The Elevator

22 Sep

The first few posts that I put on here are going to be older stuff that I have in the bank. That is, until I get new stuff and concepts and then I will start writing about those things. I will also be trying to post things as often as I can, without ever doing too much in one day.

Now, on to the point. A couple of years ago my friend and I were just chilling around at his place. We were a few drinks deep (which was quite common hanging out with him) and talking about music. He had just started to play guitar and I had been playing for roughly 5 years at the time. He asked me if I ever wrote any songs. “In fact,” I said, “I have.”

It was here that he suggested that I should write a song about the grain elevators. Many of you probably know what they look like but here is a photo:


These were quite common where I grew up. However, less and less still remain. There are only a handful in the entire province, which is crazy to think because there used to be one in almost every single town.

Now I did try and write a song. I say “try” because I could never get a melody or chord progression that I thought fit what I was trying to say. Looking back on what I wrote, it can actually work out well as a poem. So that is what it is: a poem. Things change, songs become poems, elevators are needed less and less. Now enough explanation and gibber jabber. Here it is (also – to anyone that reads this, let me know if you think it is good or even terrible. The only way I can get better is to have criticisms – Thanks!):

On my way down south
I saw these things new to me
They were bright new machines
My youth and innocence got the best of me
On my way down south

On my way down south
There were many
Each one had its own name
A castle to each town
On my way down south

There were many, but now are few
Now there is no more than two
They were so plentiful
So tall and wonderful
Reaching up towards the sky
The Grain Elevator has said its goodbye

On my way down south
There were many, but now are few
Chamberlin still holds true
Once a majestic sight
New generations will be left with stories
The one in our memories

The Elevator will be forgotten
When our generation is gone and rotten
In the flat plains, big and stout
Elevators, on the way down south


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