Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
Loudon Wainwright III
I've seen the family photos
And the man's a mystery
Died in 1942 at the age of 43
My grandmother was his widow
And my father was his son
Oh, but I know next to nothing
Of the first Loudon
They say he was an SOB
Who liked to smoke and drink
In the photos he looks handsome
Attractive's what I think
And there's one of him in uniform
And it must have been World War I
They say he was an expert sailor
And could handle a shotgun
In the wedding portrait
Posing with his young bride
His right hand, hidden by her bouquet
Is left hanging at his side
Closed in a kind of half-fist
Unsure what he'd just done
Facing his short future
Like he could hit someone
It was elbows off the table
Before the meal'd begun
And it's his hands I recognize
He gave them to his son
Whose own hands held and touched me
And ruffled up my hair
And I recognize that half-fist
I'd know it anywhere
Later on, in the late 30s
He began to go to sea
In the photos he looks loaded;
They observe and I will heed
Mugging for the camera, having a little fun
Cigarette in one hand
And a drink in the other one
Yes, I know a little something
About the first Loudon
My grandmother was his widow
And my father was his son
Tell me what are we afraid of?
Why do we resist?
I spread my hands and flex my fingers
Open and close my fist
I spread my hands and flex my fingers
Open and close my fist