Long Box
Words and music © Bill Dickson


There's a long box waiting for me
boys, I'm fading
so long
I've done evil
but I'm not sure I did wrong


There was a gal named Jenny
she was sweet as any gal could be
I wooed her all summer
by the river 'neath an old oak tree


Jenny knew I loved her
but she cared for another much more
so I cracked his head for him
and left him for dead at her door


I was young and daring
didn't have much caring at all
I left home to soldier
and returned much older one Fall


Refrain
Carry me back to where I once was happy
lay me down 'neath the old oak tree
I've got friends I used to run with
find some friends to bury me


Captain Reed met his maker
and left fifty-some acres and such
the widow she was charming
but I never liked farming that much


I rode the compass
raking muck, making rumpus
I roamed
when the notion seized me, well
anywhere I pleased was my home


In the camps and granges
honest tramps and strangers
stayed well
but some cheats and liars
I dispatched to the fires
of hell


Refrain


I found a gal named Nancy
she was fine and fancy and free
I never could leave her
yellow fever did the favor for me


I drifted cross the prairie
and I never did marry no one
I spend some dark nights lurking
and some bad days working my gun


You'll hear stories
from the Territories
they're lies
shoot a damn sheep herder
and they call it murder
if he dies


All my wiles and gumption
can't beat vile consumption
I've lost
I'm good for nothing
but to set out on the porch and cough


Yeah, there's a long box waiting for me
boys, I'm fading
so long
I've done evil
but I'm not sure I did wrong


Refrain:
Carry me back to where I once was happy
lay me down near the old oak tree
I've got friends I used to run with
find some friends to bury me


"Long Box" is part craft exercise, part heart-felt gunfighter ballad.
The exercise element involves keeping the rhyme scheme as tight as possible
while moving the story along. The heart-felt part? I always liked
gunfighter stories, ala Marty Robinson.
And of course, the due of every gun man is death.
BD