Songs About Love, its Disadvantages, and Alternatives

Blue Circle

Some of this is true. The rest of it is true in spirit.

Blue Circle

She said just let me remind you there’s snakes in paradise
I was staring at her tattoo, she was staring at my eyes
I said you don’t have to warn me, you leave nothing to suppose
On her shoulder, a blue circle,
barbed wire round a rose

She threw a twenty on the table and she grabbed me by the sleeve
she said a man your age is supposed to know just when it’s time to leave
I said I’m the one’s been waiting, for how long, heaven knows
Just didn’t know the sign would be
barbed wire round a rose

I don’t know what the moon was doing, was it quarter, was it half
If we talked I don’t remember, did we cry or did we laugh
And I didn’t need to wonder whether this is how it goes
Every question, every answer
barbed wire round a rose

A few turns around the graveyard, just the crickets and the night
She put her Karman Ghia top down, cut the engine, killed the lights
She said now it makes no difference eyes open or eyes closed
better than a promise
barbed wire round a rose

Somewhere Else to Cry

If I ever got to ask an enlightened being just one question, it would be “Why, every now and then, do I get a vivid vivid memory of some meaningless moment in my life, like what the sidewalk outside Sidlin’s Drugstore looked like, or my 9th grade Algebra teacher’s shoes? Especially when what I’m doing at the time has nothing in common with that memory?” I feel as if we’re owed this answer, and I wouldn’t sign on to any religion that didn’t promise I’d get it.

Somewhere Else to Cry

How is it I can see your eyes?
You got away so many years ago
and even you could not say why
but through your laughter
mentioned sorrow

I guess you’d say that we were friends
they’ve got a name for almost everything
And though our story had an end
Can’t say the same
about remembering

You got aboard a northbound train
a single suitcase and a dime
said we never stop our running from the rain
we only go somewhere else to cry

Everybody knows the sound
a half-gone dinner plate
that’s set to break
and so we set each other down
like all we needed
was one more mistake

We couldn’t trust such tenderness
we thought it just another lie
we were certain
nothing like that ever lasts
best just to run somewhere else to cry

How is it I still see your eyes?
I don’t believe I’ve known a sadder blue
I’ve known the oceans and the skies
I’ve known sweet laughter
and I have known you

I hear the distant evening train
the long steel rail
the short cross-tie
always rolling far away
or home again
somewhere to laugh
somewhere else to cry

Never You Mind

Thinking is OK, as far as it goes. But it tends to muddy the already murky waters of love, and it’s an impediment in songwriting. I’d attend a seminar on the meaning of this song if anyone offered one, but I probably wouldn’t add much to the discussion. Muscadine, by the way, is a grape. The wine made from it comes in two varieties: red, and white. If the store is out of one kind, don’t panic. They taste the same.

Never You Mind

Met her down in Birmingham
and I loved her well
Heaven knows I love her still

Lips as sweet as muscadine
and I drank my fill
I never want for better wine

So never you mind
never you wonder why
never you want nothing more
And never you cry
you never must say goodbye
oceans all rush
just to one shore

We stood beneath the streetlamps
and the satin skies
only saw each others’ eyes

Young enough to steal the night
from the coming of the day
when one of us must sail away

So never you mind
never you wonder why
never you want nothing more
And never you cry
you never must say goodbye
oceans all rush
just to one shore

Met her down in Birmingham
and I loved her well
Heaven knows I love her still

Won’t Come Again

An attempt to stop kicking myself. Of course, when you’re feeling like a jerk for letting someone go–someone you shouldn’t have let go–, what you do is write a song about it for the whole world to hear. The idea is to get as many people as you can to agree that you are an idiot so you don’t feel so bad. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why this isn’t working.

That’s Richard Seidel on bass.

Won’t Come Again

River roll on slow
I know just what you’re thinking
ain’t got no place to go
Long gone’s the woman
had my heart at her call
and I would have gave it all
won’t come again

She might have been a dream
the little while I held her
that’s the way it seemed
never saw such blue eyes
or laughed so easily
as when she spoke so soft to me
won’t come again

I guess I might have tried
might have thought of something
other than goodbye
but no one’s to blame
you can’t say to someone else
something you don’t know yourself
won’t come again

Didn’t take too long
just a hundred heartaches
a hundred hard-luck songs
to learn what you learn
every time you roll the dice
ain’t no number comes up twice
won’t come again

But I’d do it all once more
even do the hard part
standing at the door
I was just too young then
too green to realize
how I’d miss those sparkling eyes
won’t come again

Gold-Haired Girl

I recorded this many years ago, back when I thought I knew about the blues. Ha.

