I've seen the family photos And the man's a mystery Died in 1942 at the age of 43 My grandmother was his widow And my father was his son Oh, but I know next to nothing Of the first Loudon They say he was an SOB Who liked to smoke and drink In the photos he looks handsome Attractive's what I think And there's one of him in uniform And it must have been World War I They say he was an expert sailor And could handle a shotgun In the wedding portrait Posing with his young bride His right hand, hidden by her bouquet Is left hanging at his side Closed in a kind of half-fist Unsure what he'd just done Facing his short future Like he could hit someone It was elbows off the table Before the meal'd begun And it's his hands I recognize He gave them to his son Whose own hands held and touched me And ruffled up my hair And I recognize that half-fist I'd know it anywhere Later on, in the late 30s He began to go to seed In the photos he looks loaded They observe and I will heed Mugging for the camera, having a little fun Cigarette in one hand And a drink in the other one Yes, I know a little something About the first Loudon My grandmother was his widow And my father was his son Tell me what are we afraid of? Why do we resist? I spread my hands and flex my fingers Open and close my fist I spread my hands and flex my fingers Open and close my fist