04 december 2006



I was eight years old and running with a dime in my hand
Into the stonebridge to pick up a paper for my old man
I’d sit on his lap in that old buick as we drove through town
He’d tousle my hair and say son take a good look around
This is your hometown, this is your hometown

In `68 tension was running high at my high school
There was a lot of fights with the french
There was nothing you could do
Troubled times had come to my hometown
This is my hometown, my hometown

Now empty main streets and vacant stores
nobody wants to come down here no more
They're closing down the textile mill
Foreman says these jobs are going
This is our hometown, our hometown

Fifty-six got two boys and a girl
Dreams are gone memories written
Last night I sat my grandson
up behind the wheel and said
Little Lars take a look around
this is your hometown, your hometown

Springsteen plukken om naar jou te schrijven.
Hij in die Buick. Ik zie hem toeren met zijn vader.
Look what a lucky boy The Boss was.

Op mijn fietsje zonder jou.
Het haar kort à la brosse.
Eén keer je hand door de piekjes.
Eén keertje.

Uit:'Vader Dag'. Brievenroman. Copyright Stef Vancaeneghem.