Imti Mitchell Songbooknmplete volume number I (1966-1970)

Design: Anthony HudsonIllustrations: «foni MitchellProduction: Ida Random

Joid Mitchell SongboohComplete volume number 1 (1966-197O)

®1974 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORPAll Rights Reserved

Exclusive Selling Agent forthe United States and CanadaWARNER BROS. PUBLICATIONS INC.75 Rockefeller Plaza • New York, N.Y. 1OO19

Sony to a SeagullCactus Tree 38The Daumtreader 4OI Had a King 46MareieMichael front Mountains 49Nathan La Franeer 32Wight in the Citg 3OThe Pirate of Penance 43Sisotowbell Lane 52Song to a Seagull 36

CloudsBoth Sides Now 78Chelsea Morning 55The Fiddle and the Drum 65The Gallery 72I Don't Know Where I Stand 69I Think I Understand 6ORoses Blue 66Songs to Aging Children Come 62That Song About the Midway 75Tin Angel 58

tidies olthe CanyonThe Arrangement 92BigYellowTuxi / 115BlueBog vj 9OThe Circle Game 118He Comes for Conversation SOHe Played Real Good for free 112Ladies of the Canyon 97Morning Morgantoum 1O9The Priest Song 1O3ttaing Night House 86Willie 1OOWoodstock 1O6

'

\

V

(3$.

CactusThere's a man who's been out sailingIn a decade full of dreamsAnd he takes her to a schoonerAnd he treats her like a queenBearing beads from CaliforniaWith their amber stones and greenHe has called her from the harborHe has kissed her with his freedomHe has heard her off to starboardIn the breaking and the breathingOf the water weedsWhile she's so busy being free

There's a man who climbed a mountainAnd he's calling out her nameAnd he hopes her heart can hear three

thousand milesHe calls againHe can think hej^h^feJbesideffe can mis^her just the sameHe has missed her in the forestWhile he showed her all the flowersAnd the branches sang the chorusAs he climbed the scaley towersOf a forest treeWhile she was somewhere being free

There's a man who's sent a letterAnd he's waiting for replyHe has asked her of her travelsSince the day they said goodbyeHe writes " Wish you were beside meWe can make it if we try"He has seen her at the officeWith her name on all his papersThru the sharing of the profitsHe will find it hard to shake herFrom his memoryAnd she's so busy being free

There's a lady in the cityAnd she thinks she loves them allThere's the one who's thinking of herThere's the one who sometimes callsThere's the one who writes her lettersWith his facts and figures scrawlShe has brought them to her sensesThey have laughed inside her laughterNow she rallies her defencesFor she fears that one will ask herFor eternityAnd she's so busy being free

There's a man who sends her medalsHe is bleeding from the warThere's a jouster and a jester and a man

who owns a storeThere's a drummer and a dreamerAnd you know there may be moreShe will love them when she sees themThey will lose her if they followAnd she only means to please themAnd her heart is full and hollowLike a cactus treeWhile she's so busy being free.

by Joni Mitchell©1968 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.

I HatNt KingI had a king ^In a tenement castlLately he's takenTo painting the pastel avails brownHe's taken the curtainsHe's swept withThe broom of contemptAnd the roomsHave an empty ring;He's cleaned with the tearsOf an actor who fearsFor the laughter's sting.

I can't go back there anymore.You know my keys won'tFit the door;

JTimrtiinili iwyDon't fit the man.They never can,They never can.

I had a kingDressed in drip-dry paisley.Lately he's taken to sayingI'm crazy and blind.He lives in another time.Ladies in ginghamStill blush when sings themOf warsBut I, in my leather and lace,I can neverBecome that kind.

I can't go back there anymore.You know my keys won'tFit the door;You know my thoughtsDon't fit the man.They never can,They never can.

I had a kingIn a salt-rusted carriageWho carried me offTo his country for marriageToo soon.Beware of the pow'r of moons.There's no one to blame,No, there's no one to nameAs a traitor here.The queen's in the grooveAnd the king's on the roadTill the end of the year.

I can't go back there anymore.You know my keys won'tFit the door;You know my thoughtsDon't fit the man.They never can,They never can.They never can,They never can.

by Joni MitchellC1968 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.

readctle*, blue medal

ThePeridots and

lions,Gilded galleons spillea&cros§ the ocean

floor,Treasure somewhere in the sebtuid he

will find where.m/*r mu^^^Jk•••i *answer for.

The roll of the harbor wake,The songs that the rigging makes;The taste of the spray he takes and he

learns to give.He aches and he learns to live;He stakes all his silver on a promise to

be free.Mermaids live in colonies;All his seadreams come to me.

