Biography:
Philip David Ochs (pronounced o?ks/) (December 19, 1940 – April 9, 1976) was an American protest singer (or, as he preferred, a topical singer) and songwriter who was known for his sharp wit, sardonic humor, earnest humanism, political activism, insightful and alliterative lyrics, and haunting voice. He wrote hundreds of songs in the 1960s and released eight albums in his lifetime.
Ochs performed at many political events, including anti-Vietnam War and civil rights rallies
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Other songs:
- A Toast To Those Who Are Gone
- A Year To Go By
- Another Age
- Another Country
- Automation Song
- Ballad Of Oxford
- Ballad Of William Worthy
- Bound For Glory
- Bracero
- Celia
- Changes
- Chords Of Fame
- Cops Of The World
- Cross My Heart
- Crucifixion
- Davey Moore
- Days Of Decision
- Doesnt Lenny Live Here Anymore
- Draft Dodger Rag
- Flower Lady
- Going Down To Mississippi
- Half A Century High
- Hands
- Heres To The State Of Mississippi
- Heres To The State Of Richard Nixon
- I Aint Marching Anymore
- I Shoulda Known Better
- Im Going To Say It Now
- Im Gonna Say It Now
- Im Tired
- In The Heat Of The Summer
- Is There Anybody Here
- Joe Hill
- Knock On The Door
- Links On The Chain
- Love Me Im A Liberal
- Maintaining Law And Order
- No More Songs
- One Way Ticket Home
- Outside Of A Small Circle Of Friends
- Passing Of My Life
- Pleasures Of The Harbor
- Power And The Glory
- Pretty Smart On My Part
- Rehersal For Retirement
- Remember Me
- Ringing Of Revolution
- Scorpion Departs But Never Returns
- Small Circle
- Song Of A Soldier
- Spaceman
- Spanish Civil War Song
- Street Soldier
- Ten Cents A Coup
- Thats The Way Its Gonna Be
- Thats What I Want To Hear
- The Bells
- The Cannons Of Christianity
- The Confession
- The Doll House
- The Highwayman
- The Passing Of My Life
- The Thresher
- The Trial
- The War Is Over
- There But For Fortune
- This Old World Is Changing Hands
- Too Many Martyrs
- Watch The Waterfall
- What Are You Fighting For
- Whats That I Hear
- When Im Gone
- When In Rome
- Where Were You In Chicago
- White Boots Marching In A Yellow Land
- William Butler Yeats Visits Lincoln Park And Escapes Unscathed
Four years of hard work!This month of May we celebrated four years on the air. We continue working on the dissemination of this wonderful instrument, thank you for participating in our story!
Bm A
There's nothing as cold as the freeze in your soul
G A Bm
at the moment when you are arrested.
Bm A
There's nothing as real as the iron and steel
G A Bm
on the handcuffs when you protested.
D F#
You race through the night in the prison of fright
Bm A
as you head for the quicksand of questions.
Bm A
And children unborn will see you in scorn
G A Bm
if ever you make a confession.
And the click of a lock is a shiver of shock
as you wonder what are their objectives.
Upon your guard for the voices are hard
that belong to the cops and detectives.
And it's hard to believe as they roll up their sleeves
that you're in for more than a session.
And it couldn't be true and it's not really you
that they want to make a confession.
You cannot conceal the confussion you feel
as they steadily work to out-guess you.
And some will pretend they are really your friend
who rally around to your rescue.
With frightening force your mind is divorced
to give them the guilty impression.
Every word that you hear is a weapon of fear
to win the war of confessions.
The lights shoot a glare like bullets they stare
and burn out the base of conviction.
And you squint and you blink and you try not to think
of the cobwebs of contridictions.
And your clothes will be wet with the rivers of sweat
that tells the tale of attention.
And once in awhile the clock has to smile
as it counts the time of confession.
The questions will rain and pour on your brain
with the proper speed they are driven.
The circles they pace and the sneer on their face
tells you no quarter is given.
You can salvage your mind when the paper is signed
then the crime is solved by oppression.
But win, lose, or draw, it's the rule of the law
to always work for confession.
And the balance of scales seems distant and pale
in the shadowy days of the trial.
And sometimes they die; with their name on a lie
when it's all too late for denial.
When agreement is full the switch must be pulled
and the chair leaves no hope for correction.
But the chances are large he was guilty as charged
After all, he made a confession.
There's nothing as cold as the freeze in your soul
G A Bm
at the moment when you are arrested.
Bm A
There's nothing as real as the iron and steel
G A Bm
on the handcuffs when you protested.
D F#
You race through the night in the prison of fright
Bm A
as you head for the quicksand of questions.
Bm A
And children unborn will see you in scorn
G A Bm
if ever you make a confession.
And the click of a lock is a shiver of shock
as you wonder what are their objectives.
Upon your guard for the voices are hard
that belong to the cops and detectives.
And it's hard to believe as they roll up their sleeves
that you're in for more than a session.
And it couldn't be true and it's not really you
that they want to make a confession.
You cannot conceal the confussion you feel
as they steadily work to out-guess you.
And some will pretend they are really your friend
who rally around to your rescue.
With frightening force your mind is divorced
to give them the guilty impression.
Every word that you hear is a weapon of fear
to win the war of confessions.
The lights shoot a glare like bullets they stare
and burn out the base of conviction.
And you squint and you blink and you try not to think
of the cobwebs of contridictions.
And your clothes will be wet with the rivers of sweat
that tells the tale of attention.
And once in awhile the clock has to smile
as it counts the time of confession.
The questions will rain and pour on your brain
with the proper speed they are driven.
The circles they pace and the sneer on their face
tells you no quarter is given.
You can salvage your mind when the paper is signed
then the crime is solved by oppression.
But win, lose, or draw, it's the rule of the law
to always work for confession.
And the balance of scales seems distant and pale
in the shadowy days of the trial.
And sometimes they die; with their name on a lie
when it's all too late for denial.
When agreement is full the switch must be pulled
and the chair leaves no hope for correction.
But the chances are large he was guilty as charged
After all, he made a confession.
Phil Stacey
Phil Taylor
Phil Thompson
Phil Vassar
Philadelphia Gra (...)