I graduated from West Virginia University at the age of 40 with a degree in Forest Resource Management. At the time this major should have been titled "Forest Dismemberment for Fun and Profit". Anyway, to blow off the accumulated negative energy, one of the things I did was write this song, "Kumbrabow". Kumbrabow is a West Virginia State Forest that harbored a stand of very old hardwood trees . . . as in 300 year old Cherries and Oaks. Such trees are very, very rare. Environmentalists tried to stop the logging of the oldest of these trees with demonstrations and court actions. The State blew it's entire Forestry budget (including it's fire suppression funds) fighting for the ruination of these old stands. They won. They made a million bucks. They also made me write this song. Back to the list |
Lyrics To those who sing the forest free Honor, peace and blessed be But gold to rust and dreams to weeds Cursed are them who killed the trees At Kumbrabow Remember Kumbrabow There may be many reasons to kill a tree But to kill an old tree, only one Despite the blathering glowing box on the table With its immaculate complexion and perfect hair Soothing the private doubts of public wisdom Despite the entrance qualifications Or the final exam at the kangaroo court of facts Or the big fat A plus at the bottom line Or the golden cross on the black book of manifest destiny There is only one reason to wipe from memory That which can sing open the promise kept The door to another way The giant oaks of Kumbrabow were a glory to behold But to the Lords of Want and Waste There is no room for the old And the eyes in Charlie Felton's head Would take all that they could see And the sylvan temple tall and fair Was timbered to its knees You can count the rings as they were sawn Three hundred years and now they're gone Do we tow the line? To we screw ourselves down? And do we turn away? Running fast is for running scared You can check out any time if you loose your nerve And this conciousness uponme but what do I know? If you can't tell the pigas and preachers From the killers on the eavening news Do you roll up your windows? Do you buckle up tight? And just turn the key and ride away, Cruisers? So it is gold to rust and dreams to weeds And cursed are them who killed the trees at Kumbrabow And there is danger upon the roads In this the realm of waste and greed And there is peril in each decision as our blue world fades And our blue world fades And I am hearing a call... to arms. Children of the forest, of the field and town The hour growsl ate, better stand your ground We who dwell in the belly of the beast We can turn his head, we can take him down |