BRUCE'S BONES: A depressed old WWII veteran with some unconventional agricultural practices encounters a vicious small-town dope dealer.
Hard rock with hard words
I'm a songwriter, keyboard player and singer.
Story behind the song
MP sings and plays everything. Keys and bass are Korg Triton sounds; drums and guitars are loops.
Lyrics
Bruce’s Bones
Bruce Houle was a farmer; he grew grass near Parry Sound
He was 81, but still each spring his plants went in the ground
Deep in the woods he nurtured them, with no-one else around
The smoke police were on his trail, but he never could be found
When Bruce was young, he went to war, had wings upon his chest
The spirits of the men he killed he’d never put to rest
Their ghosts he’d carried home with him--they still screamed in his head
He was 81 and on the run, and he knew he should be dead
CHORUS
Don’t want to know you
Don’t want to buy what you sell
Just leave me alone to tend my bones
And find my way to hell
Bruce lived in a forest clearing, in a camp he’d built himself
He lived alone with his dog and his dope and a pistol on the shelf
He had a doctor’s note that said he wasn’t right in his brain
It took daily tokes of grade-A smoke to ease his constant pain
He had a few good friends in town who knew where he had been
They cut him slack and gave him space when the darkness flooded in
They bought his crop and brought his mail and made him fresh-baked bread
Now they were old and had moved back south; most of them were dead
CHORUS
Don’t want to know you
Don’t want to buy what you sell
Just leave me alone to tend my bones
And find my way to hell
Nancy was a stylist at the Cut ‘n’ Curl by the docks
Every month, when Bruce came to town, she’d trim his silver locks
One mad day he tipped her, with bud from last year’s crop
She sniffed and winked and scolded him, “You’re lucky I’m not a cop”
Pascoe was Nancy’s boyfriend, a small-time thug in town
That night he found old Bruce’s gift, fired it up and held it down
“Find out where the old guy lives,” he told her with a frown
“I could move a ton of this stuff, and we could blow this town.”
CHORUS
Don’t want to know you
Don’t want to buy what you sell
Just leave me alone to tend my bones
And find my way to hell
One chilly August morning, Pascoe made his play
He trailed Bruce up a muddy track to the marsh behind Brueckner Bay
Fifty plants were thriving there in Bruce’s planting bed
Pascoe grabbed a shovel and he swung it at Bruce’s head
Bruce had heard him coming; his knife was in his coat
He ducked and turned and pulled him close and stabbed him in the throat
He watched him die, then buried him where he’d feed his planting bed
He covered him with rocks and leaves, and this is what he said:
CHORUS
Don’t want to know you
Don’t want to buy what you sell
Just leave me alone to tend my bones
And find my way to hell
