Lyrics for the Smithsonian Folkways LP/CD
NEON PRINCESS
by Thom Parrott


WHERE ARY YOU GOING, BOY?
words & music by Thom Parrott
Copyright 1965 by Thom Parrott

Came to this city, hope in my heart.
Find this town will only be the start.
Where are you going, boy?
I don't know, and what's more, I don't think I care.

New York City, Frisco Bay,
And all the country along the way.
Where are you going, boy?
I don't know, and what's more, I don't think I care.

Love when I can, fight when I must,
Die if it's needed, life is a lust.
Go where I want to, live how I can.
Somewhere along the way I may become a man.

Got to be going, you know why.
May never find myself but I know I've got to try.
Where are you going, boy?
I don't know, and what's more, I don't think I care.


GROOVY AND LINDA
words & music by Thom Parrott
Copyright 1967 by Thom Parrott

Groovy was a rambling boy who came to Tompkins Square.
He sometimes had a crash pad, everyone was welcome there.
And he helped a thousand people, he'd have helped a million more.
But they found his broken body on the bloody basement floor.
And Groovy was a free man, so beautiful to see,
With a love for everybody that was there for all to see.

Linda was a young girl who painted with her soul.
Who lived a life of luxury til she just had to go.
And she loved all of her people until the day she died,
Tho the straight folks in Connecticut could only wonder why.
But Linda was a free girl, so beautiful to see,
With a love for everybody that was there for all to see.

Jesus was a drifter who went from town to town.
All the evil, up-tight people knew when he was around.
For he showed us what we ought to be, til they nailed him on the cross,
Though they knew somewhere within their hearts, they paid too high a cost.
For Jesus was a free man, so beautiful to see.
With a love for everybody that was there for all to see.

And those who've tasted Groovy's love and Linda's quite the same,
Have also known of Jesus love, tho they shun the Christian name,
For they had love that so few people ever understand:
The love of those who give themselves to help their fellow man.
So let us all be free men, the, so beautiful to see,
With a love for everybody that is here for all to see.


THE ABERFAN COALTIP TRAGEDY
words & music by Thom Parrott
Copyright 1966 by Thom Parrott

The mining men of Wales are hardy, strong and bold,
And they tunnel in the earth and make it yield its coal.
But in the town of Aberfan, it's dearer now than gold,
For one generation, for the black rock, has been sold.
How many died in Aberfan
When the coal tip came rumbling down?
How many children will never grow old?
How many lives purchase how many pounds of coal?

The little school of Pantglas* lay where the mountain loomed,
And some two hundred children took their lessons in its rooms.
The day fall recess was to begin, they went to meet their doom,
Not knowing "the green hollow" would soon become their tomb.
Chorus.

It was just 9:00 AM when they opened up the door,
And in came the children, two hundred, maybe more,
For nobody knew what the mountain had in store.
The lucky ones were tardy, the others are no more.
Chorus.

"I played with my big dog, I played with my cat."
Signed "Paul, October 21." There's nothing after that.
For the mountain came down, and everyone was trapped,
And now there's only coal slag where little Paul once sat.
Chorus.

In eighteen hundred and seventy-four, the first pit shaft went down,
And they started piling mining waste on the slopes above the town.
Everybody knew that the practice was unsound
But for ninety-two years no better place was found.

The men of the National Coal Board said that they'd known from the first.
The coal tips they permitted were a worry and a curse.
But I've heard that kind of thing so many times and it always sounds rehearsed.
If the coal tip was a murderer, the Coal Board's crime was worse.

For the children all were pretty, the children all were fine,
But the children went to school in the shadow of the mine.
With the coal tip up above them, they were running out of time,
And they were buried alive by the Ministry of Mine.
How many died in Aberfan
When the coal tip came tumbling down.
How many children will never grow old.
How many lives purchase how many tons of coal.


MISTY MORNING MAIDEN
words & music by Thom Parrott
Copyright 1966 by Thom Parrott

On the misty Monday morning of the dawn of my release,
While searching through the shadows for some sign of inner peace,
I found a misty morning maiden with flowers in her hair,
Smelled a cooling, soothing fragrance, I heard music everywhere.
And the misty morning maiden softly took me by the hand.
Sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping, led me thru her misty morning land.

From the melding of a mirror with the vision of its face,
We went slipping down a mossy bank where a swirling brooklet raced.
And there upon a sandy shore where the mountain flowers lie,
We counted all the pebbles as we watched the clouds roll by.
And the misty morning maiden warmly took my wandering hand,
And, laughing thru her teardrops called me her misty morning man.


NEON PRINCESS
words & music by Thom Parrott
Copyright 1966 by Thom Parrott

The Neon Princess smiles a smile that's numb with nothingness,
Her eyes a sea of molten masquerade.
She moves her mouth in greeting and she kisses you to show
You are welcome to her gruesome, small parade.

But her words have little meaning
And her kisses have no feeling
And she doesn't really see you there at all.
For her neon youth is flying
And she knows there's no use crying
And she doesn't really care which way she falls.

The Neon Princess drinks the beer you buy her on the sly,
But she's tasting mead in an Arthurian dream,
And, tho she sits beside you on a bench against the wall,
She sees herself beside a Scottish stream.

And she goes on with her dreaming
Tho she knows what you are scheming,
For your hands are asking silent questions of her.
For her neon world is dying
And she knows there's no use crying
And she doesn't really care who is her lover.

The Neon Princess climbs the stairs up to the room you show her,
Her feet reluctant to the work of walking.
And she takes the drink you offer and she nibbles at your ear,
And you know she doesn't feel too much like talking.

And you think you know her yearning
For your own lust is a-burning
But that isn't really what she feels at all.
It's just, her neon world is dying
And she knows there's no use crying,
And she doesn't really care which way she falls.

Tho the Neon Princess burns you with the presence of her body,
You feel the passion of the moment go,
For, tho she's there beside you, her presence is a chore,
For her spirit left her body long ago.

So you finish what you've started
But you do it now half hearted,
For you know she doesn't feel you there above her.
And you know that you are plying
A princess who is dying,
Who doesn't really care who is her lover.

And she's gone now, and you're lonely, but you know you do not miss her,
For she was gone before you found her on the corner.
And you know that she's a martyr, a phantom orphan in the night,
And you know that no one else will ever mourn her.

The Neon Princess is defiled,
She's a lost and a lonely child,
Who'll come to anyone who cares to call.
And she's done her share of crying
For her neon world that's dying,
And she knows there's nothing left now but to fall.

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