STRANGER IN MY HOUSE © 2003 by Chuck Hall My heart beats at a faster pace when I set eyes on my home place Though I last stepped through the front door some 30 years ago I park my car across the street I would not be thought indiscreet Nor another nosy tourist broken down on the road I do not control the force that drives me here today As I did not control it when it first drove me away It’s hard not to be seen from here staring at the door Who’s there staring back in disapproval? There’s a stranger in my house, Lord, there’s a stranger in my house I do not recognize the face, hey act just like they own the place There’s a stranger in my house What happened to the Alamo out back where all the pine trees grow There’s nothing left that I can see what space among the trees What of the landscape of the Moon, my God, what did these aliens do? Scott Hayes and I fought monsters here that no one else can see The battlefields of the young are overgrown, forgotten, gone It was a war I fought and lost and lost it long ago Now these grown-up eyes refuse to see what used to be so clear to me And now can only cry for what it seems I have become I look around for landmarks, for something that I know And I swear this this is not the same place I knew long ago Just because you see if that doesn’t make it so Just because I do not live here doesn’t mean that it’s not home There’s a stranger in my house, Lord, there’s a stranger in my house I do not recognize the face, they act just like they own the place There’s a stranger in my house I walked back to my car and unlocked the door, I don’t belong here anymore It’s true that hurts a little more as every year goes by I thought myself a stone or tree and this would always be a home to me But I find I am more cloud than these and pass unnoticed through the sky But I cannot put away my childish things, not forgotten what it’s like to sing “This Old Man Came Rolling Home” and do so unrestrained And so I leave this holy place and sacrifice my parking space Feeling cleaner for the grace of crying ashamed When I pull in my own driveway, it’s good to get back home There’s an old car parked across the street, the driver sits alone And looks at me judgmentally the moment, then moves on I watch her tail lights fade into the distance till they’re gone There’s a stranger in my house, Lord, there’s a stranger in my house I do not recognize the face, hey act just like they own the place There’s a stranger in my house

RAINING IN BOSTON © 2003 by Chuck Hall I have always loved Virginia for her green and pace of life All the way from the Eastern shore to the west of 95 I rolled into Norfolk past the bridge and past The Beach She took me to her bosom when my heart was out of reach And I found an old hotel room with free cable on TV And the question for the weather channel man to answer me Is it raining in Boston tonight? Is it cloudy on Cape Ann? Is the fog rolling in upon the Gloucester fisherman? Are my friends tonight all gathered as they do when it’s a storm? Are they sound and safe and warm? Is it raining in Boston tonight? I have always love St. Augustine for the castle and the gator farm Sure mend for a broken heart in the palm trees in the sun I played tourist all day Saturday in a polyester shirt To try to find five minutes went homesickness didn’t hurt That night I played the Milltop and this guy in a Red Sox hat Leaves a 20 for a tip, and the feelings all come back Is it raining in Boston tonight? Is it cloudy on Cape Cod? Are the Red Sox in the race? They’ll just blow it again by God Did you get up to the festival in Marblehead last week? Did anybody ask for me? Is it raining in Boston tonight? I have always loved the Waterside, but it’s not La Motif I have always loved the Milltop, but it’s not Passim It’s a summer full of work and play and being on my own Without the million little comforts the tell you that you’re home But I’m headed north on Labor Day where the cooler breezes blow I long to see my family and make music with my friends Then I’ll hit the highway one more time and wonder once again Is it raining in Boston tonight? Is it cloudy on Cape Ann? Is the fog rolling in upon the Gloucester fisherman? Are my friends tonight all gathered as they do when it’s a storm? Are they sound and safe and warm? Is it raining in Boston tonight?

