North Country Blues

Höfundur lags: Bob Dylan Höfundur texta: Bob Dylan Flytjandi: Bob Dylan Sent inn af: cazteclo
Come [Am]gather 'round f[Am/E]riends     
And I'll [G]tell you a [Am]tale   
Of when the [Am]red iron [G]ore pits ran a-[Am]plenty.

But t[Am]he cardboard fi[Am/E]lled windows
And old [G]men on the [Am]benches
Tell you [Am]now that the [G]whole town is [Am]empty.

In th[Am]e north end of [Am/E]town,     
My own ch[G]ildren are [Am]grown
But[Am] I was ra[G]ised on the oth[Am]er.   
In th[Am]e wee hours of [Am/E]youth,     
My mo[G]ther took s[Am]ick   
And[Am] I was bro[G]ught up by my b[Am]rother.

The i[Am]ron ore pou[Am/E]red     
As the ye[G]ars passed [Am]the door,
The[Am] drag lines an' the s[G]hovels they was[Am] a-humming.
'Til [Am]one day my brot[Am/E]her     
Failed[G] to come ho[Am]me   
The[Am] same as [G]my father befor[Am]e him.

Well [Am]a long winter's[Am/E] wait,     
From [G]the window [Am]I watched.
My [Am]friends they c[G]ouldn't have be[Am]en kinder.
And m[Am]y schooling was[Am/E] cut     
As I [G]quit in the[Am] spring
To [Am]marry John [G]Thomas, a miner[Am].   

Oh th[Am]e years passed [Am/E]again     
And t[G]he givin' w[Am]as good,
Wit[Am]h the lunch [G]bucket filled e[Am]very season.
What [Am]with three babi[Am/E]es born,
The w[G]ork was cut[Am] down
To [Am]a half-a-day s[G]hift with no re[Am]ason.

Then [Am]the shaft was s[Am/E]oon shut
And m[G]ore work wa[Am]s cut,
And th[Am]e fire in the [G]air, it felt fr[Am]ozen.
'Til [Am]a man come to s[Am/E]peak     
And h[G]e said, in [Am]one week
Tha[Am]t number e[G]leven was closi[Am]n'.   

They [Am]complained in t[Am/E]he East,
They [G]are paying [Am]too high.
The[Am]y say that your o[G]re ain't worth [Am]digging.
That [Am]it's much cheap[Am/E]er down
In th[G]e South Ame[Am]rican towns
Whe[Am]re the min[G]ers work almost[Am] for nothing.

So th[Am]e mining gates [Am/E]locked     
And t[G]he red iron[Am] rotted
And[Am] the room[G] smelled heavy [Am]from drinking.
When [Am]the sad, silent[Am/E] song     
Made [G]the hour tw[Am]ice as long
As [Am]I waited for[G] the sun to go [Am]sinking.

I liv[Am]ed by the windo[Am/E]w     
As he[G] talked to [Am]himself,
Thi[Am]s silence of [G]tongues it was [Am]building.
Till [Am]one morning's w[Am/E]ake,     
The b[G]ed it was b[Am]are,   
And[Am] I's left alo[G]ne with three c[Am]hildren.

The s[Am]ummer is gone, [Am/E]    
The g[G]round's tur[Am]ning cold,
The[Am] stores one b[G]y one they're a[Am]-foldin'.
My ch[Am]ildren will go [Am/E]    
As so[G]on as they [Am]grow.
Wel[Am]l, there ain'[G]t nothing here [Am]now to hold them.

Come gather 'round friends
And I'll tell you a tale
Of when the red iron ore pits ran a-plenty.

But the cardboard filled windows
And old men on the benches
Tell you now that the whole town is empty.

In the north end of town,
My own children are grown
But I was raised on the other.
In the wee hours of youth,
My mother took sick
And I was brought up by my brother.

The iron ore poured
As the years passed the door,
The drag lines an' the shovels they was a-humming.
'Til one day my brother
Failed to come home
The same as my father before him.

Well a long winter's wait,
From the window I watched.
My friends they couldn't have been kinder.
And my schooling was cut
As I quit in the spring
To marry John Thomas, a miner.

Oh the years passed again
And the givin' was good,
With the lunch bucket filled every season.
What with three babies born,
The work was cut down
To a half-a-day shift with no reason.

Then the shaft was soon shut
And more work was cut,
And the fire in the air, it felt frozen.
'Til a man come to speak
And he said, in one week
That number eleven was closin'.

They complained in the East,
They are paying too high.
They say that your ore ain't worth digging.
That it's much cheaper down
In the South American towns
Where the miners work almost for nothing.

So the mining gates locked
And the red iron rotted
And the room smelled heavy from drinking.
When the sad, silent song
Made the hour twice as long
As I waited for the sun to go sinking.

I lived by the window
As he talked to himself,
This silence of tongues it was building.
Till one morning's wake,
The bed it was bare,
And I's left alone with three children.

The summer is gone,
The ground's turning cold,
The stores one by one they're a-foldin'.
My children will go
As soon as they grow.
Well, there ain't nothing here now to hold them.

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