Lyrics
Joe Hill came over from Sweden's shore looking for some work to do
And the Statue of Liberty waved him by
As Joe come a-sailing through, Joe Hill, as Joe come a-sailing through
Oh, his clothes were coarse, and his hopes were high
As he headed for the Promised Land
And it took a few weeks on the out-of-work streets
Before he began to understand, before he began to understand
Then he got hired by a Bowery bar, sweeping up a saloon
As his rag would sail o'er the barroom rail
It sounded like he whistled on a tune
You could almost hear him whistling on a tune
And Joe rolled on from job to job
From the docks to the railroad line
And no matter how hungry the hand that wrote
In his letters he was always doing fine, in his letters he was always doing fine
The years went by like the sun going down
Slowly turned the page
And when Joe Looked back at the sweat on his tracks
He had nothing to show but his age, he had nothing to show but his age
So he headed out for the California shore
There things were just as bad
So he joined the Industrial Workers of the World
'Cause The Union was the only friend he had, 'cause The Union was the only friend he had
The strikes were bloody and the strikes were black
As hard as they were long
In the dark of the night, Joe would stay awake and write
In the morning he would wake them with a song, in the morning he would wake them with a song
He wrote his words to the tunes of the day
To be passed along the union vine
And the strikes were led and the songs were spread
And Joe Hill was always on the line, and Joe Hill was always on the line
Then in Salt Lake City, a murder was made
There was hardly a clue to find
Yes, the proof was poor but the sheriff was sure
That Joe was the killer of the crime, that Joe was the killer of the crime
Joe raised his hands, but they shot him down
He had nothing but guilt to give
It's a doctor I need, and they left him to bleed
But he made it 'cause he had the will to live, but he made it 'cause he had the will to live
The trial was held in a building of wood
There the killer would be named
And the days weighed more than the cold copper ore
'Cause he feared that he was being framed, 'cause he feared that he was being framed
Strange are the ways of the western law
Strange are the ways of fate
For the government crawled to the mine owners call
And the judge was appointed by The State, and the judge was appointed by The State
Now Utah justice can be had
But not for A Union Man
And Joe was warned by some early morn
There'd be one less singer in the land, there'd be one less singer in the land
Oh, William Spry was Governor Spry
And a life was his to hold
On the last appeal fell a Governor's tear
May the Lord have mercy on your soul, may the Lord have mercy on your soul
President Wilson held up the day
But even he would fail
For nobody heard the soul searching words
Of the soul in the Salt Lake City jail, of the soul in the Salt Lake City jail
For thirty-six years he lived out his days
And he more than played his part
For the songs that he made, he was carefully paid
By a rifle bullet buried in his heart, by a rifle bullet buried in his heart
Yes, they lined Joe Hill up against the wall
Blindfold over his eyes
It's the life of the rebel that he chose to live
It's the death of the rebel that he died, it's the death of the rebel that he died
In his time in the cell he wrote to his friends
His wishes all were plain
My body can't be found on this Utah ground
So they laid him on a fast departing train, so they laid him on a fast departing train
The rebel rode to Chicago Town
There were 30,000 people to mourn
And just about the time that Joe lay dying
A legend was just a-being born, a legend was just a-being born
Now, some say Joe was guilty as charged
Some say he wasn't even there
And I guess nobody will ever know
'Cause the court records all have disappeared, 'cause the court records all have disappeared
Now wherever you go in this fair land
In every union hall
In the dusty dark these words are marked
In between all the cracks upon the wall, in between all the cracks upon the wall
It's the very last lines that Joe Hill wrote
When he knew that his days were through
"Boys, this is my last and final will
Good luck to all of you, good luck to all of you"
Notes
(C) Copyright 1966, 1968 BARRICADE MUSIC, INC., New York, N.Y.