FARMER JONES © 2003 by Chuck Hall I bet I’ve hit that on / off switch a million times Since I took my spot on this production line Nowadays, there’s shot dust not crop dust in my nose And cutting oil, not fertile soil, on my clothes Just look at all the faces of these old men here Somehow drilled the same damn holes for 30 years They come in the morning, then go home night 10 hours a day, six days a week, they want the overtime I hope the bank of North Dakota is happy with the farm They seemed that way the day they emptied out the barn They sure were quick with the credit terms then quick to turn away When the ground and the markets all dried up and I needed time to pay It’s funny how this life can turn you upside down Daddy never dreamed I’d die in a factory town What job does a former farmer land when he needs to pay his bills And planting corn and losing money I was only skills? They call me Farmer Jones at the factory, they say I’m slow and dumb ‘Cause my radio plays country songs and I know every one Over lunch they mock the way I talk and the old ford truck I drive To say I don’t move fast enough, they say I’ve got a homely wife There’s no life here for me to love like the one I left behind It’s the waiting on the second shift that drags the most They save all the boring jobs for Farmer Jones In the city it’s a crime the way they raise their kids I’d be slapped for saying the words I hear on my son’s lips This city’s changed him in a hundred little ways, he’s growing hard and cold His childhood was sold at auction he was six years old So today I’ll put my time in grinding steel gears The foreman says the customers old John Deere I knew him well some years ago, used to work for me Now we both work for the bank that owns this factory They call me Farmer Jones at payroll time, this say I’m slow and dumb ‘Cause I won’t get drunk every weekend, damn them every one They don’t know how the garden grows in my window flowerpots That I spend my weekends carried for the only farm I’ve got The flowers grow in the ground I stole today we left the farm It’s a seed I’ll leave my son one day to grow In loving memory of his daddy, Farmer Jones --------------------

ANGELS © 2003 by Chuck Hall How many angels dance on the head of a pin? Can God make a mountain so high he can’t move it again? How long is the moment? Where did we come from? Where do we go when it ends? How many angels dance on the head of a pin? I remember it clearly when you were just five years old So proud of the teeth you were missing, when you smiled it showed Now you’ re woman and suddenly finding the world drives your joy away Remember the songs dad and mom used to sing When I visit your house and we’d say: repeat chorus Are you say you get dizzy the way that your world goes around Between business and lovers you can’t find the time to slow down That life in the city is taking it’s toll, you measure despair by the glass You found the answers you wanted to know, and I’ve got a question to ask repeat chorus I wish I could explain why there is so much pain in the world Don’t you know even the darkest of stones turn into beautiful pearls And some of the best of your questions aren’t meant to be answered But to give you the grace To discover the wonder if you had as a child And the world was a playground place repeat chorus

THE COAST OF NEWFOUNDLAND (c) 2003 Chuck Hall We sailed into Port Aux Basques at night to see the dying of daylight Behind the Long Range Mountains lay the coast of Newfoundland The darkest dark I've ever seen, America a distant dream In the morning mist we journey up the coast of Newfoundland Cloud upon the morning sky, mist upon the mountain high Rage upon the ocean on the coast of Newfoundland Running up the mileage north, wonders with the sun brought forth A stop in Rocky Harbour on the coast of Newfoundland We walked for miles to Baker's Brook, so quiet every breath I took Was like a mighty rush of wind on the coast of Newfoundland Arriving at the waterfalls, one pair of eyes can't see it all We rested there, dumb with awe on the coast of Newfoundland In the morning, headed north, we sailed through Western Brook fjord There is no place like Gros Morne on the coast of Newfoundland Cathedral carved in ancient stone, a temple to the god Unknown On to L'Anse aux Meadows on the coast of Newfoundland In the straights of Belle Isle, whales breaching all the while See the coast of Labrador from the coast of Newfoundland It was low tide at St. Lunaire when we spent the evening there Nearly "kissed the cod" that night on the coast of Newfoundland In the footsteps of Leif Erickson, the L'Anse aux Meadows settlement Revealed after a thousand years on the coast of Newfoundland A cloak pin and a spindle whorl, first touch of the western world The Vikings left their bone and blood on the coast of Newfoundland From St. Lunaire we made a stop to spend the night at Port aux Choix The wind had blown the headlands smooth on the coast of Newfoundland There are stories here beneath our feet - runes of ancient history Read the fossil testament on the coast of Newfoundland Exhausted, now we headed back, driving south to Port aux Basques Rose Blanche light is lonely on the coast of Newfoundland See how small the island seems as our ship south to Sydney steams How often I return in dreams to the coast of Newfoundland

