. . .that relentless, flooding, plastic wave. . . and the journey of the Piper clan. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

[After being turned on by the Ken Burns PBS TV series on Country Music, I began developing a country music story-lyric. My subject: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch, a collection of plastic floating trash that has grown twice the size of Texas. And when the sea storms come, that plastic isle swells into waves of destruction! Here’s the finished lyric:]

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“When The Island Of Kacòw Disappeared, Oh Lord!”

That plastic wave/ just keeps on flooding on, oh. Lord.

Already having swamped/The Islands of our dreams.

And a thousand miles of plastic/Keep expanding/(mile by mile)/

A new nightmare plastic isle/ Of plastic dreams/ Oh Lord.

And that plastic isle’s/ Now headed for/ The Island of Kacòw/

God’s Isle of sun/ and palms/And dunes/ lagoons and coral reef.

The once joyous people/Living there/Still think they can survive:

It’s part of their innocent/ Core Kacòw belief:

. . . And they sing/Cowkùu, Cowkùu/ And they sing/Sowùu, Sowùu

And that means/ There ain’t no hate/ Just love/ On that island in the sea.

And they sing/ Bowkùu, Bowkùu/ And they sing/ Kowùu, Kowùu/

And that means/ That love will always/ Be there/ For you and me . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

. . .The Piper clan/ Bernard and Pam and Sam and Adrienne?

With their mongrel, Checkers/ Once escaped the Nashville music din.

They moved to the new Austin scene/ To give their ears a grin,

And hoped for a/ New melodic life to begin.

But the music there turned sour/ And the Mainland madness/

Hour by hour/ Made the Piper clan and Checkers/

Cringe and crouch and cower.

So the Piper clan and their dog Checkers/

(Longing for a happier hour/ And fleeing from the Mainland wreckers)/

Got aboard the good ship SS Joy/ (Oh Boy! — and Wow!)

Where they sailed on to/ The magical Island of Kacòw.

And the Piper clan and Checkers/ Joined right in!

And they felt their blood/ So, so, so quickly/ Turn to fizz and gin.

And the Piper clan and Checkers/ Felt their Mainland troubles fade/

When they joined the nightly/ Kacòw naked joy parade.

And it seemed/ by all accounts/ That the Pipers/

And their mongrel Checkers/ Made their boobs and peckers/

Also bounce!

. . .And they sang/ Cowkùu, Cowkùu/ And they sang/

Sowùu, Sowùu/ And that means/ There ain’t no hate,/ Just love/

On that Island in the sea.

And they sing/ Bowkùu, Bowkùu/And they sing/ Kowùu, Kowùu/

And that means/ The love will always be there/

For you and me. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

. . .that plastic wave/ (Relentless)/ — It keeps flooding toward Kacòw.

There is nothing to withstand/ That plastic depth that has no floor.

And soon the Piper clan and Checkers/ Still dancing in the sun/

Find their naked bodies/ Swinging free no more.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

. . .the Pipers and the good folk of Kacòw/ Are standing on the pier/

Waiting for the good ship S.S. Joy/ To reappear.

To take them to a new Isle/ For a new life they all crave,

Where they will give the finger/ To that damned

Tsunami plastic wave.

. . .And where they’ll sing/ Cowkùu, Cowkùu/ Where they’ll sing

Sowùu, Sowùu/ And that means/ There’ll be no hate/ Just love,

On that new Island in the sea/ . . .Where they’ll sing

Bowkùu, Bowkùu/ And they’ll sing/ Kowùu Kowùu/

Which will mean/ The love can always be there

For you and me. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

. . .the S. S. Joy ain’t coming/ To Kacòw no more/ Oh Lord!

The S.S. Joy ain’t coming to Kacòw/ Oh Lord!

That plastic wave has taken it/ To the ocean’s plastic floor,

And Kacòw and S. S. Joy/ Are buried 10 miles deep/

And/ With the Pipers/ (And their pipe dreams)/

Are no more.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When the planes that now fly over/ Heading for a Mainland hope/

Hoping that a solid Mainland/ Still, may still exist. . ./

A hush sets in. . ./ And all look down/ Through all that smokey mist/

At the plastic-eating seagulls/ That the passengers all see/

And they think they also hear/ This song sung softly/

in a minor key:

. . .Help us sing/ Cowkùu, Cowkùu/ Help us sing

Sowùu, Sowùu/ It can mean/There’ll be no hate/

Still love/ Underneath this plastic sea.

Help us sing/ Bowkùu, Bowkùu/Keep alive/

Kowùu, Kowùu/ It can still mean/

That love will always/ Be here

For you and me. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That plastic wave/ Relentlessly floods on/ Oh, Lord.

Moving on to swamp/What’s left/ Of The Islands of our dreams.

And a thousand miles of plastic/ Keep expanding/ (mile by mile)

A new nightmare plastic isle/ Of plastic dreams/ Oh, Lord. . .

A new nightmare plastic isle/ Of plastic dreams. . .

Oh. . . Lord. . .

Ohhhhhhh. . .

Lord.

[ASCAP 2021]

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Frank Gagliano, playwright.