To your common sense firm arguments I won't listen to your voice of
reason
trying to change my mind. I mind my feelings and not your words.
Didn't you
notice I'm so headstrong even when I know I'm wrong? Take this to your
heart
and into your head now: before you waste your time, call a truce and
call a
draw.
What's the use in mapping your views out in orderly form when it does
nothing but confuse and anger me more? I mind my feelings and not your
words.
Didn't you notice I'm so headstrong. You're talking to a deaf stone
wall.
Take this to your heart and into your head now: the old wives' tale is
true,
I'll repeat it. All is fair in love and war, that's how the famous
saying goes.
Open up your eyes, see me for what I am: cast in iron, I won't break
and I
won't bend. Take this to your heart and into your head now: the old
wvies'
tale is true, I'll repeat it. All is fair in love and war, that's how
the
famous saying goes.
If I told you we were out to sea in a bottomless boat, you'd try
anything to
save us, you'd try anything to keep us afloat. And if we were living
in a
house afire, I don't believe that you could rush out and escape it and
not
rescue me. Take this to your heart and into your head now: the old
wives' tale
is true, I'll repeat it. All is fair in love and war, that's how the
famous
saying goes. Listen, I think they were talking to you.
[ Spoken intro from: Women's Diaries of the Westward Journey (byLillian Schlissel) ]
"While the young folks were having their good times
some of the mothers were giving birth to their babies.
Three babies were born in our company that summer.
My cousin, Emily, gave birth to a son in Utah,
forty miles north of the Great Salt Lake one morning.
But the next morning she traveled on
'til noon when a stop was made and another child was born,
this time Susan Mollmeyer.
And gave the baby the name Alice Nevada."
Follow the typical signs, the hand-painted lines, down prairieroads.
Pass the lone church spire.
Pass the talking wire from where to who knows?
There's no way to divide the beauty of the sky from the wildwestern plains.
Where a man could drift, in legendary myth, by roaming overspaces.
The land was free and the price was right.
Dakota on the wall is a white-robed woman, broad yet maidenly.
Such power in her hand as she hails the wagon man's family.
I see Indians that crawl through this mural that recalls ourhistory.
Who were the homestead wives?
Who were the gold rush brides?
Does anybody know?
Do their works survive their yellow fever lives in the pages theywrote?
The land was free, yet it cost their lives.
In miner's lust for gold, a family's house was bought and sold,piece by piece.
A widow staked her claim on a dollar and his name, sopainfully.
In letters mailed back home her Eastern sisters
they would moan as they would read accounts of
madness, childbirth, loneliness and grief.
