Sam Turton AT HOME
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nobody sees her    sound clip

The cracks in the sidewalk
Are Mary's best friends
She lives on the street now
In the West End
Her head and her body
Rarely meet up
She lives in a dream, now
Somewhere above

Her eyes are like shadows
They shimmer with fear
Awaiting the danger
That never is here
She stoops and she stumbles
And worries alone
Constantly moving
But never gets home

And nobody sees her and nobody cries
She was someone's baby, she was someone's bride
She stands like a statue for what we all hide
But nobody sees her, and nobody cries

She was born into money
There were no legal crimes
But no warm embraces
No loving eyes
A mistake in the first place
A waste of their time
From a house cold as prison
She escaped to her mind

And nobody sees her and nobody cries
She was someone's baby, she was someone's bride
She stands like a statue for what we all hide
But nobody sees her, and nobody cries

And she was consumed by the emptiness
Mom and Dad never filled up
'Til there seemed to be nothing
But a world without love

Now Mary is someone
No one would want
That's her mama's message
Still living on
As I gave her a blanket
I saw myself
Was it my eyes shining?
Or her eyes as well?

And nobody sees her and nobody cries
She was someone's baby, she was someone's bride
She stands like a statue for what we all hide
But nobody sees her, and nobody cries


Sam Turton: vocal, acoustic rhythm guitar
Jesse Turton: fretless bass guitar
Drew McIvor: acoustic piano


commentary

A few years ago I had an opportunity to visit California, a land of extremes. I expected the wealth—that's the illusion we are fed in movies and TV—but I didn't expect all the poverty. When I returned, I wrote this song about a fictitious street person. Mary is not your clichZ˙ street person, however. She isn't physically and mentally derelict because she grew up with poverty, drugs, and severe abuse. Instead she suffers from the most insidious injury of all—neglect. No amount of privilege and wealth can protect from the silent horror of a cold, loveless childhood.

People are not genetically flawed with emotional dysfunction (which is the prevalent medi-scientific dogma), they are twisted into that shape by neglect and abuse. People like Mary are the uncomfortable symptoms of an illness that is rampant in many of us. They stand "like a statue for what we all hide." A lack of love and care creates this nightmare, and if there is any chance at all, love and care is the way to wake them—and us—up.

For this stark emotional landscape I used one voice and one acoustic guitar. Jesse's fretless bass creates a low rumble like distant thunder, and Drew's piano creates the wistful sadness of a beautiful life thrown away. The occasional melodic voicings of the fretless in its upper register—especially the sliding harmonics—urge us to feel what we do not want to see.