For An Old Kentucky Anarchist by Erik Petersen

Erik Petersen – For an Old Kentucky Anarchist
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High upon a forgotten mountain top, lay a garden, untended and dry
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'twas a yard that hadn't felt children's feet running, for the mother long
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ago, taught her children how to fly
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Within a simple cabin, untouched by industrial hands
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Sat the aging mother in her home
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You can’t escape the picture frames, there’s too many, she said
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They keep me from being alone
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Well she spoke, "he was an honest man, he worked hard to put food on our plates
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Well we had more babies than we had arms, we struggled all our lives
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But the rewards were great
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And when my son came home from the war, he rested his head on my breast
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And said, “mom, I’m tired of being used and grinded down, I feel so low
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Can you make me feel like I’m the best?”
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Well my best friend truly wed a savage man, he wore her like a bad tattoo
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For his only love was for the bottle, she said there’s only one thing left for me to do
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To be wild once again, to take back my life and run away, set flames to his truck
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He won’t ever know he’s been missing I did every day, joy freedom, dance, and love
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      Dance and love..."
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These are the stories that this mother spoke to me,
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As I brought her garden back to grow. I was rewarded with a warm meal
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Tales never to be heard, some call it poverty, but they’ll never know
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She said “All I’ve got is my stories and this old guitar, my crops have all come and 
away,
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I’ve got a head full of recipies,enticing to the taste and a liking to wake up and greet 
day
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Got bad back from raising my children, from hugging my husband so tight
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Hell, I’ve never cared much for any government, I’ve got my jesus when I feel the time 
right,
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Singin’ I’m the richest I'll ever be, I embrace the world I have all around me. So sing 
dying song, and
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slap your knee, Have a taste of true anarchy
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   Yeah, anarchy

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