Voice In The Floorboards

An old hobo hiking down a road with no name
No past but the dirt in his nails
The steam trains are gone but the tracks are still there
At night he hears the songs in the rails
Wrought-iron brickwork and crumbling hotels
The story of a working woman’s bed
The piano’s a birdcage and the taps have run dry
But the good times still ring in Molly’s head

I am the voice in the floorboards
I am the smoke in the walls
I am the ghost of an old lonely building
In my time I swear I’ve seen it all
Now I wait for the big wrecking ball

Great wars were fought in this factory town
By the women breathing death in the mills
Over pennies a day and a child’s right to play
The gunshots rained down from the hills
Strikers, Militias, Wobblies and Priests
They all scratched their names in my walls
Now their blood turns to dust when we bury the past
No more stories when the last hotel falls

-Chorus-

The years fall like leaves from the branches of time
My walls shake with the Songs of the Dead
Their stories ring out like an old sailor’s rime
When I’m gone there’ll be silence instead
So take the plugs from your ears, put your head to the floor
Trade your plastic for leather and steel
Listen for the voices of the ones who came before
They’re still there if you know how to feel

-Chorus-

The poor go to war but the rich go to Hell
One day it’s all going to burn
Dead soldiers leave nothing but stories to tell
In their graves I can still hear them turn
Silence is gold for the ones at the top
They’ve buried the Living Memory
Now the gravedigger’s hands can make the great machine stop
Take the shovel and set yourself free

-Chorus-