Heaven, is this heaven wher we are? See them walking, if youi
dare , if you call that walking. Stumble, stagger, fall and drag
themselvesalong the streets of heaven.
Where is the blessed table to feed all who hunger on earth,
welcomed and seated each one joyfully served? See them walkinf, if
you dare, if you call that walking. Stumble, stagger, fall and drag
themselves along the streetso f heaven.
Where is the halo that should glow 'round your face, and where
are the wings that should grow from your shoulder blades? Show them
to me.
These are sobering sights I've seen in the City of Angels have
all been one rude awakening that was dues to me in heaven.
There would have been heavenly music I was convinced before.
A host of the dearly to meet me with Hosannas sung at the door, but
these are sobering sights I've seen in the City of Angels have all
been one rude awakening that was dues to me in hevean. In this city
of fallen angels.
[ 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.
