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Dogtown
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Chapin Harry
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1
Up in Massachusetts There's a little spit of land.
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The men who make the maps, yes, they call the place Cape Ann.
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The men who do the fishing call it Glouster Harbor Sound,
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But the women left behind, they call the place Dogtown.
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The men go out for whaling, past the breakers and the fogs.
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The women stay home waiting they're protected by the dogs.
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A tough old whaler woman who had seen three husbands drown,
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Polled the population and she named the place Dogtown.
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There's all these grey faced women in their black widow's gowns,
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Living in this grave yard granite town.
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Yeah, you soon learn there's many more than one way to drown;
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That's while going to the dogs here in Dogtown.
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And she speaks: My father was a merchant all in the Boston fief.
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When my husband came and asked him for my hand.
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But little did I know then that a Glouster whaler's wife
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Marries but the sea salt and the sand.
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He took me up to Dogtown the day I was a bride.
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We had ten days together before he left my side.
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He's the first mate of a whaling ship,
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the keeper of the log.
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He said, "Farewell, my darling, I'm going to leave you with my dog."
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And I have seen the splintered timbers of a hundred shattered hulls,
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Known the silence of the granite and the screeching of the gulls,
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I've heard that crazy widow Cather walk the harbor as she raves
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At the endless rolling whisper of the waves.
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Sitting by the fireside, the embers slowly die.
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Is it a sign of weakness when a woman wants to cry?
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The dog is closely watching the fire glints in his eye.
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No use to go to sleep this early, no use to even try.
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My blood beats like a woman's,
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I've got a woman's breast and thighs.
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But where am I to offer them
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to the ocean or the skies?
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Living with this silent dog
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all the moments of my life,
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He has been my only husband;
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am I a widow, or his wife?
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Yes, it's a Dogtown and it's a fog town,
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And there's nothing around 'cept the sea pounding granite ground
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And this black midnight horror of a hound.
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I'm standing on this craggy cliff,
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my eyes fixed on the sea.
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Six months past, when his ship was due,
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I'm a widow to be.
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For liking this half living with the lonely and the fog,
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You need the bastard of the mating of a woman and a dog.
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And I have seen the splintered timbers of a hundred shattered hulls,
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Known the silence of the granite and the screeching of the gulls,
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I've heard that crazy widow Cather walk the harbor as she raves
50
At the endless rolling whisper of the waves.
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At the endless rolling whisper of the waves.
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At the endless rolling whisper of the waves
Harry Chapin - Cats in the Cradle
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