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William Butler Yeats attempts to preserve life through art, specifically
in his Byzantium poems, and much like T.S. Eliot attempts to redeem death in The
Waste Land as a productive, positive element. The singer/songwriter
Tom Waits has a song that does a little of both at once. In this
song, which is rattly and jangly and rough, we have a protagonist who
is crossing what seems to be a wasteland of some sort. He's being
harassed by a black crow --which is a pretty universal symbol of death,
from myth to native American folklore to just about anywhere else.
After missing it with a shotgun, the protagonist gets himself a mule,
makes a ladder out of old instruments, chases the crow up a tree, and
shoves the crow inside his Washburn guitar, comparing the strings of
the guitar to the bars of a jail (bars of music?). The protagonist
has literally captured death in an implement of music --in song, the
song we're listening to, thereby preserving his life by capturing death.
Each time the song is played, death is captured in the song and life
is preserved by the protagonist's capturing death.
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16 Shells From a Thirty-Ought-SixI plugged 16 shells from a thirty-ought-sixand a Black Crow snuck through a hole in the sky so I spent all my buttons on an old pack mule and I made me a ladder from a pawn shop marimba and I leaned it up against a dandelion tree And I filled me a sachel full of old pig corn and I beat me a billy from an old French horn and I kicked that mule to the top of the tree and I blew me a hole 'bout the size of a kickdrum and I cut me a switch from a long branch elbow Chorus I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin' Black Crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six whittle you into kindlin' Black Crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six Well I slept in the holler of a dry creek bed and I tore out the buckets from a red Corvette, tore out the buckets from a red Corvette Lionel and Dave and the Butcher made three you got to meet me by the knuckles of the skinnybone tree with the strings of a Washburn stretched like a clothes line you know me and that mule scrambled right through the hole Repeat Chorus Now I hold him prisoner in a Washburn jail that strapped on the back of my old kick mule strapped it on the back of my old kick mule I bang on the strings just to drive him crazy I strum it loud just to rattle his cage strum it loud just to rattle his cage Repeat Chorus |
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