City satins left at home; I will not needthem.

I believe him when he tells of loving me.Something truthful in the sea your lies

will find you."Leave behind your streets" he said, And

come to me.Come down from the neon lights;Come down from the tourist sights;Run down till the rain delights you;

you do not hide.Sunlight will renew your pride"Skin white by skin golden,Like a promise to be free;Dolphins playing in the sea;All his seadreams come to me.

Seabird, I have seen you fly above thepilings.

I am smiling at your circles in the air.I will come and sit by you while he lies

sleeping.Fold your fleet wings; I have brought

some dreams to share:A dream that you love someone;A dream that the wars are done;A dream that you tell no one but the

gray sea.They'll say that you're crazyAnd dream of a baby.Like a promise to be free;Children laughing out to sea;All his seadreams come to me.by Joni Mitchell

O/96S SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.

Marcie in a coat of flowersSteps inside a candy store.Reds are sweet and greens are sour;Still no letter at her door.So she'll tvash her flower curtains,Hang them in the wind to dry,Dust her tables with his shirtAnd wave another day goodbye.

Marcie's faucet needs a plumber,Marcie''s sorrow needs a man.Red is autumn, green is summer.Greens are turning and the sand,All along the ocean beachesStares up empty at the sky.

Marcie buys a bag of peaches.Stops a postman passing by.And summer goes, falls to the sidewalkLike string and brown paper;Winter blows up from the river.There's no one to take her to the sea.

Marcie dresses warm; it's snowing,Takes a yellow cab uptown.Red is stop and green's for going.Sees a show and rides back down,Down along the Hudson River,Past the shipyards in the cold.

Still no letter's been delivered,Still the winter days unfold.Like magazines fadingIn dusty grey attics and cellars,Make a dream, dream back to summerAnd hear how he tells her " Wait for me"

Marcie leaves and doesn't tell usWhere or why she moved away."Red is angry, green is jealous"That was all she had to say.Someone thought they saw her Sunday,Window shopping in the rain.Someone heard she bought a one-way

ticketAnd went west again.

by Joni MitchellCI968 S1QUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.Alt Rights Reserved

Michael fromMountains

Michael wakes you up with sweets,He takes you up streetsAnd the rain comes down;Sidewalk markets locked up tightAnd umbrellas brightOn a gray background.There's oil on the puddles in taffeta

patternsThat run down the drainIn colored arrangements that Michael

will changeWith a stick that he found.Michael from mountains,Go where you will go to.Know that I will know you,Someday I will know you very well.Someday I will know you very well.Someday I will know you very well.

Michael brings you to a park,He sings and it's darkWhen the clouds come by;Yellow slickers up on swingsLike puppets on strings,Hanging in the sky.They'll splash home to suppers in wall-

papered kitchens;Their mothers will scold,But Michael will hold you to keep away

coldTill the sidewalks are dry.Michael from mountains,Go where you will go to.Know that I will know you,Someday I will know you very well.Someday I will know you very well.Someday I will know you very well.

Michael leads you up the stairs,He needs you to careAnd you know you do;Cats come crying to the keyAnd dry you will beIn a tow I or two.

There's rain in the window, there's sunin the painting

That smiles on the wall.You want to know all, but his mountains

have called,So you never do.Michael from mountains,Go where you will go to.Know that I will know you,Someday I will know you very well.Someday I will know you very well.Someday I will know you very well.

by Joni Mitchell<D/967 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Nathan La FraneerI hired a coach to take me from

confusion to the planeAnd though we shared a common space,I know we'll never meet again.The driver with his eyebrows furrowed

in the rear view mirror,I read his name and it was plainly

written,Nathan La Franeer.1 asked him would he hurry, but we

crawled the canyons slowly,Thru the buyers and the sellers, thru the

burglar bellsAnd the wishing'wells.With gangs and girly showsThe ghostly garden grows.He asked me for a dollar more, he cursed

me to my face;He hated everyone who paid to the ride

and share his common space.I picked my bags up from the curb and

stumbled to the door.Another man reached out his hand,

another hand reached out for more.

The cars and buses bustled thru thebedlam of the day.

I looked thru window glass at streets andNathan grumbled at the grey.

I saw an aging cripple selling Supermanballoons;

The city grated thru chrome-plate, theclock struck slowly half past noon.

Thru the tunnel, tiled and turning intodaylight once again;

I am escapingOnce again goodbye to symphonies.And dirty trees.With parks and plastic clothesThe ghostly garden grows.He asked me for a dollar more, he cursed

me to my face;He hated everyone who paid to the ride

and share his common space.I picked my bags up from the curb and

stumbled to the door.Another man reached out his hand,

another hand reached out for more.

