Witches

©2002 Andrew Calhoun, recorded on Shadow of a Wing

There's troubles you talk to a stranger about
And trouble you keep in your family
And trouble that hides in your bedclothes at night
That whispers discouragement daily
And there's no place to hide from the sin and the pride
And the good and the bad and the ugly
And no place to go where the seasons don't know you
I told you so, told you so baby

There's wandering minstrels with ballads and fiddles
Pot of old coffee and whiskey
And muscular plumbers with wrenches and hammers
That come up the back from the alley
And wicked old witches, those daughters of bitches
Come riding on broomsticks of glory
To seize all your sorrows and smooth down the furrows
I told you so, told you so baby

While you were out walking and stalked in your stocking feet
Hammerlocked, hauled in the barley
Sucked out like an ice cube, out flat like a squeeze tube
Balled up and still breathing, just barely
Here come those witches, those daughters of bitches
Too wild and wise to fight fairly
Farewell and Hell's bells to the devil, dear boy
And I told you so, told you so baby