by Slaid Cleaves and Nicole St Pierre.
Recorded by Slaid Cleaves on the cd ÎWishbonesâ
Capo on three and play these chords.
Thereâs an old dirt road, just off route nine.
Fades into the lake, at the low water line.
Sometimes I wander down that road alone.
Remembering the town, that I once called home.
I grew up in the valley, every neighbour a friend,
Until the modern world started creeping in.
One day came the lawyers, with cash in hand.
They swore that our village would light up the land
The dusky waters move cold and slow,
And the ghosts of a village still wander below.
Homesteads of families and friends forever more,
Haunting the valley below this sparkling shore.
Surrounding the valley was a painted red line,
Drawn by company men like marking a crime.
A silent reminder that all inside it must go,
Or be lost to the rising dead riverâs flow.
Some folks too the money, started grinding gears,
While the rest of us held out, twenty odd years.
We watched our town, like a photograph fade,
As the company came, to take it all away.
They tore down the church, the schoolhouse burned.
They dug up the graves, the wheels of progress turned.
They got Dutchieâs store, and Havenâs pool hall,
When the dozers rolled, it shattered us all.
Old May Savage stayed as long as she could
Her house on the hill towered over the flood.
It rose up alone, in the dark of night,
Its face on the water, the cold moonlight.
I shake off the memories, on my lips a prayer.
Thanks for the grace, and the beauty down there.
And while the porch lights glow, all over the state,
Thereâs nothing but darkness, under the lake.
They haunt the valley below this sparkling shore.