And I filled it full of silver and I left thefingers counting

And the sky goes on forever withoutmeter maids

And peace parades.You feed it all your woes,The ghostly garden grows.He asked me for a dollar more, he cursed

me to my face;He hated everyone who paid to the ride

and share his common space.I picked my bags up from the curb and

stumbled to the door.Another man reached out his hand,

another hand reached out for more.

by Joni MitchellOJ968 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Nathan La FraneerI hired a coach to take me from

confusion to the planeAnd though we shared a common space,I know we'll never meet again.The driver with his eyebrows furrowed

in the rear view mirror,I read his name and it was plainly

written,Nathan La Franeer.I asked him would he hurry, but we

crawled the canyons slowly,Thru the buyers and the sellers, thru the

burglar bellsAnd the wishing'wells.With gangs and girly showsThe ghostly garden grows.He asked me for a dollar more, he cursed

me to my face;He hated everyone who paid to the ride

and share his common space.I picked my bags up from the curb and

stumbled to the door.Another man reached out his hand,

another hand reached out for more.

The cars and buses bustled thru thebedlam of the day.

I looked thru window glass at streets andNathan grumbled at the grey.

I saw an aging cripple selling Supermanballoons;

The city grated thru chrome-plate, theclock struck slowly half past noon.

Thru the tunnel, tiled and turning intodaylight once again;

I am escapingOnce again goodbye to symphonies.And dirty trees.With parks and plastic clothesThe ghostly garden grows.He asked me for a dollar more, he cursed

me to my face;He hated everyone who paid to the ride

and share his common space.I picked my bags up from the curb and

stumbled to the door.Another man reached out his hand,

another hand reached out for more.

And I filled it full of silver and I left thefingers counting

And the sky goes on forever withoutmeter maids

And peace parades.You feed it all your woes,The ghostly garden grows.He asked me for a dollar more, he cursed

me to my face;He hated everyone who paid to the ride

and share his common space.I picked my bags up from the curb and

stumbled to the door.Another man reached out his hand,

another hand reached out for more.

by Joni Mitchell€11968 S1QUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

\itjh1 in the CityLight up, light up,Light up your lazy blue eyes.Moon's up, night's up,Taking the town by surprise.Night time, night time;Day left an hour ago.City light time,Must you get ready so slow?There are places to come fromAnd places to go.Night in the cityLooks pretty to me,Night in the city looks fine.Music comes spilling outInto the street,Colors go flashing in time.Take off, take off,Take off your stay-at-home shoes.Break off, shake off,Chase off those stay-at-home blues.Stairway, stairwayDown to the crowds in the street.They go their way,Looking for faces to greet,While we go on laughingWith no one to meet.Night in the cityLooks pretty to me,Night in the city looks fine.Music comes spilling outInto the street,Colors go flashing in time.

by Joni Mitchell

101966 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Resented

The Pirate orrenanceThe pirate anchored on a WednesdayAnd why he carn^^^yort I wonder.To see a Iadv.si/jmv friends say.She dancef^ffrthasailors in a smoky

ret far un/emfound,Dot™ in a cellamu^fnarbor town.

fbve was treasureI reap the fullest bounty.

ily comes to port for pleasure,\ whence winds of morning blew thecurtc/ns in, she woke and found he'dg07r: f. /

I saw\his^ils unfurling Thursday dawnThe pirate, he will sinjf^pu with a kiss,

he'll steal your heart a,He'll leave you drowning in the flotsam

of a broken promise in the bay.He came again to see her; yes, I think

they told me it was Saturday.I was at sea then; I didn't see them.

I don't believe what you are saying.It isn't true; I hardly knew him.Is this some game that you are playing?Go ask the dancer;She's the one who saw him last, the one

who drew him here.He hasn't come to me since spring last

year.There was a time when he would bring

me silks and sandalwood and Persianlace

And he would hold me close and tell mesailing stories by the fireplace.

I was at sea, I tell you; I was nowherenear the mentioned murder place.

Go ask the dancer; she knows the answer,She knows the answer, she knows the

answer.

by Joni MitchellC/968 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

— o \n -*S

Si.soion'lM>ll LaneSisotowbell Lane.Noah is fixing the pump in the rain.He brings us no shame.We always knew that he always knew.Up over the hillJovial neighbors come down when they

will.With stories to tell.Sometimes they do, yes, sometimes

we do.We have a rocking chair.Each of us rocks his share,Eating muffin buns and berriesBy the steamy kitchen window.Sometimes we do; our tongues turn blue.

