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Let Me Go

by Mark Berube and the Patriotic Few

on June in Siberia (2011)

[Mark Bérubé]
I get off the subway, the sliding door's closing
The walls they are all grey, and I'm walking
I walk by an old man, who plays his accordeon
And old Chinese folk song, and I'm walking
I go up the stairs, there's a young girl that stares
At an old bald man's hair, and I'm walking
And I end up outside, and this city's my bride
But our mothers don't cry, and I'm walking

I can call you home
You can call me foreign
Now I get the feeling
You won't ever ever
Let me go

I get on the bus, and there's young men that cuss
Like a wind throwing dust, and I'm walking
I sit by a man, who now looks like a man
Who now once was a man, and he's talking
He says "what do you do when your history is glue
And your future's a shoe, and you're walking?"
I get off the bus, and I start to cuss
With my teeth full of dust, and I'm walking

I can call you home
You can call me foreign
Now I get the feeling
You won't ever ever
Let me go

Go let me...

[C.R. Avery]
(Je monte le boulevard, je vais m'en aller)
Her black bra is on the dresser
My grey hand-me-down jacket on my back
St. Laurence prays for a confessor
St. Catherines begs to differ
And leads the attack
The army of migrant workers is ready
No devil in Montréal
The snow was fast and steady
As each motel watched it fall
I found shelter deep in the computer house
That they keep in the basement of this high-end store
Edge of Chinatown, quiet as a church mouse
I pray for St. Catherines, St. Laurence
And the migrants of the war
The black bra on the dresser

[Mark Bérubé]
I can call you home
You can call me foreign
Now I get the feeling
You won't ever ever
Let me