================================
"The Gift"
================================
album _White Light/White Heat_
(The Velvet Underground, 1968)
written by
Lou Reed/John Cale/
Sterling Morrison/Maureen Tucker
================================
Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit.
It was now mid-August,
which meant that he had been separated from Marsha
for more than two months.
Two months,
and all he had to show were three dog-eared letters
and two very expensive long distance phone calls.
True when school had ended
and she had returned to Wisconsin
and he to Locust, Pennsylvania
she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity.
She would date occasionally but merely as amusement.
She would remain faithful.
But lately, Waldo had begun to worry.
He had trouble sleeping at night,
and when he did, he had horrible dreams.
He lay awake at night,
tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilted protector,
tears welling in his eyes
as he pictured Marsha,
her sworn vows overcome by liquor
and the smooth soothing of some Neanderthal,
finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion.
It was more than a human mind could bear.
Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him.
Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts,
and the thing was,
they wouldn't understand how she really was.
He, Waldo, alone understood this.
He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche.
He'd made her smile,
she needed him,
and he wasn't there.
(Ahh)
The idea came to him on the Thursday
before the Mummer's parade was scheduled to appear.
He'd just finished mowing and edging Edison's lawn for a dollar fifty
and then checked the mailbox
to see if there was at least a word from Marsha.
There was nothing but a circular from
The Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America
inquiring into his awning needs.
At least they cared enough to write.
It was a New York company.
You can go anywhere in the mails.
Then it struck him.
He didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin
in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself?
It was absurdly simple.
He would ship himself, parcel post special delivery.
The next day Waldo went to the supermarket
to purchase the necessary equipment.
He bought masking tape, a staple gun,
and a medium sized cardboard box
just right for a person of his build.
He judged that with a minimum of jostling,
he could ride quite comfortably.
A few airholes, some water, perhaps some midnight snacks,
and it would probably be as good as going tourist.
By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set.
He was thoroughly packed and the post office
had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock.
He had marked the package "fragile"
and as he sat curled up inside,
resting on the foam rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included,
he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's face
as she opened her door,
saw the package,
tipped the deliverer,
and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person.
She would kiss him,
and then maybe they could see a movie.
If he'd only thought of this before.
Suddenly rough hands gripped his package
and he felt himself borne up.
He landed with a thud in a truck and was off.
Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair.
It had been a very rough weekend.
She had to remember not to drink like that.
Bill had been nice about it, though.
After it was over, he said he still respected her,
and after all it was certainly the way of nature,
and even though, no, he didn't love her,
he did feel an affection for her.
And after all they were grown adults.
Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo.
But that seemed many years ago.
Sheila Klein, her very very best friend
walked in through the porch screen door
and into the kitchen.
"Oh God, it's absolutely maudlin outside."
"Ahh, I know what you mean, I feel all icky."
Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe
with the silk outer edge.
Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table,
Licked her finger and made a face.
"I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but"
she wrinkled her nose
"they make me feel like throwing up."
Marsha started to pat herself under the chin,
an exercise she'd seen on television.
"God, don't even talk about that."
She got up from the table and went to the sink,
where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins.
"Want one? Supposed to be better than steak,"
and then attempted to touch her knees.
"I don't think I'll ever touch a Daiquiri again."
She gave up and sat down,
this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone.
"Maybe Bill will call,"
she said to Sheila's glance.
Sheila nibbled on her cuticle.
"After last night, I thought you'd be through with him."
"I know what you mean.
My god, he was like an octopus, hands all over the place!"
she gestured raising her arms upwards in defense.
"The thing is,
after a while you're tired of fighting with him you know,
and after all I didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday,
so I kind of owed it to him, you know what I mean."
She started to scratch.
Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth.
"I tell you, I felt the same way and even, after a while,"
here she bent forward in a whisper,
"I wanted to."
Now she was laughing very loudly.