Sisotowbell Lane.Anywhere else now would seem very

strange.The season's are changing ev'ry day in

ev'ry way.Sometimes it is spring;Sometimes it is not anything.A poet can singSometimes we try, yes, we always try.We have a rocking chair.Somedays we rock and stareAt the woodlands and the grasslandsAnd the badlands 'cross the river.Sometimes we do; we like the view.

Sisotowbell Lane.Go to the city, you'll come back againTo wade thru the grain.You always do, yes, we always do.Come back to the stars,Sweet well water and pickleing jars.We'll lend you the car.We always do, yes, sometimes we do.We have a rocking chair.Someone is always there,Rocking rhythms while they're waitingWith the candle in the window.Sometimes we do, we wait for you.

by Joni MitchellQ19S8 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Song to a SeagullFly, silly seabirds; no dreams can possess

you;No voices can blame you for sun on your

wings.My gentle relations have names they

must call meFor loving the freedom of all flying

things.My dreams with seagulls fly out of reach,

out of cry.I came to the city and lived like old

Crusoe on an island of noise in acobblestone sea

And the beaches were concrete and thestars paid the light bill

And the blossoms hung false on theirstore window trees.

My dreams with the seagulls fly out ofreach, out of cry.

Out of the city and down to the seasideTo sun on my shoulders and wind in my

hair,But sand castles crumble and hunger is

humanAnd humans are hungry for worlds they

can't share.My dreams with the seagulls fly out of

reach, out of cry.I call to a seagull who dives to the waters

and catches his silver fine dinneralone,

Crying, "Where are the footprints thatdanced on the beaches

And hand that cast wishes that sunk likea stone?"

My dreams with the seagulls fly out ofreach, out of cry.

by Joni MitchellO/966 SIQUO1UB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Both Sides \<nrBows and flows of angel hair,And ice-cream castles in the air,And feather canyons ev'rywhere,I've looked at clouds that way.But now they only block the sun,They rain and snow on ev'ryone.So many things I would have done,But clouds got in my wayI've looked at clouds from both sides

now,From up and down and still somehowIt's cloud illusions I recall;I really don't know cloudsAt all.

Moons and Junes and ferris wheels,The dizzy dancing way you feelAs ev'ry fairy tale comes real,I've looked at love that way.But now it's just another show,You leave 'em laughing when you go.And if you care, don't let them know,Don't give yourself away.I've looked at love from both sides now,From give and take and still somehowIt's love's illusions I recall;I really don't know loveA tall.

Tears and fears and feeling proud,To say "I love you" right out loud,Dreams and schemes and circus crowds,I've looked at life that way.But now old friends are acting strange,They shake their heads, they say I've

changed.But something's lost but something's

gained,In living ev'ry day.I've looked at life from both sides now,From win and lose and still somehowIt's life's illusions I recall;I really don't know lifeAt all.by Joni Mitchell91967 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Chelsea MorningWoke up, it was a Chelsea morningAnd the first thing that I heardWas the song outside my windowAnd the traffic wrote the words.It came ringing up like Christmas bellsAnd rapping up like pipes and drums.Oh, won't you stay? We'll put on the dayAnd we'll wear it till the night comes.

Woke up, it was a Chelsea morning.And the first thing that I sawWas the sun thru yellow curtainsAnd a rainbow on my wall,Red, green and gold to welcome you,Crimson crystal beads to beckon.Oh, won't you stay? We'll put on the day.There's a sun show ev'ry second.

Now the curtain opensOn a portrait of todayAnd the streets are paved with passers byAnd pigeons flyAnd paper's lie,Waiting to blow away.

Woke up, it was a Chelsea morningAnd the first thing that I knewThere was milk and toast and honeyAnd a bowl of oranges, too.And the light poured in like butterscotchAnd stuck to all my senses.Oh, won't you stay? We'll put on the day.And we'll talk in present tenses.

When the curtain closesAnd the rainbow runs away,I will bring you incense owls at nightBy candle light,By jewel lightIf only you will stay.Pretty baby won't you,Woke up, it is a Chelsea morning.by Joni MitchellO1967 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

The Fiddle andthe Drum

And so once again,My dear, Johnny, my dear friend,And so, once again,You are fighting us all.And when I ask you why,You raise your sticks and cry,And I fall.Oh, my friend, how did you comeTo trade the fiddle JOT the drum?

You say I have turned.Like the enemies you've earned.But, I can rememberAll the good things you are.And so I ask you why?Can I help you find the peace and

the star?Oh, my friend.What time is thisTo trade the handshake for the fist?

