1. |
Widow Mullins
03:16
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Widow Mullins
There’s a cabin at the top, on top of a winding ridge. That’s where Widow Mullins lived with nearly 20 kids. Some just died and some did not, surviving kids just helped their Ma.
Local cops and revenuers, they knew what she did. Made best moonshine bucks buy within 500 miles. It’s juicy apples, tasty peaches. Her brandy – it was first rate. Widow Mullins sold a lot – made good money for herself and her kids.
One heartfelt yell for this rebel, Widow Mullins, a toast to you!
Not one dozen men could get her to the bottom of the ridge. „Catchable, not fetchable“ – locals proudly said. Kept teasin’ authorities, „take me if you can!“ They could not so the dogs of law kept busting her stills.
This Mullins Widow and her kids, they all sure rolled their eyes. They knew their stuff, within one week a better still was built. And at the age of 74 her life came to an end. Rumors said it was the dogs of law.
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2. |
Apple Pie
03:29
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Apple Pie
This Ma’am sure hit his eyes: wrinkled scars, her stare was cold. It was not her eyes, it was her smile – seen many things, none she told.
Sold apple pie so it was said, excellent stuff to ease all pain. Money’s tight, but he will pay. No price is too high to kill the pain.
One hearty gulp and things went south. He didn’t mind, it was his way. Feet got heavy, he sat down. Drank it all, he was lead astray
Never learned what made him smile, saw some future when there was none. Asked himself what people meant when they said „God has
a plan, asshole!“
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3. |
A Dance on Air
03:03
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A Dance On Air
One young man walked the memory lane, at a steady pace, his mind at ease. The wind was blowing, first he couldn’t tell who it was howling: „I wanna dance.“
Young man then left his way, he crossed the woods to where the voice came from. There was one old guy, just sitting there. A jar in his hand and no fire in his eyes.
A murder of crows was sitting on this tree … A gallow in the woods and the beauty of a rope … A dance on air – that’s what was coming soon.
Old man said „Son, why don’t you sit down? Just for five minutes and take a shot. Close your eyes and listen to the crows. There’s no story I will tell and there’s no song …
I screwed up big time and my wrongs I can’t count. Don’t wanna see no moon again, just crows I wanna hear. Goddammit“, he praid, „Lord, just help me this one time!“
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4. |
Home?
03:04
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Home?
He was raised with a bible and with his father’s belt. His mother cried all night and then he saw the light.
Doors’ wide open, he stepped inside. There was darkness in this room and death and sadness he could smell.
That’s where he saw the light, here where there is no sun. There’s sadness in the air, there’s a bottle on the bar.
Sent shivers down his spine, the bottle yelled „come on“. He’s not the man who hesitates when someone’s offering good ol’ shine.
Bartender’s name was Dick, one guy he’s never seen before. Now he stood in front of him with his black book … This place it felt so wrong but for him it felt like home. Dick just said „there’s ghosts around“ and „you can’t do nothing wrong!“
These shivers still he felt, cold fingers he could feel. They gave him warmth and taught him lottsa different things.
Seducing him with promises, that’s what these ghosts did so fine. Toe to toe with sin and hell – oh God … This teasing lady he couldn’t see kissed him real hard. Her bony fingers on his heart and then she ripped his chest apart.
So this is how it ends, here where there is no sun. His heart’s been ripped out by a ghost … bein’ relieved that’s how he felt.
And now he’s one of them. He’d never felt that good. Bony fingers on his spine and holy spirits all around.
That’s where he saw the light, here where there is no sun. I guess now he’s home, a place he’s never been before.
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5. |
D’ Lawina
05:09
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D’ Lawina
An Wind hot blosa, saukalt isch as gsi. Gschnejt hots, des globsch ned, brutal wi no nia. Zwoa Meta Schnee hots ghet und nass isch a gsi.
Drü Täg isch as her, sit se ganga isch. D’ Gota hot s’ bsuacht, z’ Blons hot di gwohnt. Und denn isch da Schnee ku, und Sunna? Dia war denn weg.
Da Ernscht im Tal, ihr Ma isch des gsi, d’ Nochrichta hot a glost, vorm Radio isch a ghängt. Vo da Lawina hon s’ gredt, unta dea isch jetz Blons.
’s Leaba, des isch ned schö, und ohne di do kann i ned si. ’s alloanig si, jo, des bringt mi um. (Er hoits nimma aus, er wü hoit zu ihr.) Und wenns do nur kalt isch, und d’ Sunna nia schient – mir isch des gli … I woaß ned, wo d’ bisch, oan weag kenn i … (Der fiat zu ihr.)
’s Hus vo da Gota, des hots denn nüm ghea. Niamand hot mehr gleabt, di warn jetzt alle untam Schnee. Da Ernscht hot des ghört, dan Rescht hots em ghea. Da Schnaps hot eam gholfa, aba gflennt hot a gnua. Fescht gliabt hot a d’ Elise, jetzt wird’s nüm ku. Ohne Elise hots koan Wert, ’s Leaba und nix.
Ufghängt hot a sich im Kella beim Schnaps. Lang isch a ned ghängt,
als se ean gfunda hot. Lut gschria hot d’ Elise! Dia isch gea net hi gsi!
D’ Lawina isch aba, z’ St. Gerold isch s’ do scho gsi. A Salb füa d’ Gota hola, füa ihr hinigs Knie. Und denn isch se ins Tal, uf an Ernscht hot s’ si gfreut.
