The Villages

Lyrics

Before the thrum, I was just fields. 
Just the Assabet, speaking to itself. 
One meeting house. 
One name on the map.

Then the river showed its other face. 
Not just for baptisms, not just for thirst. 
It could turn a wheel. 
It could do work. 
Joseph Fay saw it. 
In the east, a hamlet woke up around a new stone dam. 
A new name whispered on the wind: Fayville.

I was one body, and then I was three. 
One name, but three hearts beating. 
Fayville at the loom. 
Cordaville in the dye house. 
Southville listening for the train. 
Each with its own post office. 
Each with its own pride.

George W. Cordis came with brick and ambition. 
Raised his mills by the water's edge. 
The ground learned a new rhythm. 
A steady vibration, day and night. 
The air smelled of wet wool and industry. 
Eighteen-fifty, they gave it a name, made it official. 
A stamp and a key for Cordaville.

I was one body, and then I was three. 
One name, but three hearts beating. 
Fayville at the loom. 
Cordaville in the dye house. 
Southville listening for the train. 
Each with its own post office. 
Each with its own pride.

But Southville… Southville turned its back on the river. 
Its pulse was iron and steam. 
The Depot was its meeting house. 
Eighteen thirty-seven, a new brass key turned in a lock. 
It heard news from Boston first. 
Had its own ideas about things. 
For a while there, you needed an operator just to call next door.

Three villages. Three fires. Three telephone exchanges. 
But when the old bell rings from the common… they all look up. 
They all remember the name. 
Southborough.