And so once again,0 America my friend,And so, once again,You are fighting us all.And when we ask you why,You raise your sticks and cry,And we fall.Oh, my friend, how did you comeTo trade the fiddle for the drum?

You say we have turned.Like the enemies you've earnedBut, we can rememberAll the good things you are.And so we ask you, please,Can we help you find the peace and

the star?Oh, my friend.We have all comeTo fear the beating of your drum.by Joni MitchellQ1969 StQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Right! Reserved

When I first saw your galle,I liked the ones oj ladies/Then you began to hang up me)'ou studied to portray meIn ice and greensAnd old blue jeansAnd naked in the rosesThen you got into funny scenesThat all your work discloses.

"Lady, don't love me now, I am deadI am a saint, turn down your bedI have no heart" that's what you saidYou said, "I can be cruelBut let me be gentle with you"

Somewhere in a magazineI found a page about youI see that now it's JosephineWho cannot be without youI keep your house in fit repairI dust the portraits dailyYour mail comes here from everywhereThe writing looks like ladies'.

"Lady, please love me now, I am deadI am a saint, turn down your bedI have no heart" that's what you saidYou said, "I can be cruelBut let me be gentle with you"

I gave you all my pretty yearThen we began to weatherAnd I was left to winter hereWhile you went west for pleasureAnd now you're flying back this wayLike some lost homing pigeonThey've monitored your brain, you sayAnd changed you with religion.

"Lady, please love me now, I was deadI am no saint, turn down your bedLady, have you no heart" that's what you

saidWell, I can be cruelBut let me be gentle with you.

When I first saw your galleryI liked the ones of ladiesBut now their faces follow meAnd all their eyes look shady.by Joni MitchellC/9S9 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved ^^^^_

t Don'tKnowWher

I StandFunny day, looking for laughterAnd finding it thereSunny day, braiding wild flowersAnd leaves in my hairPicked up a pencil and wrote"I love you" in my finest handWanted to send it,But I don't know where I stand.

Telephone, even the soundOf your voice is still newAll alone in CaliforniaAnd talking to youAnd feeling too foolishTo say the words that I had plannedI guess it's too early,'Cause I don't know where I stand.

Crickets call, courting their ladiesIn star-dappled greenThickets tall, until the morningComes up like a dreamAll m uted and misty, so drowsy nowI'll take what sleep I canI know that I miss you,But I don't know where I standI know that I miss you,But I don't know where I stand.by Joni Mitchell©1967 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Daylight falls upon the path,The forest falls behindToday I am not preyTo dark uncertaintyThe shadow tremblesIn its wrath,I've robbed its blackness blindAnd tasted sunlightAs my fear cam c clear to meI think I understandFear is like a wilderlandStepping stones or sinking sand.

Now the way leads to the hills,Above the steeple's chimeBelow me sleepy rooftopsRound the harborIt's thereI'll take my thirsty fillOf friendship over wineForgetting fearBut never disregarding her.Oh, I think I understandFear is like a wilderlandStepping stones or sinking sand.

Sometimes voices in the nightWill call me back again'ack along the pahway

Of a troubled mindWhen forests riseTo block the lightThat keeps a traveler saneI'll challenge themWith flashes from a brighter time.Oh, I think I understandFear is like a wilderlandStepping stones or sinking sand.

by Joni MitchellO/966 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Roses BineI think of tears,I think of rain on shinglesI think of roses blueI think of Rose,My heart begins to trembleTo see the place she's lately gotten toGotten to, gotten to.

She's gotten to mysterious devotionsShe's gotten to the zodiac and zenShe's gotten into tarot cards and potionsShe's laying her religion on her friendsOn her friends, on her friends.

Friends who come to ask herFor their futureFriends who come to findThey can't be friendsBecause of signs and seasonsThat don't suit herShe'll prophesy your death,She won't say whenWon't say when, won't say when

When all the black cards comeYou cannot barterNo, when all your stars are stackedYou cannot winShe'll shake her headAnd treat you like a martyrIt is her blackest spell she puts you inPuts you in, puts you in.

In sorrow she can lure youWhere she wants youInside your own self-pityThere you swimIn sinking down to drownHer voice still haunts youAnd only with your laughter can you winCan you win, can you win.

You win the lasting laurelsWith your laughterIt reaches like an armBefore you sinkTo win the solitary truthYou're afterYou dare not ask the priestess how to

thinkHow to think, how to think.