HALIFAX © 2003 by Chuck Hall My grandfather received the news at 12 o’clock that day He closed His doctor’s office and sent everyone away He rushed straight home and gathered all the clothing he could pack It took me with him on the train that went to Halifax We were among the hundreds souls too crowded to the car I was the only child allowed seated at the bar We waited for the blankets to be loaded in the back Still unprepared for what we’ve see you when we reached Halifax I asked my granddad Doctor why it was he was so sad He turned his face away from mine and said you’ll understand I pieced the truth together as I overheard the facts There was a great disaster had befallen Halifax Did year was 1917, in the first grade war Two ships collided in the Narrows and drifted in to shore With thousand strong to see this thing, they blew up with such might Near half the city was destroyed in a fireball of light Hundreds then were blinded by glass and by debris Tidal wave it swept away some who died instantly That made the heavens tried to hide the horror of this show Is the city smoldered underneath a brand-new foot of snow When we arrived in Halifax a cloud hung in the air The oil, the fire, the flesh, the flood, the stench was everywhere Grandfather took me to a church where the wounded lay And said, ”God has given us a work in Halifax today.” And I still recall the children, now they were orphans who Or without homes and parents and so close to Christmas, too After seven days we packed our bags and turned and headed home As relief poured in to Halifax from Boston and beyond The many years that have since passed have not dimmed memory The horror of that awful seem is still so fresh to me But the people of the Commonwealth asked for nothing back They went north to help rebuild the Port of Halifax Now each year when Christmas comes, it all comes back to me I sent the Nova Scotia spruce for everyone to see My daughters daughter sits upon my shoulders and she claps When Boston’s Christmas tree is lit, a gift from Halifax Then joyful voices carry out our carols to the skies Thousands gather every year but most can’t tell you why So many can’t remember what so many can’t forget And The Halifax disaster is commemorated yet The Halifax disaster – we will not forget

MARY MARCH © 2003 by Chuck Hall I chased my muse from Boston north to Newfoundland It lead me to the clearing in the woods where I now stand The song the birds are singing is from generations gone I listen to the story and now I sing-the-song There was a woman named Demasduit the whites called Mary March For the last of the Beothuks inhabited this park Nearby the Exploits River the summer fishing grounds She was soon to be a mother for the springtime came around The Beothuk numbered 30 come down from Labrador To find John Payton and his men upon their ancestral shore They sank Payton’s boat and then stole his supplies And withdrew into the woodlands undercover of the night Lord Hamilton was governor, and the order soon were sent To capture one of those who so defied his government In a skirmish near Red Indian Lake was her husband laid to earth And Mary was too weak to run, just having giving birth Mary March was 23 when she was led away To her benefactors home somewhere south of Twillingate She quickly learn the English words and phrases she was taught When the ice all went away she was sent on to St. John’s See the native woman, such a curiosity! The highlight of the season for the aristocracy Why she even speaks the language well when speaking from her pain “My saddened spirit is tethered by an awful length of chain!” Lady Hamilton, the painter, as well the governor’s wife Put the image of Demasduit on canvas made of white And the people of St. John’s all said, “This is not a savage girl, There is no clause to fear them if they are all like her.” So with all her gifts and graces, they returned her to Ship’s Cove Where she found her newborn died the day they took her from her home And when the January cold robbed Mary of her life It took her to the very place where her family had died Shawnadithit said her cough and was placed with lovely inside The mamateek where her husband and child were left to lie And they say the birds then sang a song of loving and lament Mary March and the Beothuk were never seen again I chased my muse from Boston north to Newfoundland It led me to the clearing in the woods where I now stand The Song the birds are singing speaks to sadness in my heart When I think of the Beothuk and sing of Mary March

