Bruce Springsteen – Richfield Whistle (Guitar)

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My name is James Lucas, I was born in Remington

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And paroled from Richfield Prison in the winter of '81

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I was freed on the streets of Indiana, I'd just turned 32

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Same man with nowhere left to run, no different, sir, than you

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Me and Pat, we married in the spring, moved in with her Ma and Pa

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On our wedding night she sighed, "Jimmy, we can have anything we want."

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It was for those things we wanted, we worked as hard as two people could

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But somehow in the end, mister, this didn't do no good

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The prison got me driving delivery for Mr. Wills over in Ridgeside

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Well I started loading a little extra and I'd sell it on the side

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I didn't like what I was doing, I didn't lose no sleep at night

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Mr. Wills he was a rich man, he'd been a rich man all his life

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I was on the loading dock one evening when I heard the warehouse phone

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A dispatcher said, "Jim, they wanna see you in the front office before you go home."

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All Mr. Wills said was, "I don't understand, I could send you back to Richfield fast.

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If you needed some extra money, Jim, all you had to do was ask."

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Well that night me and Pat we had a fight, I was out driving 'round in the rain

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With a fifth of gin and a half tank of gas and ten dollars to my name

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I passed a deserted liquor store way out on Highway One

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I turned and pulled into that parking lot, got out but I let my motor run

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Well I stood looking in the window for a long, long while

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When I walked in the man behind the register, he looked at me and smiled

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"That's some weather we're having out there. Can I help you find something, friend?"

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I didn't answer, I just stood there, then I turned and I went

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I don't know how long I sat in my driveway, my shirt was covered in sweat

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The house was dark when I went in, Pat was lying awake in bed

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She hit the light, I was standing in the doorway.

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She said, "I was worried, where you been so long?"

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I felt her arms around me, she said, "Jimmy, I'm so glad you're home."

N.C.      D                                      A                D
Richfield Prison stands on a high hill where the county line runs out

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There's a whistle that blows every time a man comes in or a man gets out

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At night we lay wrapped in each other's arms listening to the rain

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I heard that Richfield whistle blowing, just blowing in my dreams