From the recording Tall Tales and Therefore Truths

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Written by Mark Brine

1. There’s an old legend where I come from…
Of a Pennacook Indian
Who was scalped in the great French and Indian War
Just south of the White Mountains of New England

2. As the story goes, as I recall
In the New Hampshire forests, late at night
His spirit stalks the countryside in torment
Seeking victims to share his plight

That, by a campfire, this tale was re-told
With the pitch-black hush of a Summer’s night, all about
We felt our young blood run cold

4. Scoutmaster Levine was a master of such story-tellings
Never flinching in his art of re-creating
Me and my pal, Mac, quicked a fearful glance at each other
Then, turned away, to hide our skinny limbs that were shaking

5. As I remember, turn in time came much too early that eerie night
And wouldn’t you know, me and Mac and two other Scouts were
sentenced to a cabin, far-off…
‘least a half ‘a mile from the main troop-site

6. So, with flashlights trembling and bouncing off the trail
And half-opened jack-knives for defense
The little distant cabin finally came into view
And in we went in terrified suspense

7. When, at last, the blaze of the hearth brought the subject more to light
We better familiarized ourselves with our dreaded surroundings
And the location of the outhouse, far away
In the off-limits night

8. With the mounting of our courage... the sleeping bags were, at last, unrolled
And wouldn’t you know it, right before we hit the sack
Someone had to bring up and remind all of that forbidden legend
We’d been told

9. Well, after talking about completely nothing for about two hours
Each one of us, privately, trying to forget that awful tale
We all passed-out from total exhaustion to sleep
As the blaze of the fireplace slowly failed

10. It must’ve been four or five in the morning
When the sound of movement came to wake me
Fear-filled I peeked from under the covers to see
Mac heading for the outhouse, creeping off nervously

11. Getting up myself, very quickly and grabbing an axe
For protection from whatever I’d meet
I followed him, undetected, up that dreadfully dark hillside, ‘til behind
The carved-out, quarter-crescent moon’s door, he took his seat

12. Then it came to me of the Indian legend we’d been told
And coincidence having, so perfectly, set the stage
Mischievously, I took off with that axe a’ waving
With the scream of a wild Indian in rage

13. Plunking that axe in the outhouse door
I turned to make my flee
And as I did, I could hear Mac doing what he’d gone there to do
With the utmost of human speed!

14. Well, by the time Mac reached the cabin
I was already tucked away
And as he, in terror, woke everyone to tell of his tale
I remember hearing one of the other Scouts say

15. “Let’s all get dressed and go up and see!”... and as we got up
I tried hard to contain my laugh
And soon we were tramping away through the night
Fumbling all over ourselves along that spooky path

16. Well, just before we reached that outhouse clearing
In the bushes we all came to a stop
And even though, I had been secretly guilty of the crime
I was still, none-the-less-of-them, overwhelmed and shocked

17. For there in the pale light that shown on the door
Was a tomahawk instead of my axe
With three feathers ‘a waving, in the before-morning breeze
And the four of us made instantaneous tracks

18. Now, there’s folks that’ll say that we convinced ourselves
Believing what we’d expected to see
And though I knew the truth of my caper, I was still... in that respect
More guilty than the other three

19. But, to this day, I’d swear to it... as would Mac, I’m sure
Along with the other remaining two
So, for record, I recorded it... for historic sake

20. So, keep to your quarters in the veil of the night
If the White Mountains ever serve as your home
And for your own sake, I warn you... don’t ever go roaming
Out in its dark nights alone

21. ‘cause, there’s an old legend where I come from... (etc., from verses 1 & 2, fading)

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