I think of tears,I think of rain on shinglesI think of rain,I think of roses blueI think of Rose,My heart begins to trembleTo see the place she's lately gotten toGotten to, gotten to.by Joni Mitchelle/968 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Right! Reserved

Songs to Aging Children ComeThrough the windless ells of wonderBy the throbbing light machineIn a tea leaf trance or underOrders from the king and queen.

Songs to aging children comeAging children, I am one

People hurry by so quicklyDon't they hear the melodiesIn the chiming and the clickingAnd the laughing harmonies

Songs to aging children comeAging children, I am one

Some come dark and strangeLike dying crows and ravens whistlingLines of weeping, strings or cryingSo much said in listening

Songs to aging children comeAging children, I am one.

Does the moon play only silverWhen it strums the galaxyDying roses will they will theirPerfumed rhapsodies to me

Songs to aging children comeThis is oneby Joni Mitchell91967 SIQUOHB PUBLISHING CORP.All Right* Reserved

That Song Aboutthe Midway

I met you on a midwayAt a fair last yearAnd you stood out like a rubyIn a black man's earYou were playing on the horses,You were playing on the guitar stringsYou were playing like a devilWearing wings, wearing wings.

You looked so grand wearing wingsDo you tape them to your shouldersJust to singCan you flyI heard you can ! Can you flyLike an eagle doin' your huntingFrom the sky.

I followed with the sideshowsTo another townAnd I found you in a trailerOn the camping grounds.You were betting on some lover,You were shaking up the diceAnd I thought I saw you cheatingOnce or twice, once or twice

I heard your bid once or twiceWere you wondering was the gambleWorth the pricePack it in. I heard you did;Pack it inWas it hard to fold a handYou knew could win.

So lately you've been hidingIt was somewhere in the newsAnd I'm still at these racesWith my ticket stubs and my bluesAnd a voice calls out the numbers,And it sometimes mentions mineAnd I feel like I've beenWorking overtime, overtime.

I've lost my fire overtimeAlways playin' one more handFor one more dimeSlowin' downI'm gettin' tired! Slowin' downAnd I envy you the valleyThat you've found'Cause I'm midway down the midwaySlowin' down, down, down, down.by Joni Mitchell«J968 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING COUP.All Rightt Raented

Tin AngelVarnished weeds in window jarsTarnished beads on tapestriesKept in satin boxes areReflections of love's memories.

Letters from across the seasRoses dipped in sealing waxValentines and maple leavesTucked into a paperback.

Guess I'll throw them all awayFound someone to love today.

Dark with darker moods is heNot a golden Prince who's comeThrough columbines and wizardryTo talk of castles in the sun.

Still I'll take a chance and seeI found someone to love today.

There's a sorrow in his eyesLike the angel made of tinWhat will happen if I tryTo place another heart in him

In a Bleeker Street cafeI found someone to love todayI found someone to love today,by Joni Mitchell"1987 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rightt Reserved

Bhj li'f/ofr TaxiThey paved paradise and put up a

parking lot,a pink hotel, a boutique and t

! spot.[to goI what you've got^

tilli

The ArtmngeiYou could have be fmoreThan a name on tjfdoorOn the thirty-thirampor in the airMore than a credit enSwimming pool in themackyard

While you still have iYou could get away arUfindA better life, you kno'fhe grindIs so ungratefulRacing cars, whisky INo one cares who yaf'eally areYou're the keeper ofne cardsYes I know it gets iKeeping the wheels}And the wife she kjjgthe keysShe is so pleasedA part of the arr^gement

You could have t^n nm^*Than a name on iOn the thirty-thirJ*)More than a consumerLying in some room trying to dieMore than a credit cardSwimming pool in the backyard

You could have been moreYou could have been moreYou could have been more.

by Joni Mitchell61969 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

reqI they^harp

md a halfst to see 'em. jto go

[ paveafkine

radi<

'He\

Gill

T.em in

eople a dollar

pys seem

^u've got

a

<ial

ive'' birds I

And theseem to go

rhat you don't &Bw wh\"ui//£^mley pavecrpTira^e anc

Jparking'ate last night I Uird thi

sla,And a of^kel/ouflm tooki

old marvBDon't it alwT^iBm to goThat you don't fow what you've

till it's goneThey paved p^fdise and put up a

parking lo,Don't it always seem to goThat you don't know what you've got

till it's gone?They paved paradise and put up a

parking lot.They paved paradise and put up a

parking lot.

by Joni Mitchell©1 9 70 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved *

\\

meLady cii^d the Blue fy love\

him iMake he^lf an idol^f.s, so I

to storn

\oye took

atTowa\SomeM

to her\Roll her i

to herA

\m, she trebled tomace'.rs 9anile grave, thence prayeaweJ,s face, in his faUoh.