THE DEVIL AND THE MAID WHO LOVED TO DANCE © 2003 by Chuck Hall They tell the tale in Parrsboro and Diligent River too It’s not unknown in Sydney what I proclaim to you Story told by mothers as their daughters years advance Of the meeting of the devil and the maid who loved to dance On a fair night in the spring there was a ceilidh in the town With fiddlers and singers and dancers going around Are young man asked a maiden fair, “Are you free by chance? Would you honor me by going this evening to the dance?” But that young man proved false, which is so often true She waited as the day grew dark but he came not in view Then cried to curse in her despair, “I take the devil’s hand And do a step with him at tonight!” said the maid who loves to dance No sooner had she spoken, from the darkness did appear A carriage with a rider from the evening mist drew near The rider was a handsome lad, his steed was sleek and black “I have no one to dance with, would you come with me?” he asked The maiden fairly ran into the carriage then she waved “I’ll be home before the clock strikes 12,” to her mother she did say Her father shed a silent tear as she disappeared from sight In the company of the stranger, she went to town that night The people at the ceilidh with wonder still recall The maiden and they all knew so well, the stranger not at all How she danced with been abandon no one had seen before And the strangers heels seemed to spark each time they touched the floor At last the evening ended, the dancers headed home It was just before the midnight bell in the tower tolled They said goodbye to no one, the stranger and the maid The carriage and the rider simply drove away According to the story, it was after 2 AM Came a thunderclap so loud it was enough to save the damned They found the maiden slain in bed a hole burned in the roof With the mark upon her forehead - the devil’s cloven hoof Yes they tell the tale in Parrsboro and Diligent River too It’s not unknown in Sydney, and I believe it’s true Story told by mothers as their daughters years advance Of the night the devil claimed the soul of the mid who loved to dance Chuck Hall: guitar and vocal Richard Gates: bass J. P. Comier: fiddles Hilda Chaisson: dancing feet Lorne Entress: percussion

ON THE SHORES OF INGONISH © 2003 by Chuck Hall I courted my true love on the shores of Ingonish And Cape Breton’s summer breeze blew upon us like a kiss I did pledge my love forever and sealed it with a kiss And swore that I would never leave the shores of Ingonish Now such wealth as I have made I have not come by honestly Tis a mean and dangerous trade, this career of piracy It was my need for a hiding place drove me to this harbor hid Were they knew not my name or face on the shores of Ingonish We walked in earnest conversation as evening turn tonight I could not tell her my vocation without filling her with fright I said I traded in America, it was a simple merchant ship That would soon be setting sail from the shores of Ingonish Sailor learns to read the sky and recognize approaching harm What I read in my love’s eyes, it did fill me with alarm For there are fortunes to be taken in hundred ports like this But my heart would sure betray me on the shores of Ingonish Then one night as I lay sleeping, came a pounding in my door They said a fire upon my ship was casting shadows on the shore And my love was not beside me - o, who had perpetrated this? And granted me my heart’s desire on the shores of Ingonish And as I watched my vessel burning she soon was at my side She said she always knew my secret and guessed the truth behind the lies For no merchant loves with such passion as the fire in our kiss She played the pirate to my heart on the shores of Ingonish I courted my true love on the shores of Ingonish And Cape Breton’s summer breeze blew upon us like a kiss I did pledge my love forever and sealed it with a kiss And swore that I would never leave the shores of Ingonish

MY LAST REQUEST © 2003 by Chuck Hall We live in the age of too much information and spiritual depravation Spirits who are longing for the bread and wine of grace All our pride comes crumbling down, and even as we clear the ground One idol is removed and another set in place I’ve just got to find a way to make it through another day Without once wondering what I might be missing on the TV set To free my soul from techno - jail, to go one day without email Just pull the plug say goodbye But I don’t have the courage yet God grant me before I die, a home where I can see a sky So big it makes me want to fly and leave this world behind And all I have one request: a home deep in the wilderness A place where I can find my rest And live my life in peace The Spirit speaks in a still small voice but we’re born into a world of noise And can’t hear words of healing even as they’re being spoken So I long for a place of peace, far away from all machines Where I can get my hearing back and heal this heart I’ve broken God grant me before I die, a home where I can see a sky So big it makes me want to fly and leave this world behind And all I have one request: a home deep in the wilderness A place where I can find my rest And live my life in peace I saw a rainbow cross the shores the Straits Of Labrador And it took all my breath away and spoke volumes without words A place as yet untouched it seems by these infernal noise machines A place like this is what I mean, is what I said, is what the Spirt heard: My last request God grant me before I die, a home where I can see a sky So big it makes me want to fly and leave this world behind And all I have one request: a home deep in the wilderness A place where I can find my rest And live my life in peace