Testo Susannah Little - Grant-Lee Phillips
Testo della canzone Susannah Little (Grant-Lee Phillips), tratta dall'album Virginia Creeper
Susan Little, Susan Little
Gone 'fore I ever arrived
Questions that stream through my own Creek blood
They ought to save your life
A motherless child, you were torn from your home
By decree of the county affairs
Good Christians, they gave you a lily white dress
And they shorn back that Indian hair
Told you study your Bible, be silent and still
And take to the ways of the whites
Nothing they offered could break down your will
For you ran for the gates one night
Susan Little, Susan Little
Gone 'fore I ever arrived
Questions that stream through my own Creek blood
Stories that keep you alive
Your daddy Joe Little had woes of his own
Drink was much stronger than greed
But some in the city thought Native red hands
Were no place to let rest a deed
Oklahoma was rich with the stench of black oil
And the men who came there to drill
In the sunbaked clay of Indian lands
There in the desolate fields
Susan Little, Susan Little
Gone 'fore I ever arrived
Questions that stream through my own Creek blood
Songs that'll keep you alive
Mysterious crimes, they swept through the county
Waving the finger of blame
Eyes turned to Joe Little, a couple too many
Of acres of land to his name
No one would have heard the lone shot in the night
They never posted his bail
Big Joey Little, he never walked out
Of Sheriff Stanton's jail
Susan Little, Susan Little
Gone 'fore I ever arrived
Questions that stream through my own Creek blood
They ought to save your life
For all of the lives you had lived this far
No part of you could have known
The evil hearts of the men who would fetch you
One night by the side of the road
The moon it grew dark and the frost would form
Before you finally were found
Chained to a log in a torn white dress
Shaking wild-eyed on the ground
Susan Little, Susan Little
Gone 'fore I ever arrived
Questions that stream through my own Creek blood
Such were the trials of your life
Yet in the years to come you took a man
Raised five of your own
And for a spell it was almost as though
The light of justice had shone
The hand that had written this part but for you
And made it all plenty hard
Gave you a gusher, a wellspring of oil
There in your own backyard
So pile them kids in the plush back seat
Riding shotgun in the Packard to town
With your man Tom Fisher, one hand on the wheel
The other on your knee now
Susan Little, Susan Little
Gone 'fore I ever arrived
Questions that stream through my own Creek blood
They ought to save your life
Susan Little
Susan Little
Susan Little
Susan Little
Susan Little
Susan Little
Credits
Writer(s): Grant Lee Phillips
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