he evening he

jrms and give I

ake in the morn]*

jindow, andwok outImAane.

i her garden alwaysie

\trne oh.\of leather, she will da

ither fan, she'll glance

witholAnd go t\

throngBut the st

looketie lookeBring her hoc

for him;Shyly, from a\

for him.Here he comes, after midnight, to fihdl

her again.He will come a few times—or more—'Till he finds a lady statue standing in a

door, in a door oh.

by Joni Mitchell&19S9 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Caught aFearful whenAnd tearful at theAnd the seasons, th

nd the paifflMy fes go up anWe're captive off Wcarousel of t\We can't return, we can only look beFrom where we came and goRound and round in the circle gamThen the child moved ten times ro

the seasons,Skated over ten clear frozen streams.Words like, when you're older, must

appease him,And promises of someday make his

dreams.And the seasons, they go round and

roundAnd the painted ponies go up and down,

're captive on the carousel of time,can't return, we can only look behind

•om where we came and gound and round in the circle'een springs and sixteen sone now,•wheels turn to car wheels t/A theon.

:y tel! be long

^our feetle seasoni

I slow the circlesthey go round o,

t4ndWe'r.Wee,

CSOLI is /Thougfi

gran*There'll

dream!And pie,

is thro.And the s

roundAnd theWe're caWe can'tFrom whRound anAnd go ro

pain/ebonies go up an'ptive omAe carousel ofreturnee can only lo*

'here we ca^& and goand round imthe circleears spin b^mnd now th

lost somekg true,

treams, maybe better

• the last revolving year

ey go round and

ynies go up and down.: carousel of time._ an only look behind

[we came and go•. circle game,

find roiltiand round, inthf circle game,

by Joni Mitchell01966 S1QUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

or conversationhim sometimes

mfort and consult',t's what he'll find

him apples and cheesesHe S^^rs me sit,He seesme when he_I see him in cafesAnd I only say.Ji£And turn aw aHow much I want to seShe removes him, like a rin,To washJier hands

e only^-ings himnds

Tigs,be]

a frind.to his q>nswers wh:eeps him g,•eps him do,sorry sent'

repentancesve here will come

nu>s for Conrersaw

stndUs

e•s s,she

eak•ulotb,rro

speal^is sorrow ej\me whyhy can't I leave her?

comes for conversatfort him sometimart and consultati

ws that's what h

itchell®1967SIQAlBPUBLISHING cdAll Rights ifrved

>nsthey're fotiing

[me•ssly and <

id.

wFreehotel,jewels,in the dirty

! from their

n on a nosy corner,Waitin' for the walking green, 'cross the

street he stood,And he played real good on his clarinet

for free.Now me, I play for fortunes, and those

velvet curtain calls.I Got a black limousine and two white men

< Escortin' me to the halls.I play if you have money, or if you're a

friend to me,But the one man band by the quick-lunch

standHe was playin' real good for free.Nobody stopped to hear him, tho' he

played so sweet and high.They knew he had never been on T. V.

So they passed his music by.I meant to go over and ask for a song,

maybe put on a harmony,I heard his refrain as the signal changed,He was playin' real good for free.

by Joni Mitchell©;9S9 S1QUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Ladies of the CanyonTrina wears her wampum beadsShe fills her drawing book with lineSewing lace on widows' weedsAnd filagree on leaf and vineVine and leaf are filagreeAnd her coat's a second hand oneTrimmed in antique luxuryShe is a lady of the canyon.

Annie sits you down to eatShe always makes you welcome inCats and babies 'round her feetAnd all are fat and none are thinNone are thin and all are fatShe may bake some brownies todaySaying, you are welcome backShe is another canyon lady.

Estrella circus girlComes wrapped in songs and gypsy

shawlsSongs like tiny hammers hurledAt bevelled mirrors in empty hallsEmpty halls and bevelled mirrorsSailing seas and climbing banyansCome out for a visit hereTo be a lady of the canyon.

