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Beneath These Stars

from 1939 by David Rovics

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One for the campfire and the hobos at the Black Butte Center for Railroad Culture in Weed, California.

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Soup is cooking in the cauldron, there's a freight train passing by
A plane streaking through the night air way up in the sky
Nearby the leaves are shimmering and they rustle in the breeze
Blowing smoke upon our faces and on the guitars on our knees
Like a message from the mountain saying now here we are
Around this campfire, beneath these stars

Someone throws a log on, lighting up our faces
And the more or less together state of each of our shoelaces
Someone tells a story of a place she'd like to go
And it feels like nothing's changed much since a thousand years ago
The glowing embers of a pipe, the passing of a jar
Around this campfire, beneath these stars

Out there in the world kids are sleeping in their cots
Fishermen are hauling nets and tying fishing knots
Somewhere someone's dancing, someone's drilling a gas well
Someone's writing memoirs sitting in a prison cell
Some of us are wondering is there life up there on Mars?
Around this campfire, beneath these stars

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from 1939, released January 11, 2016

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David Rovics Portland, Oregon

Singer/songwriter, writer, podcaster (on Spotify, Substack & Patreon), anarchist, dad, lover of life.

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