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there's a place your mother goes when everybody else is soundly sleeping
through the lights of beacon street
and if you listen you can hear her weeping, she's weeping, cause the gentlemen are calling and the snow is softly falling on her petticoats. and she's standing in the harbour and she's waiting for the sailors in the jolly boat. see how they approach
with dirty hands and trousers torn they grapple 'til she's safe within their keeping
a gag is placed between her lips to keep her sorry tongue from any speaking, or screaming
and they row her out to packets where the sailor's sorry racket calls for maidenhead
and she's scarce above the gunwales when her clothes fall to a bundle and she's laid in bed on the upper deck
and so she goes from ship to ship, her ankles clasped, her arms so rudely pinioned
'til at last she's satisfied the lost of the marina's teeming minions, and their opinions
and they tell her not to say a thing to cousin, kindred, kith or kin or she'll end up dead
and they throw her thirty dollars and return her to the habor where she goes to bed, and this is how your fed
so be kind to your mother, though she may seem an awful bother, and the next time she tries to feed you collard greens, remember what she does when you're asleep
through the lights of beacon street
and if you listen you can hear her weeping, she's weeping, cause the gentlemen are calling and the snow is softly falling on her petticoats. and she's standing in the harbour and she's waiting for the sailors in the jolly boat. see how they approach
with dirty hands and trousers torn they grapple 'til she's safe within their keeping
a gag is placed between her lips to keep her sorry tongue from any speaking, or screaming
and they row her out to packets where the sailor's sorry racket calls for maidenhead
and she's scarce above the gunwales when her clothes fall to a bundle and she's laid in bed on the upper deck
and so she goes from ship to ship, her ankles clasped, her arms so rudely pinioned
'til at last she's satisfied the lost of the marina's teeming minions, and their opinions
and they tell her not to say a thing to cousin, kindred, kith or kin or she'll end up dead
and they throw her thirty dollars and return her to the habor where she goes to bed, and this is how your fed
so be kind to your mother, though she may seem an awful bother, and the next time she tries to feed you collard greens, remember what she does when you're asleep
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fffuuuuuuuuuuhhhh. . .
she's safe - within their keeping
she's satisfied - the lot of the marina's teaming minions
Of course she is not safe or satisfied at all.
I imagine it is something that a mother has to do to support her children, and even though she is not letting on to the children, they/he knows, and while she does it to put the food, (collard greens), on the table, she suffers horribly for it.
It might not be actually autobiographical, but maybe someone he knows, or from a friend?
Their music is outstanding. Can't let a day go without listening to one song at least.
The Decemberists did an excellent job at painting such a vivid image of this poor desprate woman standing on a dock in the freezing cold waiting for vile sailors to pick her up and "take turns" with her.
I noticed the disputes over whether this song is about rape or prostitution, and I would honestly have to say both. The prostitution implication is obvious, but I would not be so quick to say that prostitution excludes rape. As the victim of circumstance, does she really WANT to have to feed her family in such a degrading manner? Most likely not. The "do this or my family starves" ultimatum insinuates some form of rape.
In any case, however you choose to interpret it, and whatever your emotional reaction is to it, I think we can all agree that this is an effing amazing song.
I can just imagine him singing it below some asshole's window at two in the morning.