For this Song Saturday, I decided to present another song of the Red District series. It’s time for another of Isobel’s prostitute to take the stage and share a bit of her life and pains. If you want to no more about this 1890 Whitechapel tea shop turning brothel, you’ll find the previous post in Poems & Songs.
I’ll essentially let the song speak for itself. You can listen to me singing an a capella version here. (Note: For some unknown reason MySpace won’t let me rearrange the order of my songs at this time. So instead of being at the top, where I usually put new songs, it is at the bottom of the playlist. You’ll have to scroll it a bit and click on Ophelia. Sorry about that.)
Enjoy!
Ophelia
The day I was bought from my kin
Trading daughter to fight famine
It was unknown what I’d go through
Though Ma & Pa sure had a clue
They were thinking with their bellies
And drowned regrets in sweet jelliesThe man who took my ownership
Just loved my curls and cherry lip
I was too young for an affair
Apparently, he didn’t care
Nor did his wife who looked away
As long as diamonds filled her dayThey call me Ophelia
Because of some memorabilia
One part Shakespeare, two parts drama
A lousy piece of paraphernaliaThe man decided to frame me
Dipping under a willow tree
In his favourite ivory dress
Hair spread in a watery mess
There I lay still for three whole days
Until my body was ablazeI almost died from the fever
I prayed I’d lay still forever
But Death was never all that kind
My health improved, the wife’s declined
When I walked again she was dead
My owner took me in her steadThey call me Ophelia
I was never suicidal
What hides behind their echolalia
Is rather more “homicidal”By then I was in my twenties
Marrying me put him at ease
Abusing me thus became blessed
His assaults no longer finessed
His wedding gift, choice most unwise
The portrait that caused my demiseI decided to be forthright
When came another sleepless night
He wanted to thrust me once more
Indeed he always was a boar
Sliced him 6 inch under the snout
Harkened his squeaks as blood flowed outThey call me Ophelia
They know they’re wrong but, hush, don’t tell
The only truth in memorabilia
Is that just like her I’m bound for hellJust call me Ophelia
As my body was never mine
If you pay me with some regalia
You may enjoy a different whine
And since I was forcibly trained
I don’t promise you’ll walk again…
The Writeaholic's Blog 
July 3rd, 2010 at 5:07 pm
I liked the rich imagery and the poetic lyrical description of Ophelia’s situation. It’s easy to sympathize with her and to understand her feisty attitude.
July 3rd, 2010 at 11:28 pm
That’s great. It’s an interesting challenge to write a somehow complex character in the limited space of a song. It forces one to chose the words carefully.