Tabs Music
Media Matters

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.

Waits

16 Shells From a Thirty-Ought-Six

I plugged 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six
and 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

 

Creative Commons License

creative commons license

Creative Commons License