It was at this point that Mr. Jameson,
of the Clarence Darrow Post Office,
rang the doorbell of the large stucco-covered frame house.
When Marsha Bronson opened the door,
he helped her carry the package in.
He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed,
and left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had gotten out
of her mother's small beige pocketbook in the den.
"What do you think it is?"
Sheila asked.
Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back.
She stared at the brown cardboard carton
that sat in the middle of the living-room.
"I don't know."
Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement
as he listened to the muffled voices.
Sheila ran her nail over the masking tape
that ran down the center of the carton.
"Why don't you look at the return address and see who it's from."
Waldo felt his heart beating.
He could feel the vibrating footsteps.
It would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label.
"Ahh, God, It's from Waldo!"
"That schmuck," said Sheila.
Waldo trembled with expectation.
"Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila,
and both of them tried to lift the stapled flap.
"Oaah", said Marsha groaning,
"he must have nailed it shut."
They tugged on the flap again.
"My god you need a power drill to get this thing open."
They pulled again.
"You can't get a grip."
They both stood still breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get a scissor," said Sheila.
Marsha ran into the kitchen,
but all she could find was a little sewing scissor.
Then she remembered that
her father kept a collection of tools in the basement.
She ran downstairs,
and when she came back up,
she had a large sheet-metal cutter in her hand.
"This is the best I could find."
She was very out of breath.
"Here, you do it, I think I'm gonna die."
She sank into her large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily.
Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape
and the end of the cardboard flap,
But the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room.
"Goddamn this thing,"
she said feeling very exasperated.
Then, smiling,
"I got an idea."
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch," said Sheila, touching her finger to her head.
Inside the package,
Waldo was so transfixed with excitement
that he could barely breathe.
His skin felt prickly from the heat
and he could feel his heart beating in his throat.
It would be soon.
Sheila stood quite upright
and walked around to the other side of the package.
Then she sank down to her knees,
grasped the cutter by both handles,
took a deep breath,
and plunged the long blade
through the middle of the package,
through the masking tape,
through the cardboard,
through the cushioning,
and right through the center of Waldo Jeffers' head
which split slightly
and caused little rhythmic arcs of red
to pulsate gently in the morning sun.
* all the strings downtuned a whole-tone
1d ----- * downtuned a whole-tone (from e to d)
2A ----- * downtuned a whole-tone (from B to A)
3F ----- * downtuned a whole-tone (from G to F)
4C ----- * downtuned a whole-tone (from D to C)
5G ----- * downtuned a whole-tone (from A to G)
6D ----- * downtuned a whole-tone (from E to D)
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D} (Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit ...)
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D} (Two months, and all he had to show ...)
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D} (Truant school had ended ...)
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D} (She would remain faithful ...)
....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* chords for standard-tuning
{D/C}{D/C}{D/C}{D/C} (Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit ...)
{D/C}{D/C}{D/C}{D/C} (Two months, and all he had to show ...)
{D/C}{D/C}{D/C}{D/C} (Truant school had ended ...)
{D/C}{D/C}{D/C}{D/C} (She would remain faithful ...)
....
==============================
"The Gift"
==============================
album _Live MCMXCIII_
(The Velvet Underground, 1993)
Jun 1993
L'Olympia, Paris, France
==============================
Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit.
It was now mid-August,
which meant that he'd been separated from Marsha
for more than two months.
Two months,
and all he had to show were three dog-eared letters
and two very expensive long distance phone calls.
True when school had ended
and she had returned to Wisconsin
and he to Locust, Pennsylvania
she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity.
She would date occasionally but merely as amusement.
She would remain faithful.
But lately, Waldo had begun to worry.
He had trouble sleeping at night,
and when he did, he had horrible dreams.
He lay awake at night,
tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilted protector,
tears welling in his eyes
as he pictured Marsha,
her sworn vows overcome by liquor
and the smooth soothing of some Neanderthal,
finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion.
It was more than a human mind could bear.
Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him.
Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts,
and the thing was,
they wouldn't understand how she really was.
He, Waldo, alone understood this.
He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche.
He'd made her smile,
she needed him,
and he wasn't there.
Ahh
The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummer's parade
He'd just finished mowing and edging Edison's lawn for a dollar fifty
and then checked the mailbox
to see if there was at least a word from Marsha.
There was nothing but a circular from
The Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America
inquiring into his awning needs.
At least they cared enough to write.
It was a New York company.
You can go anywhere in the mails.
And then it struck him.
He didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin
in the accepted fashion, true,
but why not mail himself?
It was absurdly simple.
He would ship himself, parcel post special delivery.
And the next day Waldo went to the supermarket
to purchase the necessary equipment.
He bought masking tape, a staple gun,
and a medium sized cardboard box
just right for a person of his build.
He judged that with a minimum of jostling,
he could ride quite comfortably.
A few airholes, some water, perhaps some midnight snacks,
and it would probably be as good as going tourist.
So by Friday afternoon, Waldo was set.
He was thoroughly packed and the post office
had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock.
He had marked the package "fragile"
and as he sat curled up inside,
resting on the foam rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included,
he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's face
as she opened her door,
saw the package,
tipped the deliverer,
and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person.
She would kiss him,
and then maybe they could see a movie.
If he'd only thought of this before.
Suddenly rough hands gripped his package
and he felt himself borne up,
landed with a thud in a truck and was off.
Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair.
It had been a very rough weekend.
She had to remember not to drink like that.
Bill had been nice about it, though.
After it was over, he said he still respected her,
and after all it was certainly the way of nature,
and even though, no, he didn't love her,
he did feel an affection for her.
And after all they were grown adults.
Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo.
But that seemed many years ago.
Sheila Klein, her very very best friend
walked in through the porch screen door and into the kitchen.
"Oh God, it's absolutely maudlin outside." she said,
"I know what you mean, I feel all icky."
Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe
Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table,
Licked her finger and made a face.
"I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills,"
she said,
"But they make me feel like throwing up."
Marsha started to pat herself under the chin,
an exercise she'd seen on television.
"God, don't even talk about that." she said,
got up from the table and went to the sink,
where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins.
"Want one? Supposed to be better than steak,"
and then attempted to touch her knees.
"I don't think I'll ever touch a Daiquiri again."
She gave up and sat down,
this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone.
"Maybe Bill will call,"
she said to Sheila's glance.
Sheila nibbled on her cuticle.
"After last night, I thought you'd be through with him."
"I know what you mean.
My god, he was like an octopus, hands all over the place!"
she gestured raising her arms upwards in defense.
"The thing is,
after a while you're tired of fighting with him you know,
and after all I didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday,
so I kind of owed it to him, you know what I mean."
She started to scratch.
Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth.
"I tell you, I felt the same way and even, after a while,"
here she bent forward in a whisper,
"I wanted to."
And now she was laughing very loudly.
It was at this point that Mr. Jameson,
of the Clarence Darrow Post Office,
rang the doorbell of the large stucco-covered frame house.
When Marsha Bronson opened the door,
he helped her carry the package in.
had his yellow and green slips of paper signed,
and left with a fifteen cent tip
that Marsha had gotten out of her mother's small beige pocketbook
in the den.
"What do you think it is?"
Sheila asked.
Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back.
She stared at the brown cardboard carton
that sat in the middle of the living-room.
"I don't know." she said.
Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement
as he listened to the muffled voices.
Sheila ran her nail over the masking tape
that ran down the center of the carton.
"Why don't you look at the return address and see who it's from."
Waldo felt his heart beating.
He could feel the vibrating footsteps.
It would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label.
"Oh, God, It's from Waldo!"
"That schmuck," said Sheila.
Waldo trembled with expectation.
"Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila,
and both of them tried to lift the stapled flap.
"Oaah", said Marsha groaning,
"he must have nailed it shut."
