NORTH COUNTRY BLUES

               (Words and Music by Bob Dylan)
               1963, 1964 Warner Bros. Inc
               Renewed 1991 Special Rider Music

               Come gather 'round friends
               And I'll tell you a tale
               Of when the red iron pits ran plenty.
               But the cardboard filled windows
               And old men on the benches
               Tell you now that the whole town is empty.

               In the north end of town,
               My own children are grown
               But I was raised on the other.
               In the wee hours of youth,
               My mother took sick
               And I was brought up by my brother.

               The iron ore poured
               As the years passed the door,
               The drag lines an' the shovels they was a-humming.
               'Til one day my brother
               Failed to come home
               The same as my father before him.

               Well a long winter's wait,
               From the window I watched.
               My friends they couldn't have been kinder.
               And my schooling was cut
               As I quit in the spring
               To marry John Thomas, a miner.

               Oh the years passed again
               And the givin' was good,
               With the lunch bucket filled every season.
               What with three babies born,
               The work was cut down
               To a half a day's shift with no reason.

               Then the shaft was soon shut
               And more work was cut,
               And the fire in the air, it felt frozen.
               'Til a man come to speak
               And he said in one week
               That number eleven was closin'.

               They complained in the East,
               They are paying too high.
               They say that your ore ain't worth digging.
               That it's much cheaper down
               In the South American towns
               Where the miners work almost for nothing.

               So the mining gates locked
               And the red iron rotted
               And the room smelled heavy from drinking.
               Where the sad, silent song
               Made the hour twice as long
               As I waited for the sun to go sinking.

               I lived by the window
               As he talked to himself,
               This silence of tongues it was building.
               Then one morning's wake,
               The bed it was bare,
               And I's left alone with three children.

               The summer is gone,
               The ground's turning cold,
               The stores one by one they're a-foldin'.
               My children will go
               As soon as they grow.
               Well, there ain't nothing here now to hold them.