Another song from my late teens. Sort of meant as a song for kids but really I couldn’t figure it out. At the time I was writing social protest songs mostly and while this has a touch of that, it was something else. I was a counselor at Webatuck, a left wing summer camp, and I had the oldest kids, just a few years younger than I was. One day, when my bunk was off doing some activity that I wasn’t needed at, I took out my 12-string and started playing the song. One kid who had decided to skip the activity was sleeping on his bunk and I didn’t know he was there. After the song, he said to me: “That’s the kind of song you should be writing, not the other junk.” That’s the only reason I even kept this tune and he’s the only person who ever heard it. When I subsequently heard a similar comment about another personal song I wrote I quickly shifted over from the agitprop writing to the more personal stuff that I’ve written ever since. When I recorded the song and started paying attention to the lyrics, I finally got it. This isn’t a song for kids. This is a song for an old man, which is what I am now. And I find it very comforting.
Lyrics
The Last Lullaby
Once as a youth I heard a tune
Played by the wind at dawn
It sounded like spring air or daisies gone crazy
Or maybe a weary cow’s yawn
It sounded like sunset or cymbals a’crashing
Or a great hungry tiger with his teeth all a’gnashing
And I raised my head proudly and marched to the sound
‘til the night like some blanket would quiet me down
(cho) And when I hear that tune again
Sung by a star in the sky
I’ll rest my weary head to sleep
For this is the last lullaby
Once as a youth I heard a tune
Played by the sea and the shore
It sounded like fire and the fire rose higher
‘til it fell ‘til it could fall no more
It sounded like raindrops as they gently fall
It sounded like tiptoes from the stairs to the hall
And I raised my head proudly and marched to the sound
‘til the night like some blanket would quiet me down
(cho)
Once as a youth I heard a tune
Played by tomorrow’s horns
As the morning came creeping down under the thunder
And rested like grass on the lawn
It was played by the trumpets, the drums and the oboes
It was sung by the tramps and the bums and the hobos
And I raised my head proudly and marched to the sound
And no night ever fell that could quiet me down
(cho)