude on their placid repose
: They look soft and fat, but in spite of all that,
: They’re the fiercest animals Africa knows! So
: Don’t go swimming with hippos

While boating on the Nile, don’t shrink from crocodiles who nearby slink
Those boulders grey and brown and pink will give them pause and make you think :

: Don’t go boating with hippos…

At times the beast comes forth to graze on grasses at the close of day
But though the creature seems to laze, he’s fleet of foot, though tons he weighs :

: Don’t go running with hippos…

The hippo is in short supply compared to centuries gone by
But they will quickly multiply with habitat to occupy :

: Don’t go swimming with hippos…

Ogopogo  (Alan O’Dean, ©1974)

Hand me your bottle, kid, and won’tcha humour me a spell
Just catch my breath a sec, I got an awful tale to tell
Now, I’ve been around here for forty-seven years
I ain’t some local yokel, so you can trust yer ears
I’ve seen the Ogopogo! …seen the Ogopogo!

| Well, I bet you’re gonna say the old man’s ravin’ insane
| You’ll be laughin’ an’ a-hootin’ an’ a-jokin’ and callin’ me names
| But I swear it’s true, I’d like to prove it but I ain’t a-goin’ back tonight
| There’s something out there, like people been a-sayin’
|  and I very nearly died of fright!

Naa, naa, na nana na, I’ve seen the Ogopogo! …seen the Ogopogo!

| Well, I have a little boat, I do a bit of fishing sometimes
| I was out there this evening, just me and a bottle of wine
| When I turned and saw it in the water, a humungous Ogopogo fin
| Well, I believe if Jesus could walk upon the water, maybe
  somethin’ was a-troublin’ him

(GIGGLING:) You’ve seen the Ogopogo?

Well, if you can’t be civilised and show yer elders some respect
I’ll hand you back your bottle now, I shoulda known what to expect
Yer taste in likker sucks, but that’s my bloody luck
I hope you’re driving by the lake and dump ’er in the chuck
And see the Ogopogo! …see the Ogopogo!

Song for Fallen Red Leaves  (Alan O’Dean, ©1997)

Given choice of humble blessings, we may turn them all away
Lack of interest, lousy judgment, we rue some rainy day
Common knowledge has it that we never really ever get to go back home
Ah, but it’s here inside! And nobody can take that away

Canada: saving postcards of youCanada: des paysages bien de moi connus
Sundown makes your sky catch fire and fade
Winter cloaks you finely in pinely brocade
Canada: silver river, run truec’est un autre point-de-vue
Mas oua, parfois je crains que je t’aie des vues perdus
Waft a little snow my way, wherever I may stray
I’m still a part of you

Canada: here’s my trail-song for youpeut-etre ceci ne vaut pas un sou
Helas, je ne sais pas comme faire de radoub sur ce bazou
I’ll likely rattle in some day with all my hair turned grey
’Till then I’ll dream of you

Solstice Song  (Karen Gillmore, ©1996)

The world, the world is turning, turning on the hinge of the sun
The year, the year is turning, soon the longest night will be done :

: World, Sun, Moon, Stars, dancing in the circles of Night
: Wind, Tide, Trees, Stone, singing in the cycles of Light

The wind, the wind is turning, turning on the hinge of the storm,
The snow, the snow, is turning, whispering you soon will be warm :

The rain, the rain is turning, turning on the hinge of a cloud
The sun, the sun is turning, soon you will be singing out loud :

The tide, the tide is turning, turning on the hinge of the sea
The moon, the moon is turning, promising whatever will be :

The tree, the tree is turning, turning on the hinge of the leaves
The stone, the stone is turning, following the Earth as she weaves :

The past, the past is turning, turning on the hinge of the now
My mind, my mind is turning, Soon I’ll be remembering how :

Ms. Miles  (Alan O’Dean, ©1988)

The drummer gears down for a touch deft and light
The guitar, he sweetens his tuning a mite
The crowd’s had enough stomping around for a while
Suddenly I’m right in style :

: My waltz, if you please, Ms. Miles
: Say with your dreamy smiles
: That the moment I savour is spent in your favour
: And I’ll be content, Ms. Miles

Your soldier boy must be so witty, he wins
Your pleasure as shown by your giggles and grins
His jitterbug genius may be your delight
But I’m next in line tonight :

Your cowboy is full of panache, I confess
As he throws you around in your fine, frilly dress
The figure that the pair of you cut on the floor
Makes me wonder what I’m asking for :

Gather the Elements  (Karen Gillmore, ©2001)

: Earth Wind Fire Water
: Son of stone and river’s daughter
: Breath of life and heart’s desire
: Earth and water, wind and fire

Earth my mother holds me strong
Gather the elements, one by one
Bones of stone through ages long
Feeds her children life’s own song
Gather the elements, one by one :

Wind will wander where she wills
Gather the elements, one by one
Soul of music, emptiness fills
Whispers secrets to the hills
Gather the elements, one by one :

Fire so quick so hot so bright
Gather the elements, one by one
Lovers’ passion, dawn’s first light
Hearth for home and stars for night
Gather the elements, one by one :

Water does her gifts bestow
Gather the elements, one by one
Nourishing rain to river’s flow
Summer sea and glitt’ring snow
Gather the elements, one by one :

Now our count is well and done
Gather the elements, one by one
The world is whole and time does run
From the void existence won
Gather the elements, one by one

Family Car   (© Lou & Peter Berryman)

Note: Lou and Peter have given us their permission to display their lyrics here. THANK YOU!
Please check out their website:

Seems that nothing had paid off / Unexpectedly laid off
We’d just been evicted / Our hearts were so heavy
And yet we were thankful / We had half-a-tankful
And we were all able / To squeeze in the Chevy :

: Because when you’re down & out, as low as a man can get
: Remember the family car is Canada’s safety net
: There is a place for you, no matter who you are
: No one denies your right to live in your car

My mother said, crying, / “Are you really trying?
You live in a Chevy / Now, son, I’ve been thinking
If you’d only bother / To work hard like your father
By the time he was your age / He lived in a Lincoln.” :

Now the privileged have feelings / Against three-foot-five ceilings
They prefer the proportions / Of their three-storey condos
But I’ll bet you that someday / They’ll be out in the driveway
Tryin’ to jam their Jacuzzi / In their Alfa Romeo :

Keel-Haul ’em All  (Alan O’Dean, ©2005)

: Keel-haul ’em, the selfish rapscallions
: Keel-haul ’em, the large & the small, it’s
: Over the gunn’ls and under, collecting their
: Arseful of barnaclesArrr! Keel-haul ’em all.

Keel-haul ’em, the egg-sucking scoundrels
Keel-haul ’em, the arrogant lice
Iniquitous captains, their chums with fat pockets,
Our duplicitous representativeswon’t ’at be noice?Arrr! :

The state of the grog is corrosive and poisonous
When we get sick we are always to blame
They cheat and they lie, all respect they deny
Let’s hold them accountablethem with no shameArrr! :

Tories! Liberals!they’re worthless as champions
Give ’em a seat and they’ll sit on their bum
Oh, the memories fade of the fine talk they made, to our
Rescue they never will come…(no chorus)

Then there’s the smart ones who do so much damage
Driven by greed and the boredom of rank
They look so surprised but they see by our eyes
That they might as well ask for the plankArrr! :

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