LYRICS AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS POSTWell, Richard Manuel wrote and sings it with The Band.  Supposedly little Bobby Zimmerman helped write it, but the kike is not on the record, so screw it.  As Stan Sikorski, himself a musician, reasons---if Whites do it better, fine.  I wonder if that's an old original Hammond organ he is playing.  Early rockers used its big-sound effect a lot.  Bet it is.

  Forty-three years old is a little young to take yourself out, in my opinion, but I guess a few bad months or years, a full bottle of Grand Narnier and blaster will do that to you.   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_ManuelRichard Manuel (April 3, 1943 – March 4, 1986) was a Canadian composer, singer, and multi-instrumentalist, best known for his contributions and membership in The Band.Richard Manuel was born in Stratford, Ontario, Canada. His father Ed was a Chrysler mechanic and his mother was a schoolteacher. He grew up singing in the church choir with his three brothers, and took piano lessons starting at the age of nine. He grew up in a music friendly environment playing piano and rehearsing with his friends at his home.On March 4, 1986, after a gig at the Cheek to Cheek Lounge outside Orlando, in Winter Park, Florida, Manuel seemed to be in relatively good spirits but ominously thanked Hudson for "twenty-five years of incredible music". The Band returned to the Quality Inn, down the block from the Cheek to Cheek Lounge, and Manuel talked with Levon Helm about music, film, etc in Helm's room. According to Helm, at around 2:30 Manuel said he needed to get something from his room. Upon returning to his motel room it is believed that   he finished one last bottle of Grand Marnier before hanging himself. Manuel's wife Arlie - asleep at the time - discovered his body along with the depleted bottle and a small amount of cocaine the following morning.    He was buried a week later in his hometown of Stratford, Ontario.We carried you in our arms
On Independence Day,
And now you'd throw us all aside
And put us on our way.
Oh what dear daughter 'neath the sun
Would treat a father so,
To wait upon him hand and foot
And always tell him, "No"?
Tears of rage, tears of grief,
Why must I always be the thief?
Come to me now, you know
We're so alone
And life is brief.

It was all very painless
When you went out to receive
All that false instruction
Which we never could believe.
And now the heart is filled with gold
As if it was a purse.
But, oh, what kind of love is this
Which goes from bad to worse?
Tears of rage, tears of grief,
Must I always be the thief?
Come to me now, you know
We're so low
And life is brief.