Song parody of
Lou Marsh
by Phil Ochs
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On the streets of New York city when the hour was getting
There were young men armed with knives and guns, young men armed with hateAnd Lou Marsh stepped between them and died there in his tracks
For one man is no army when the city turns its back Now the streets are empty, now the streets are dark
So keep an eye on shadows and never pass the park
For the city is a jungle when the law is out of sight
And death lurks in El Barrio with the orphans of the night
He left behind a chamber of a church he served so long
For he learned the prayers of distant men will never right the wrongs
His church became an alley and his pulpit was the street
He made his congregation from the boys he used to meet
There were two gangs approaching in spanish Harlem town
The smell of blood was in the air, the challenge was laid down
He felt their blinding hatred, and he tried to save their lives
And the answer that they gave him was their fists and feet and knives
Will Lou Marsh lie forgotten in his cold and silent grave?
Will his memory still linger on, in those he tried to save?
All of us who knew him will now and then recall
And shed a tear on poverty, tombstone of us all
On the streets of New York city when the hour was getting
There were young men armed with knives and guns, young men armed with hateAnd Lou Marsh stepped between them and died there in his tracks
For one man is no army when the city turns its back Now the streets are empty, now the streets are dark
So keep an eye on shadows and never pass the park
For the city is a jungle when the law is out of sight
And death lurks in El Barrio with the orphans of the night
He left behind a chamber of a church he served so long
For he learned the prayers of distant men will never right the wrongs
His church became an alley and his pulpit was the street
He made his congregation from the boys he used to meet
There were two gangs approaching in spanish Harlem town
The smell of blood was in the air, the challenge was laid down
He felt their blinding hatred, and he tried to save their lives
And the answer that they gave him was their fists and feet and knives
Will Lou Marsh lie forgotten in his cold and silent grave?
Will his memory still linger on, in those he tried to save?
All of us who knew him will now and then recall
And shed a tear on poverty, tombstone of us all