They tugged on the flap again.
"My god you need a power drill to get this thing open."
They pulled again.
"You can't get a grip."
They both stood still breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get a scissor," said Sheila.
Marsha ran into the kitchen,
but all she could find was a little sewing scissor.
Then she remembered that
her father kept a collection of tools in the basement.
She ran downstairs,
and when she came back up,
she had a large sheet-metal cutter in her hand.
"This is the best I could find."
She was very out of breath.
"Here, you do it, I think I'm gonna die."
She sank into her large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily.
Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape
and the end of the cardboard flap,
But the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room.
"Goddamn this thing,"
she said feeling very exasperated.
Then, smiling, she said,
"I got an idea."
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch," said Sheila,
touching her finger to her head.
Inside the package,
Waldo was so transfixed with excitement
that he could barely breathe.
His skin felt prickly from the heat
and he could feel his heart beating in his throat.
It would be soon.
Sheila stood quite upright
and walked around to the other side of the package.
Then she sank down to her knees,
grasped the cutter by both handles,
took a deep breath,
and plunged the long blade
through the middle of the package,
through the masking tape,
through the cardboard,
through the cushioning,
and right through the center of Waldo Jeffers' head
which split slightly
and caused little rhythmic arcs of red
to pulsate gently in the morning sun.
(standard-tuning)
intro {E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D} (Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit ...)
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D} (Two months, and all he had to show ...)
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D} (Truant school had ended ...)
{E/D}{E/D}{E/D}{E/D} (She would remain faithful ...)
....
* riff
{E / D } {E / D }
1e -----------------------9-----7---
2B ------9----7---------------------
3G -------------------7/9-----7----- ...
4D --7/9----7-----------------------
5A ---------------------------------
6E ---------------------------------
*** please note ***
h - hammer on
p - pull off
b - bend string up
r - release bend
/ - slide up
\ - slide down
v - vibrato
^ - harmonics
******************************************************************************
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
thanks: Jan Timmer (jantim1@yahoo.com)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"The Gift" the name is WALDO ,no Waldour or Walter
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
thanks: Circus-Szalewski (circus@iname.com)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit.
It was now Mid-August,
Which meant that he had been separated from Marsha
for more than two months.
Two months, and all he had to show were three dog-eared letters
And two very expensive long distance phone calls.
True when school had ended
And she had returned to Wisconsin
And he to Locust, Pennsylvania
She had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity.
She would date occasionally but merely as amusement.
She would remain faithful.
But lately, Waldo had begun to worry.
He had trouble sleeping at night,
And when he did, he had horrible dreams.
He lay awake at night,
Tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilted protector,
Tears welling in his eyes
As he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor
and the smooth soothing of some Neanderthal,
Finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion.
It was more than a human mind could bear.
Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him.
Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts,
And the thing was, they wouldn't understand how she really was.
He, Waldo, alone understood this.
He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche.
He'd made her smile--she needed him, and he wasn't there. (Ahh...)
The idea came to him on the Thursday
before the Mummer's parade was scheduled to appear.
He'd just finished mowing and edging Edisons' lawn
for a dollar fifty and then checked the mailbox
to see if there was at least a word from Marsha.
There was nothing but a circular from
The Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America
inquiring into his awning needs.
At least they cared enough to write.
It was a New York company.
You can go anywhere in the mails.
Then it struck him.
He didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin
in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself?
It was absurdly simple.
He would ship himself, parcel post special delivery.
The next day Waldo went to the supermarket
to purchase the necessary equipment.
He bought masking tape, a staple gun, and a medium sized cardboard box
just right for a person of his build.
He judged that with a minimum of jostling,
He could ride quite comfortably.
A few airholes, some water, perhaps some midnight snacks,
And it would probably be as good as going tourist.
By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set.
He was thoroughly packed and the post office
had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock.
