Beware the Cripple

There were a few of these guys at my old church.  Whenever you'd start to get somewhere with living your life, not being overcome by shame and doubt and indecision, they'd abruptly appear, apparently out of nowhere, usually blocking your path to the nearest exit.  They'd sometimes even slap their hand down on where your neck meets your shoulder, and do something my friend Mark called "sliming" you.  Like in Ghostbusters.  Except the slime was pretty toxic.  You'd feel like they'd gotten it all over you once they started talking.

    They'd smile a lot.  They'd be doing it all for your own good.  But what they said would mess you up.  It was like they were emotional, spiritual and psychological cripples, and they wanted to kneecap anyone who looked like they'd still be able to run from danger, if necessary, or win races or anything.  They couldn't really live lives exactly, so what they did was "help" other people do what they'd done so as to avoid that awful fate (living a life).

    So I wrote this song. I never really recorded it back in the day, and when I played it, it always sounded to me like an odd version of "Puff the Magic Dragon."  The "clever" bit, I thought at the time, was to 'reveal' a new line of the chorus with each verse.  So, first verse you only get the first line of the chorus, then second verse you get the hear the first and second, then after the next verse, you get the first three lines of the chorus, and so on:

Beware the Cripple

There be great immovables, once men, now turned to rocks

That a kid could climb up if he brought rope and his nice red climbing socks

But he would meet a person halfway up there leaning on a crutch

A kindly, simple, crippled man who thinks we think too much

Beware the Cripple

His story is a simple one, but one that's seldom told

He's feeble, and he's senile, but he isn't very old

He broke his legs while climbing up the selfsame very rocks

Traversed only in fantasy by our friend in his read socks

Beware the Cripple

Standing in your way

He ground up all his strengths and he put them in a pot

Then he boiled them, and reboiled them, 'till he was happy

And what he got was a tarry greyish poison of a very nasty kind

Now he spoons it out to everyone as Tonic For The Mind (like the flu, like the cold, good for what ails ya!)

Beware the Cripple

Standing in your way

Calling all his friends

Wooden warriors on wooden crutches

Glass bottles full of goo

With plastic spoons to cram in your mouth

But kid, that stuff'll kill you

Beware the Cripple

And all his friends

Don't ever stop to talk to him, 'cause he won't rest 'till you've had your fill

Of his crock-concocted cure-all, then he'll kick you down the hill

He will toss you down a crutch to use, unless you can get past

The one thing that could save ya, is he can't run very fast

Beware the Cripple

Standing in your way

Calling all his friends

Coming after you

 

   I have been having trouble getting myself to record things, so what I do that works is I get other people to commit to recording some instrument part on the song, which is of course not yet recorded when I get them to agree.  Then of course I have to record it so there's something for them to add to, when they show up.  Works well.  

   So, I can't really fingerpick properly, and Chris is great at it, so I got him to agree to come do some, and then I had to record it.  I ended up using my first take.  Wasn't sure if I should do any backing vocal harmony, or if I could think of anything, so when this came out (the recording has the first take of that too).  Here's what we ended up with.