I Took my Son to the Birthplace House of Mister Sandburg
We rode through Galesburg Waited on the train Played the piano by the old opera house And walked in the rain Went to visit the house where mister carl sandburg Was born and raised And saw the empty buildings Standing tall in the rain The worn out bricks And the faded ads For healing powders and remedies for pain That tiny house And the town A great man raised And he wrote so proud Of Chicago And the land of Abraham Lincoln And shared songbags of slaves, cowboys Songs of mormons, pilgrims, settlers, bad men and cathouse call girls every one of them no doubt had the touch of blues of shipwrecks and trainwrecks and mighty fires legends of loss on land and sea and the triumphant gains of skyscrapers born to reach beyond the smoke stack clouds I took my son to the house of Mister Carl Sandburg And we walked together in the rain And recalled the songs Of the working men and women In the cities and towns and Pullman car dreamers rushing across the plains We saw the mural just beyond the trac