He had marked the package "fragile"
And as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam-
rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included,
He tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's face
As she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer,
And then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person.
She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie.
If he'd only thought of this before.
Suddenly rough hands gripped his package
And he felt himself borne up.
He landed with a thud in a truck and was off.
Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair.
It had been a very rough weekend.
She had to remember not to drink like that.
Bill had been nice about it, though.
After it was over, he said he still respected her,
And after all it was certainly the way of nature,
And even though, no, he didn't love her,
He did feel an affection for her.
And after all they were grown adults.
Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo.
But that seemed many years ago.
Sheila Klein, her very very best friend
Walked in through the porch screen door and into the kitchen.
"Oh God, it's absolutely maudlin outside."
"I know what you mean, I feel all icky."
Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge.
Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table,
Licked her finger and made a face.
"I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but"-- she wrinkled her
nose--"they make me feel like throwing up."
Marsha started to pat herself under the chin,
an exercise she'd seen on television.
"God, don't even talk about that."
She got up from the table and went to the sink,
Where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins.
"Want one? Supposed to be better than steak,"
And then attempted to touch her knees.
"I don't think I'll ever touch a Daiquiri again."
She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that
Supported the telephone.
"Maybe Bill will call," she said to Sheila's glance.
Sheila nibbled on her cuticle.
"After last night, I thought you'd be through with him."
"I know what you mean.
My god, he was like an octopus--hands all over the place!"
she gestured raising her arms upwards in defense.
"The thing is, after a while you're tired of fighting with him you
know,
And after all I didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday,
So I kind of owed it to him--you know what I mean."
She started to scratch.
Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth.
"I tell you, I felt the same way and even, after a while,"
Here she bent forward in a whisper,
"I wanted to."
Now she was laughing very loudly.
It was at this point that Mr. Jameson,
of the Clarence Darrow Post Office,
rang the doorbell of the large stucco-covered frame house.
When Marsha Bronson opened the door,
He helped her carry the package in.
He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed,
And left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had gotten out
Of her mother's small beige pocketbook in the den.
"What do you think it is?" Sheila asked.
Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back.
She stared at the brown cardboard carton
That sat in the middle of the living-room.
"I don't know."
Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement
As he listened to the muffled voices.
Sheila ran her nail over the masking tape
That ran down the center of the carton.
"Why don't you look at the return address and see who it's from."
Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating footsteps.
It would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label.
"God, It's from Waldo!"
"That schmuck," said Sheila.
Waldo trembled with expectation.
"Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila,
and both of them tried to lift the stapled flap.
"Oaah", said Marsha groaning, "he must have nailed it shut."
They tugged on the flap again.
"My god you need a power drill to get this thing open."
They pulled again.
"You can't get a grip."
They both stood still breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get a scissor," said Sheila.
Marsha ran into the kitchen,
but all she could find was a little sewing scissor.
Then she remembered that her father
kept a collection of tools in the basement.
She ran downstairs, and when she came back up,
She had a large sheet-metal cutter in her hand.
"This is the best I could find."
She was very out of breath.
"Here, you do it, I think I'm gonna die."
She sank into her large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily.
Sheila tried to make a slit between
The masking tape and the end of the cardboard flap,
But the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room.
"Goddamn this thing,"
she said feeling very exasperated.
Then, smiling, "I got an idea."
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch," said Sheila, touching her finger to her head.
Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement
That he could barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat
And he could feel his heart beating in his throat.
It would be soon.
Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side
Of the package. Then she sank down to her knees,
Grasped the cutter by both handles,
Took a deep breath, and plunged the long blade
Through the middle of the package, through the masking tape,
Through the cardboard, through the cushioning,
And right through the center of Waldo Jeffers' head
Which split slightly and caused little
rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
******************************************************************************
transcribed by Shiroh KOUCHI (wildside@mx21.tiki.ne.jp)
http://ww21.tiki.ne.jp/~wildside/
******************************************************************************