Trina takes her paints and her threadsAnd she weaves a pattern all her ownAnnie bakes her cakes and her breadsAnd she gathers flowers for her homeFor her home she gathers flowersAnd Estrella, dear companionColors up the sunshine hoursPouring music down the canyon-Coloring the sunshine hoursThey are the ladies of the canyon.

by Joni Mitchell©1968 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

MorningMorgantown

When morning comes to MorgantownThe merchants roll their awnings downThe milktrucks make their morning

roundsIn morning, Morgantown

We'll rise up early with the sunTo ride the bus while everyone is

yawningAnd the day is youngIn morning, Morgantown

Morning MorgantownBuy your dreams a dollar downMorning any town you nameMorning's just the same

We'll find a table in the shadeAnd sip our tea and lemonadeAnd watch the morning on paradeIn morning, Morgantown

Ladies in their rainbow fashionsColored stop and go lights flashingWe'll wink at total strangers passing inMorning, Morgantown

Morning MorgantownBuy your dreams a dollar downMorning any town you nameMorning's just the same

I'd like to buy you everythingA wooden bird with painted wingsA window full of colored ringsIn morning, Morgantown.

But the only thing I have to giveTo make you smile, to win you withAre all the mornings still to liveIn morning, Morgantown.by Joni Mitchell©7967 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

The Priest SongThe priest sat in the airport bar, wearing

his father's tie,And his eyes looked into my eyes so farWhenever the words ran dry.Behind the lash and the circles blue,He looked as only a priest can thruAnd his eyes said, "Me" and his eyes

said, "You'.'And my eyes said, "Let us try'.'He said, "You wouldn't like it here;It's no place you should share.The roof is ripped with hurricanes, the

room is always bare"I need the wind and I seek the cold.He reached past the wine for my hand

to holdAnd he saw me young and he saw me olaAnd he saw me sitting there.So he took his contradictions out and he

splashed them on my brow.So which words was I then to doubt

when choosing what to vow?Should I choose them all, should I make

them mine,The sermons, the hymns and the

Valentines?And he asked for truth and he asked

for timeAnd he asked for only now.Oh, now the trials are trumpet scored;

oh, will we pass the test?Or just as one loves more and moreWill one love less and less ?Oh, come, let's run from the ring

we're in,Where the Christians clap and the

Germans grin,Shouting, "Let them lose!" Saying

"Let them win!"Crying "Make them both confess !"A priest at the airport bar, wearing his

father's tie.by Joni MitchellO/968 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Willie

Rainy Night HouseIt was a rainy nightWe took a taxi to your mothers' homeShe went to Florida and left youWith your father's gun, aloneUpon her small white bedI fell into a dreamYou sat up all the night and watched meTo see, who in the world I might be.

I am from the Sunday schoolI sing soprano in the upstairs choirYou are a holy manOn the F. M. radioI sat up all the night and watched theeTo see, who in the world you might be.

You called me beautifulYou called your mother—she was very

tannedSo you packed your tent and wentTo live out in the Arizona sandYou are a refugeeFrom a wealthy familyYou gave up all the golden factoriesTo see, who in the world you might be.by Joni Mitchell

O/970 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Willie is my child, he is my fatherI would be his lady all my lifeHe says he'd love to live with meBut for an ancient injuryThat has not healedHe said I feel once againLike I gave my heart too soonHe's stood looking thru the laceAt the face on the conquered moonAnd counting all the cars going up

the hillAnd the stars on my window sillThere are still more reasons whyI love him.

Willie is my joy, he is my sorrowNow he wants to run away and hideHe says our love cannot be realHe cannot hear the chapel's pealing

silver bellsBut you know it's hard to tellWhen you're in the spellIf it's wrong or if it's realBut you're bound to loseIf you let the blues get you scared to feelAnd I feel like I'm just being bornLike a shiny light breaking in a stormThere are so many reasons whyI love him.by Joni Mitchell

©)969 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING COUP.All Rights Reserved

/ came upon a child of God; he waswalking along the road

And I asked him "Where are yougoing?"

This he told me: "I'm going on down toYasgur's Farm,

Gonna join in a rock and roll band.I'm gonna camp out on the land and try

'n' get my soul free"r£star-dust, we are golden ivtTgol lo get oursztVeTbyckte'

the garden.Tffen can I walk beside you? f r\ave

tfome h^re to lose the smoggArfd I feel to be a cog in somet

we were

jturnint.Maybe if is just the time of yeI maybe it's the time of man.

/ don't know who I am, but lif•—teaming'.'We are Stardust, we are goldenAnd we gok to get ourselves bac

the g irden.By the i ime we got to Woodsto

half 1 1 million strongAnd ev rywhere was song and,

celebration.And I dreamed I saw the bombers r,

shotgun in the sky,Turning into butterflies above our

nation.We are Stardust, billion year old cfirbonCaught in the deviFs bargainAnd we got to get ourselves back to

the garden.

by Joni Mitchell

®/969 SIQUOMB PUBLISHING CORP.All Rights Reserved

Ph

otog

raph

Jon

ath

an E

xleg