Jar of Ashes

Look up at the sky, clouds about to burst
In the absence of the struggle things tend to look the worst
I try to count my blessings, be glad that I’m here still
Looking at that jar of ashes sitting on the windowsill

I walk past the rows of tents that line the avenue
Just like the rows of tents here in 1932
Some things take a long time, I shiver in the chill
Thinking of that jar of ashes sitting on the windowsill

I walk home and I wonder, will it ever happen again
That there might be the fighting spirit that there was back then
‘Cause things are worse now than they were back when he was killed
When he became a jar of ashes sitting on the windowsill

In 2118 who knows how things might be
Will families live beneath the bridge in a century
Will the lives of fellow workers mean more than dollar bills
More than a jar of ashes sitting on the windowsill

I plunk notes upon the piano like he did long ago
Somewhere here in Portland, somewhere near Skid Row
I’ll sing a song for you then, until I sing my fill
Looking at that jar of ashes sitting on the windowsill

My body, oh, if I could choose, I would to ashes it reduce
And let the merry breezes blow my dust to where some flowers grow
Perhaps some fading flower then would come to life and bloom again
This is my last and Final Will – good luck to all of you, Joe Hill