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The Ballad Of John Henry Faulk
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Phil Ochs
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I'll tell you the story of John Henry Faulk.
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I'll tell you of his trials and the troubled trail he walked,
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And I'll tell of the tyrants, the ones you never see:
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Murder is the role they play and hatred is their fee.
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On the TV and the radio John Henry Faulk was known.
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He talked to many thousands with a mind that was his own,
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But he could not close his eyes when the lists were passed around,
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So he tried to move the Union to tear the blacklist down.
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His friends they tried to warn him he was headin' for a fall.
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If he spoke against the blacklist he had no chance at all,
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But he laughed away their warnings and he laughed away their fears:
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For how could lies destroy the work of many honest years?
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Then slowly, oh so slowly, his life began to change.
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People would avoid his eyes, his friends were actin' strange,
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And he finally saw the power of the hidden poison pen
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When they told him that his job was through, he'd never work again.
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And he could not believe what his sad eyes had found.
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He stared in disbelief as his world came tumblin' down,
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And as the noose grew tighter, at last the trap was clear:
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For every place he turned to go, that list would soon be there
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-- Oh, that list.
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And is there any bottom to the fears that grow inside?
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Is there any bottom to the hate that you must hide?
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And is there any end to your long road of despair?
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Is there any end to the pain that you must bear?
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His wife and children trembled, the time was runnin' short,
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When a man of law got on their side and took them into court,
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And there upon the stand they could not hide behind their eyes,
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And the cancer of the fascist was displayed before our eyes.
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Hey, you blacklist, you blacklist, I've seen what you have done.
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I've seen the men you've ruined and the lives you've tried to run,
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But the one thing that I've found is, the only ones you spare
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Are those that do not have a brain, or those that do not care.
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And you men who point your fingers and spread your lies around,
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You men who left your souls behind and drag us to the ground,
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You can put my name right down there, I will not try to hide --
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For if there's one man on the blacklist, I'll be right there by his side.
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For I'd rather go hungry to beg upon the streets
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Than earn my bread on dead men's souls and crawl beneath your feet.
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And I will not play your hater's game and hate you in return,
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for it's only through the love of man the blacklist can be burned.
The Ballad of Joe Hill - by Phil Ochs
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