Mister Sampson

Story time: Thanks StoneFruit, for asking. It got kinda long but here goes: Mister Sampson was an old neighbor of mine. During the recession about 2009 in the US (not sure if you are in the states or not) our neighborhood got bad and some guys broke into our house and robbed us. They stole my car and a lot of valuables but besides that it was just a traumatic memory. That night we decided it was time to leave and the next day we moved. We quickly packed up everything in the house into boxes in the garage with the garage door shut because we were freaked out as you might imagine. The lines “we load the car in the garage, the room I used to play guitar” and “where we washed our dirty clothes was now as quiet as a roach” are kind of statements about exactly how I felt at the time. It went from a peaceful place that was relaxing where I wrote music or did artsy shit… to a place that lingered with fear. As we packed up our things, one by one, we were very alert and aware of our surroundings. Which made the process of moving even more difficult because we were not prepared. It was all the sudden. Add in the fear and alertness and it was very tense situation. Along with finding a place super quick and all the other things that suck about moving. Then kinda going back to the beginning… Mister Sampson (never knew his first name) always took the time to talk when we were in the back yard. Laughing about dumb jokes, talking about the birds or how the garden was doing. Betty Anne doing good? Good. That kind of thing. But, when it got bad in the neighborhood we stayed inside more and kept to ourselves. So, anyway, we moved and got a new place and went on with life. One day several years later, I curiously had the idea to drive through the old neighborhood to see how it ended up and to check on Mister Sampson, if he was even still there. It was winter at the time. I remember driving down the road to our old house thinking about the thousands of times I drove that same path. But, it was very different now compared to the happy place it was when we lived there. Houses were run down, yards overgrown and forgotten. Mister Sampson’s old place had busted windows and the house was empty, eerie and vandalized along with the other houses. I drove to the stop sign at the end of our street, turned right and never looked back. And that’s where the song ends because it’s kind of how it went down in real life. Just time to move on when it’s time. I’m really not sure what happened to Mister Sampson, but he was old at the time and 16 years later… I’ve wondered many times. (And… scene) Another day and I’ll be fine I’ll be leaving this behind I can only stop and talk For a moment Remember when We moved in And we’d say hey over the fence And we would take the time To talk about The song birds Mister Sampson over there How’s your garden? How’s your hands? How’s Betty Anne? Man, old man It’s good to know you We load the car In the garage The room I used To play guitar Where we washed Our dirty clothes Was now as quiet As a roach We raise the door It slides along The idle motor Hums a song As we reverse Into the world It fades to nothing Mister Sampson over there How’s your garden? How’s your hands? How’s Betty Anne? Man, old man It’s good to know you Mister Sampson you take care As we drive by But he’s not there The road is old the pavement’s cold The panes are busted