Original Song: Burning Creek

Not sure if this should really qualify as the original song for April as it’s something I wrote with a great friend of mine, Sam Barclay, a couple of years ago, but until I come up with something else Burning Creek is it! There’s a good story behind this one too.

Many years ago I read a short story online about a guy in the wild west who split up with his true love and rode off into the sunset. Eventually he came to a small town that welcomed him into their arms. They provided him with a home and free food. It all seemed too good to be true until one evening he overhead a couple of them discussing how he was “fattening up nicely”. He’d also noticed early on that there was no cemetery in Burning Creek – strange for those times. Someone even mentioned that there wasn’t any death in the place! He finally put two and two together to realize that this town was full of cannibals who took in strangers, fed them up, then ate them! He finally escaped one night, running through the woods with the sound of sun-bleached bones cracking under his feet!! Yep, this song is about cannibals! Not sure if that will happen again…

Over the easter break I dug it out and started to work on turning the lyrics into a song. For the drums I tweaked a sample from iDrum – a great little beat creation piece of software. Toss in some ringing chords (played on the Gretsch) and some phased and flanged licks and it started to come together. I’ve got a few old lyrics in this “story song” style, and doing this one has inspired me to have a crack at a few more!

BURNING CREEK
© 2010 Chuck Smeeton/Sam Barclay

There ain’t no death in Burning Creek,
He heard an old man say
Cause a man can’t go on livin’
If the devil has his way

[chorus]

He rode away from despair,
His destination unknown,
All he carried was a broken heart,
Courtesy a broken home

The living go on living,
For them there’s no cold peace,
Just the endless tide of memory,
And wanting it all to cease

He came across the Creek
It seemed a pleasant place
What secrets could exist
That no cemetery could embrace?

“Welcome to town,” said a friendly face
“Won’t you stay awhile?”,
“We’re blessed here, brother, with God’s great gifts,
“Hunger ain’t our style.”

It seemed the perfect place
Got a job and learned the jargon
Toiled the fields, day after day
Food and lodging in the bargain

And the food was good and the meals were long,
So his belly would soon attest
With game and ale and fruits and bread
His mouth no time to rest

But day by day he came to sense
That unseen eyes were gazing
And muffled voices after dark
His growing frame appraising

“He’s ripe for killin’,” he heard one say,
Sweat beading upon his brow,
And his stomach sank when another laughed,
“He’s a walking dead man now.”

After dark ran through the woods
Pale bones cracked under feet
What fed this town was now quite clear
Twas the taste of human meat