The Outlandish Song

By Phoebe Juel of NoMountain, written at Outlandish 1997
Tune: Streets of Laredo

As I was a'walkin'
down Outlandish main street
Half of New Mexico
blew up my nose
And I found myself thinking
"What the hell am I doing
In a land where nothing
but cactus doth grow?"

I fondly remembered
The green rolling heartland
As I augured a boulder
From out of my ear.
I want to go back to
the green rolling heartland.
Oh God, get me back
To my fair Calontir.

The land of the cornfield
the wheatfield, the hayfield.
The land where the dirt
Usually stays on the ground.
And foremost of its virtues
I'll sing to the heavens.
No bastard plant cholla
Is there to be found.

I heard from the yelling
My tent had gone kiting
It flew from the ground and
up over the hill
And if that weren't enough
We camped next to the sea-dogs.
If I hear one more cannon
A pirate I'll kill.

The bushes they bite me
The ground it does smite me.
And everything here
Is as dry as a bone,
My thoughts are returning
to the land of the Falcon.
Green Calontir,
Oh my temperate home.

We trekked from NoMountain
with two virgin dancers
one crippled up fighter,
and one betrothed bard.
A wench and her biker
Soon joined us at campsite.
A gallant Outlander
did serve as our guard.

The young virgin dancers
Soon found a new calling.
Learning a dance
That is not taught at court.
And as for the fighter,
So crippled was his knee
The bastard-plant cholla
was his only sport.

The bard will be wedded
To the gallant Outlander.
I'd finish this verse
But I'm smarter than that.
For I know by our record
There must be disaster.
And until consummation
On that I'll stand pat.

The wench and the biker
Had a grand festive weekend.
Though the biker got skinned
And the wench, she got spurned.
And as for the song-smith
The Welsh doggerel-maker,
I'm gritty, and sticky
And one-eyed and burned.

So I sing to my homeland
Guard of the fyrdmen
Where the wind's always gentle
And there's plenty of rain.
And I swear when I leave here
I'll swiftly return there.
And of Calontir weather
I'll never complain.

As I was a'walkin'
Down Outlandish main street
The wind and the dust
called to mind an old verse.
The Irish, they wish that
the ground rise to meet you.
In Eire, a blessing,
In Outlands, a curse.