Saturday, October 25, 2014

The Ragman

The Artist Was Bored No 265
To listen to The Ragman, click here




Here comes the ragman with his bag of bones
With his flesh like winter and his heart of stone
Don't let him touch you with his icy breath
The gifts the ragman brings bring only death
Here comes the ragman with his sores unhealed
Looking like a scarecrow in some barren field
Don't let him tempt you with his silver tongue
The knots the ragman ties can't be undone

I saw the ragman once, when I was young
His face was painted blood-red on a bomb
His hands were twisted, his lips were numb
I felt him kiss me, I backed away
He said: Don't worry, I'll get you boy one day

He doesn't give a damn if you're old or young
When you least expect him, that's when he comes
Can you smell the fever, the rotting bones
Can you see the shadow beneath the ghostly gown
Could be the ragman, come to track you down

Pity the ragman with his leper's bell
Wandering forever in his leper's hell
Handing out dying to sick and well
Carrying his burden, marked upon his breath
Only the ragman can never know of death



You can find David Prashker at:








If you would like to include "The Ragman" in your repertoire, either for paid public performance or to record for commercial purposes, or if you would like to re-use the recordings attached to this blog-page for commercial purposes, contact argaman@theargamanpress.com. 
Use of this song, and/or these recordings, for non-commercial purposes, is not simply permitted but invited.


Words and music by David Prashker
Copyright © 2014 David Prashker
All rights reserved
The Argaman Pres

The Ballad of Yad Mordechai

To listen to The Ballad of Yad Mordechai, click here


The tale of the battle at Kibbutz Yad Mordechai is told in the song; for the tale of the man after whom the kibbutz was named, and his even more remarkable story, click here.





They came in the night 
   and they came in the day
Their number was a thousand 
   times forty
And wild was their hope 
   and loud was their claim
Of driving us into the water

They followed the road 
   to the mountain of spring
And no one but we to prevent them
And their tanks they gleamed white 
   in the bright desert night
Like the eyes of the men who had sent them

They skirted us round till the circle was set
And their guns were aloft on the high ground
And we in the centre like flies in a net
And not enough food for a fortnight

Ah but stand now with pride and stand to your post
And fight till there is no more fighting
Better die upright than live on your knees
And best of all outlive the dying

Well the barbed wire fence and the roof of the trench
Were the marks of our home and our prison
And we barely fifty and they a full host
And fear in the eyes of the children

Their barrels were full their barrels were locked
Their eyes fixed upon the horizon
And their flag it was raised on the white desert rocks
Where the sun of the day it was rising

Not a scorpion lurked in such white burning heat
Not a snake dared to brave the sun's fury
And the desert was lost in a battle of dust
Only sun could be covered in glory

Ah but stand now with pride and stand to the peace
And fight till there is no more fighting
Better die upright than eating the dust
And best of all outlive the dying

Well the black sullen eve it grew heavy with sounds
Of a woman lamenting and crying
In the dead humid night we took care of our wounds
On the wind you could taste your own dying

The sun turned to gold and the earth turned to dust
The stones of the field they were bloody
And somehow we held and only three fell
While they were piled body on body

But the siege it was set though each round we met
With round after round of refusal
And their guns bellowed out like a sad silent song
And their dreams slowly shrank to illusions

Ah but stand now with pride and stand to the end
And fight till there is no more fighting
Better die killing than killed on the sand
And best of all outlive the dying

Then a sound from the north split the cold desert dawn
After almost six days on the mountain
And the enemy turned the enemy ran
And all of our chains they were broken

From the dead salty sea to the dry desert sand
Our numbers replenished twice daily
And our tanks were drawn in and our guns tore the strand
But the barrels of their guns smoked empty

So the darkness drew back and the night fell to dust
In the wake of the sun's burning whiteness
And the wind it was hushed where their dream it lay crushed
And the desert retreated to silence

Ah we stood with our pride and we stood with our guns
And we fought till there was no more fighting
And the wind took our song and the sun made it strong
And we stood till we outlived the dying

They came in the night and they fled in the day
Their number was a thousand times forty
And wild was their hope and foolish their aim
Of driving us into the water
(They'll never drive us into the water)









If you would like to include "The Ballad of Yad Mordechai" in your repertoire, either for paid public performance or to record for commercial purposes, or if you would like to re-use the recordings attached to this blog-page for commercial purposes, contact argaman@theargamanpress.com. 
Use of this song, and/or these recordings, for non-commercial purposes, is not simply permitted but invited.





Words and music by David Prashker


Copyright © 2014 David Prashker

All rights reserved
The Argaman Press

Jerusalem









To listen to Jerusalem, click here




Daughter mine Jerusalem, I touch the dew upon your hem
I kiss your golden brow, I make to you my vow
Do not forsake me now, Jerusalem my love
What have you done, what have you done?

Daughter mine Jerusalem, you cast your glance on other men
Your flesh has withered pale, now you throw back the veil
You clutch the serpent's tail, Jerusalem my love
What have you done, what have you done?

Your heart lies broken now, in darkness where you sleep
All the banks have overflown
Ears of corn are rotting, much too deaf to reap
Ah my child how you've grown, how you've grown

Daughter mine Jerusalem, your leaf has withered on the stem
You will not hide your shame, you will not bear the blame
You never call my name, Jerusalem my love
What have you done, what have you done?
O Jerusalem









If you would like to include "Jerusalem" in your repertoire, either for paid public performance or to record for commercial purposes, or if you would like to re-use the recordings attached to this blog-page for commercial purposes, contact argaman@theargamanpress.com. 
Use of this song, and/or these recordings, for non-commercial purposes, is not simply permitted but invited.





Words and music by David Prashker


Copyright © 2014 David Prashker

All rights reserved
The Argaman Press

Moments That Yield

FLW 1
To listen to Moments That Yield, click here



A simple chord on an old guitar
A sunset sky and a shooting star
Remains of battle in a bloody field
Moments that yield
To nothing or to one
Moments that yield
To what love might become

The outstretched fingers of an open hand
Miles and miles of desert sand
A gaping scar festering unhealed

A rolling wave on a sandy shore
Moods that unlock the inner door
A poison letter signed and sealed

The name of God in a breathless hush
A perfect face beneath an artist’s brush
 A bloody knife too hot to wield

A willing heart and a focused eye
A pair of eagles meeting in the sky
A body torn, its skin all peeled

A hungry mouth and a tender kiss
Recovered joy when you reminisce
A broken statue before which you once kneeled


This song came out of a poem I had written twenty years earlier, and which you can find in my collection "Welcome To My World, Selected Poems 1973-2013"


Talismans


Certain simple chord progressions
strummed softly on a Spanish guitar

The sudden shift of mood that coincides
with sunset and the fall of evening

The contact of flesh on flesh
speaking more eloquently than language

The sands of the desert stretching to eternity
mile upon mile of mile upon mile

Books that take on magical properties
for the number of times
you have failed to solve their riddles

The movement of sunlight
on water glass skin

Talismans

Moments that yield to the clutching hand
or to poetry
or to nothingness









If you would like to include "Moments That Yield" in your repertoire, either for paid public performance or to record for commercial purposes, or if you would like to re-use the recordings attached to this blog-page for commercial purposes, contact argaman@theargamanpress.com. 
Use of this song, and/or these recordings, for non-commercial purposes, is not simply permitted but invited.




Words and music by David Prashker

Copyright © 2014 David Prashker


All rights reserved

The Argaman Press