Back in January a small whisper of the desperation in The United States, circa 2012, made its way through the internet to my apartment in Guatemala. Back in 2007 a man named David Carter of West Allis, Wisconsin, quit his job and told his co-workers that he was moving to New Mexico. He’d been living in a home owned by his mother, who had earlier died from cancer. Instead of moving, he went home, put a gun to his head and took his own life. His body wasn’t discovered for four years when the house was turned over to the city for failure to pay taxes. Something about the story gutted me, and I emailed my best friend, Matthew Grimm, the most talented songwriter I’ve ever known and wondered if he’d take a swing at telling this American story.

Before I’d written, he’d already worked out the chorus.

Here’s a demo that will feature on his upcoming album.

Editor-in-Chief, Michael Tallon

P.S. I have no idea if this link works with browsers other than Google Chrome. Sorry if you’re stuck out.

westallis3.pt

West Allis, by Matthew Grimm

Packed up his desk in a cardboard box

Maybe told em he’d send postcards from New Mexico

Eight years, same job, city payroll

Maybe someone said it was sad to see him go

 

Drove back to West Allis to the houses all in rows

Where days flit by like gray winter birds

And he forwarded his mail, paid the bills, took out the gun

And he went to a place where nothing hurts

 

Four years — unshoveled sidewalks and unmowed lawn

Four walls enclosing perfect desolation

Four years — you’d think someone might’ve noticed something gone

Four years of most mundane transmutation

Dust thou art

gone back unto the ashes of stars

 

Earned a bachelor’s at UdubM,

Had a girlfriend and daughter but it didn’t last

Moved into his mom’s house when cancer crept in

Mortgage paid so he stayed there once she passed

 

But the neighbors all recall not much of him after that,

In to work and back but mostly sight unseen

What questions went unasked and chasms left unfilled

A bullet’s least one answer to everything

 

Four years — unshoveled sidewalks and unmowed lawn

Four walls enclosing perfect desolation

Four years — you’d think someone might’ve noticed something gone

Four years of most mundane transmutation

Dust thou art

gone back unto the ashes of stars

 

I never knew him, but I guess nobody did, he made his

Choice, we make ours, the Earth endures

Maybe you’re your brother’s keeper not by code or creed or canon

But a simple hope that someone will be yours

 

Four years — unshoveled sidewalks and unmowed lawn

Four walls enclosing perfect desolation

Four years — you’d think someone might’ve noticed something gone

Four years of most mundane transmutation

Dust thou art

going back unto the ashes of stars

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About the Author

Matthew Grimm is a freelance journalist, singer-songwriter and frontman for the legendary roots rock band, The Hangdogs. He can't be bought, but if you are not a racist or fascist asshole, he'd be more than happy to drink your beer.
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