Goodnight P-I

Who will blow the whistle?  Who will place the call?
Who will wield the mighty pen that makes the mighty fall?
All across the nation, readers want to cry
For the passing of the era of the Seattle P-I.

Now the Post-Intelligencer is a mouthful to say
But ever since 1863, it’s come out every day
Leftward in its leanings, scrappy in its view
Us little people always felt that paper told the truth 
         
They helped the folks in Libby tell the world their plight
About asbestos in the soil and dying in the night
They gave their best to baseball, led the charge in ‘95
With tales of Randy, Ken and Jay that made us feel alive

Now who will blow…

I used to hang on every word of What’s Happening and Gene Stout
If there was a show or worthy cause, he’d help the locals out
One time I was astonished when he answered his own phone
The PI gave a voice to us, now we’re on our own

And driving through Seattle, I always loved the glow
Of the spinning neon PI globe from the streets below
It takes me back to another time, a simpler day and age
When you could drink your coffee with your news and turn it page by page

‘Cause who will…

Now my friend just sent a clipping from a P-I she had saved
They towed the great three-masted ship, Wawona, to her grave
What is it about Seattle?  Is there no honor for her past?
A giant of a masthead now lies beside the mast

Now who will blow…

Last evening as the moon rose, and I laid down my head
For one last time the editors were putting her to bed
I thought I heard a lullabye out beyond the starry light…
Goodnight, P-I, goodnight… Goodnight, P-I, goodnight…goodnight

© 2009 by Heidi Muller, Cascadia Music, BMI