„Hättasch do bloß gwartat“, hot d’ Elise denn brüllt. Si Abschiedsbriafle hot’s gleasa, do hot a si no dräht. Und ihre Träna sind so lut gsi, sogär vo eam isch no oane ku.
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6. |
Butta am Tisch
02:34
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Butta am Tisch (Schwobakinda Trilogie 1)
Ufgwachsa bin i in nam Tal im Muntafu, uf anam Hof mit drü Henna, 10 Johr alt bin i gsi. Nün Schweschtra und a Brüderle hon i ghet. Üsre Mäga? Hond imma knurrt!
Am Josephitag, 1866 isch as gsi, noch Hergaz hons uns gschickt, mi Brüderle und mi. Acht isch der erscht gsi, s’ erschte mol weg vo Dahoam. … zwoa klinne Schwoababüble …
„Da Herrgott luagt uf ö“, hot d’ Mama no gsejt, „weil schick ma ö net weg, denn verhungara ma do. Sind bloss brav bi da Schwoaba! Und schaffa? Des tun da ghörig!“
Da Vata hot nix gsejt und bloss ins Leere gschot. In sina Ouga? … do isch nix gsi. „Im Herbscht sind a wieda do“, hot d’ Mama no gsejt, denn schtoht a Butta am Tisch.“
No am Josephitag, 66 isch as no gsi, am Markt simma gschtanda, mi Brüderle und i. Der Buar, der mi usgsuacht hot, an schtrenga is as gsi … und sine Pratza warn sooo groß!
Mi Brüderle hot plärrt, sine Hand hot mine gsuacht. Da Buar hot mi weggagrissa, Schläg hon i kassiert. Unds Brüderle hon i nümma gsehna. Weder jetzt no nia!
Zum Martini denn, do war i wieda dahoam. Mama hot gflennt, als ’s mi in Arm gno hot. Da Vata hot nix gsejt und bloss ins Leere gschot. In sina Ouga? … do isch imma no nix gsi.
Aba die G’schicht goat no wita, weil: gnua isch gnua.
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7. |
Intalüdile / Nochejassa
04:00
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Intalüdile (Schwoabkinda Trilogie 2)
Trurig simma alle gsi. Sogär in Vatas Ouga hosch jetzt was gsehna. Dicke Träna … und viel Wuat! Öpfel hots Brüderle möga. Am Bühel homma em a klins Bömle pflanzt. Des war nua für ehn, und denn homma wita gschafft.
Und d’ Joahr sind vaganga und da Schmerz isch bliba. Wia’s Lacha ghot honn i vagessa.
I honn dann ufghört reda. Woasch, i honn o nix mehr zum säga ghet. Und was i ma usgmoalt honn, des isch mins gsi.
Nochejassa (Schwoabkinda Trilogie 3)
Und denn amol – a Wetta hots ghet. Da Himmel war schwarz, untam Bömle bin i ghockt.
(Gseng hod a nua:) Große Ouga volla Angscht!
(Gschpiad hod a nua:) Angscht in sina Hand!
(Denkt hod a si:) Gnua isch gnua.
(Gwusst hod a nua:) Gnua isch gnua!
Uf an Weg honn i mi gmacht. A scharfs Messa honn i ghet. Des war für den der glebt hot, obwhol der des net söt.
Bloss a Schwoababüble, aba oans mit Zorn!
Gfunda honn i eahn schnell, den brutala Schwoababuar. Min Veitl in sinam Oug, denn war’s gnua.
Si Billet, des hot a zahlt. Der Buar hot kriagt was a vadient. Und i brünzl uf si Grab. Oans woass i fix: Gnua isch gnua!
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8. |
Schiffle
04:34
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Schiffle
’s Mariallaschnäpsle vom alta Meuse – des war als erschtes weg. D’ Pischtola hot no via Kügile ghet – zwoa sin scho in a nam Dütscha g’schteckt. Geschtern bin in i der Stadt aku. „Hamburch“ sägans, so hoasst des Neascht. Viel Schiffle sind do im Hafa gsi – i hoff, morga isch des o no so. I suach a Schiffle noch Amerigga …
Dahoam in dem Örtle, us dem i kumm, hond mi scho alle vo da Schande gsuacht. Martles (Arthurs) Tod, des war mine Schuld. Aba an blöda Siach, des isch er scho gsi. Und jetz, jetz will i noch Amerigga, do lossans mi, hoff i, in Ruah. Do gibts o viel Jöble, jo, des hon i ghört, des honds amoal im Hirscha vazehlt
Do war a Schpelunka, do bin i denn ine, d’ Luft isch dick gsi vom Zigrettaruch. Und Wiba warn do und Männa mit Bärta und sufa honds künna, hon i glei gmerkt.Mim Hein hon i gsoffa, an komodda Kerl, der isch a Matrösle uf am Schiff. Morga legt a ab, hot a gsejt – und i hon vagessa wo ane des goat.
Koa Ahnung wo i war als i ufgwacht bin. Gschaukelt hot alles, des globand a ned. Am Schiffle war i, uf dem vom Hein. – Harrgolente! – Ob des noch Amerigga fahrt?
I hoff des isch a Schiffle noch Amerigga, oder i globs halt. „Hoffa“? Des tua i doch ned. Und es isch wia es isch und es bliebt wia es bliebt. Und es isch …
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