||[May. 20th, 2011|11:50 pm]
ジョナサン ・ シェグリン
|||||Wall of Voodoo - Call of the West||]|
He got the high sign, so he jumped a bus;
And along the roads that wind on through the hot Mojave and the Jericho;
He'd start his whole life anew.
And what he'd left behind, he hadn't valued half as much as some things he never knew.
(Right around sundown...)
He got dropped off on a street in town,
where a grey old man looked him up and down, and said:
"Son, this ain't no Western movie matinee.
You're a long way off from yippee-yi-yay;
'cause I can tell, at a glance,
you're not from 'round these parts;
Got a green look about ya, and that's a gringo for starts.
Sometimes the only thing a Western savage understands,
are whiskey and rifles, and an unarmed man like you."
"So you gotta keep on the move, and don't let that fancy paintjob fool you."
And then the old-timer pulled him close, and said:
"You've come a long way, I know;
You got a longer drive ahead.
Through the bones of a buffalo;
Through the claims of the Western dead.
And just like the spokes of a wheel;
You'll spin 'round with the rest.
You'll hear the drums and the brush of steel.
You'll hear the call of the West."
Harshly awakened by the sound of six rounds of light caliber rifle fire, followed minutes later by the booming of nine rounds from a heavier rifle; but you can't close off the wilderness. He heard the snick of a rifle bolt and found himself peering down the muzzle of a weapon held by a drunken liquor store owner. "There's a conflict", he said. "There's a conflict between land and people. The people have to go. They've come all the way out here to make mining claims, to do automobile body work, to gamble, to take pictures, to not have to do laundry, to own a mini-bike, to have their own CB radios and air conditioning. Good plumbing, for sure, and to sell Time Life books, and to work in a deli; to have some chili every morning. And maybe...maybe to own their own gas stations again, and to take drugs and have some crazy sex; but above all, above all, to have a fair shake, to get a piece of the rock and, a slice of the pie, and to spit out the window of your car and not have the wind blow it back in your face".
Now from the high timber line to the deserts dry;
Who'll risk dangling on some hangman's tree
to stake their claims on these prairie plains,
while they say "this lunch is not had for free"?
Just like the spokes of a wheel;
Who'll spin 'round with the rest?
They'll hear the drums and the brush of steel;
And I'll hear the call of the West.