Week 9: My first dystopian folk ballad

It almost always feels good to write a song, but sometimes it feels particularly good. For me, this is usually because the song feels like it's something new, like it fills a space in my canon that was empty. Sometimes it's because the song has an energy or quality that is difficult for me to tap into, and that's definitely the case with this week's ditty.

There is no shortage of dark and depressing fodder for songs these days, but I do struggle sometimes to get dark (and stay there) in my songwriting. I have this strong hopeful impulse that can't help but exert itself on my writing: pulling an otherwise despairing song out of its own nosedive by the bridge. But one of the great things about songs is that they are such small things– no one song needs to bear the responsibility for answering its own questions or relieving its own pain. Still, I often feel the impulse to do just that, and it's freeing to resist it once in a while. In the case of this song, the concept of a survivalist ballad really freed me up to go dark and stay dark. I have plenty of hopeful, happy songs to round this one out.

The idea of a bug out plan has always fascinated me. I can't blame my interest on recent political events. Our family had one growing up, perhaps because we lived so close to Washington D.C., or perhaps because we did a lot of camping and fancied ourselves amateur survivalists. Either way, I've always been interested in the basic question: what would you do if you had to get the hell out of Dodge? And in modern times, addicted to our technology and lacking basic survival skills, are we really equipped for the possibility? I started with these ideas, but the song took an interesting turn.

Lyrics:
He never was a boy scout, couldn't tie a knot
Before now, never laid a fire with his own hands
A bag of brown rice, an aluminum pot
under the cover of darkness in abandoned State Park lands

They told the children they were going on vacation
but they only packed their food and a change of clothes
Turned the dog loose near the Reservation,
comes the time every creature's on his own

Cause they said what are you willing to do for your country, boys?
What are you willing to do for your country?
What are you willing to do for your country boys, country boys
What are you willing to do?

She never held a rifle, never fired a round
but at the Pennsylvania Surplus, she bought up all she could
The kids were huddled by the river, digging in the ground,
While she loaded the car and threw the cell phones in the woods

Cause they said what are you willing to do for your country, boys?
What are you willing to do for your country?
What are you willing to do for your country boys, country boys
What are you willing to do?

They never held a compass, could barely read a map
The kids were asleep and the night was as deep as their doubt
Ripped the plates off south of Oswego, ran out of gas twelve miles from the line
Oh only a cloudless night could save them now

Well they made it across to the Ottawa camps
A ring of canvas tents and kerosene lamps
They kissed the kids goodnight and turned around
hailed the next big freighter, oh, headed south

Cause he never was a boy scout, and she never held a gun
They never killed for sport and they never camped for fun
Holding hands in the back of the cab on a journey just begun
Comes the time a body does what must be done

And they say what are you willing to do for your country boys?
What are you willing to do for your country?
What are you willing to do for your country boys, country boys,
​What are you willing to do?

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