Dogtown lyrics

Artist  : Harry Chapin 
Song : Dogtown



 Send "Dogtown" Ringtone to your Cell 

 Up in Massachusetts There's a little spit of
land.

The men who make the maps, yes, they call the
place Cape Ann.

The men who do the fishing call it Gloucester
Harbor Sound,

But the women left behind, they call the place
Dogtown.





The men go out for whaling, past the breakers and
the fogs.

The women stay home waiting they're protected by
the dogs.

A tough old whaler woman who had seen three
husbands drown,

Polled the population and she named the place
Dogtown.





There's all these grey faced women in their black
widow's gowns,

Living in this grave yard granite town.

Yeah, you soon learn there's many more than one
way to drown;

That's while going to the dogs here in
Dogtown.





And she speaks: My father was a merchant all in
the Boston fief.

When my husband came and asked him for my
hand.

But little did I know then that a Gloucester
whaler's wife

Marries but the sea salt and the sand.





He took me up to Dogtown the day I was a
bride.

We had ten days together before he left my
side.

He's the first mate of a whaling ship,

the keeper of the log.

He said, "Farewell, my darling, I'm going to
leave you with my dog."





And I have seen the splintered timbers of a
hundred shattered hulls,

Known the silence of the granite and the
screeching of the gulls,

I've heard that crazy widow Cather walk the
harbor as she raves

At the endless rolling whisper of the waves.





Sitting by the fireside, the embers slowly
die.

Is it a sign of weakness when a woman wants to
cry?

The dog is closely watching the fire glints in
his eye.

No use to go to sleep this early, no use to even
try.





My blood beats like a woman's,

I've got a woman's breast and thighs.

But where am I to offer them

to the ocean or the skies?





Living with this silent dog

all the moments of my life,

He has been my only husband;

am I a widow, or his wife?





Yes, it's a Dogtown and it's a fog town,

And there's nothing around 'cept the sea pounding
granite ground

And this black midnight horror of a hound.





I'm standing on this craggy cliff,

my eyes fixed on the sea.

Six months past, when his ship was due,

I'm a widow to be.

For liking this half living with the lonely and
the fog,

You need the bastard of the mating of a woman and
a dog.





And I have seen the splintered timbers of a
hundred shattered hulls,

Known the silence of the granite and the
screeching of the gulls,

I've heard that crazy widow Cather walk the
harbor as she raves

At the endless rolling whisper of the waves.

At the endless rolling whisper of the waves.

At the endless rolling whisper of the waves.