I guess you could figure out how old the recording is. D.C.’s subway, the Metro, had opened only a short while before I made the recording, and I honored it by including in the lyrics the names of two stops on the Red Line.
Gold-Hiared Girl

I’ve had me some trouble
seen some troubled times
almost had a gold-haired girl
couldn’t make her mine

She’s just a child they tell me
just a kid, they say
I’ve never had a woman yet
make me feel that way

And I’ve had me some fortune
every now and then
found a dollar on the ground
held it in my hand

Turned that dollar over
every which way
I couldn’t find the angle, Lord
to make that dollar pay

So I spent it wisely
I bought a pint of rye
it wasn’t that I felt so bad
just didn’t want to try

This boy sings for pennies
this boy sings for booze
swallow sings in the early spring
or any time she choose

Now you’ve heard my story
now you’ve heard my song
I took the train at Silver Spring
to Dupont I am gone

I wished I had that dollar
I wished I had a dime
I wished I had that gold-haired girl
sung clean off my mind

Ever Since

If you think of the lyrics to this song as impressionistic, you’ll have a better shot at understanding them. Maybe. The real lowdown is that I’d hit a brick wall with words at the time I came up with the melody, and I tried to break through it. That didn’t work, so I tried running around it. The result is a song that makes sense, but you have to squint, mentally. That’s not as hard to do as it sounds. I do it all the time, in fact. It’s paradoxically relaxing.

All the windows open wide
darkness stretches to the ends outside
never found you in your eyes

Screen door creaking in the wind
distant thunder then the storm begins
can’t hold heaven in our hands

But we know better than to cry
Some don’t even get that chance
Some don’t get to say goodbye
Most don’t even get a glimpse
Lucky me and you,
we had our try
and forever’s ever since

Single candle by the bed
single word we must have left unsaid
we tried all the rest instead

Crumpled covers in your fist
jumbled story, but we got the gist
how the end comes with a twist

But we know better than to cry
Some don’t even get that chance
Some don’t get to say goodbye
Most don’t even get a glimpse
Lucky me and you, we had our try
and forever’s ever since

I’ve listened to this song a few times, and what I can’t understand is whether I wrote it. It doesn’t sound like one of my songs, and I don’t know anyone named Marianne. I knew someone in college named Marianne, but not very well. That was many years ago. No Mariannes since. I’ve never worked in a lumber yard, either, and I don’t know anyone who has. The only evidence that I had anything to do with the song is that I do know that a mud-slider is a turtle. But a lot of people know that, so this wouldn’t stand up in court.

Good thing I like the song. I don’t mind calling it mine.

Marianne

Sitting by the muddy riverside
watching an old mud slider slide
watching an old mud slider slide on by

He doesn’t give a hoot for what the people say
doesn’t have to stoop to draw his pay
like I do every day

You put in your time in this lumberyard
pretty soon your heart and your talk get hard
pretty soon your insides turn to knotty pine

You kick and you scratch like a river rat
I don’t want to see you come to that
I want to keep you something fine

Ch.
Marianne, you’re too good for all of that
Marianne, you’re too good for all of that
and when I can I’ll get something some day
take you so far away
you’ll have to face front to look back
you’re too good for all of that

They tell me that the poor man’s rich indeed
tell me that he’s got all that he needs
he’s got the rich man beat in peace of mind

Then they go and talk about the price of greed
it’s just a sickness they must feed
it’s just a crying, hungry child

I know a little something about discontent
I’ve had to choose between food and rent
when all I’ve had to swallow is my human pride

I wonder, if the rich man suffers so
why he doesn’t just let go
when he hears my children cry

Sitting by the muddy riverside
watching the old mud slider slide on by

A song from long ago, with a touch of social commentary added. I used to tell my students that all poetry, even love poetry, is political. I also told them that the only thing worse than not being in love is being in love. I’m probably wrong on both counts, but since it’s impossible to be right, you might as well be spectacularly and memorably wrong.

I’m older now, and I see this lyric for what it is. Romantic, and as such, skewed. I excuse it because, at the time, I wanted nothing to do with reality. This song testifies to the lengths to which I’d go to avoid it.

Becky Carter plays second guitar and sings harmony. Perfectly, I hasten to add.

Anna Virginia

Sometime in my twenties
when things were so stormy
you played in my story
Anna Virginia

My country was wealthy
and though we all had plenty
somehow it was empty
O lord, it all felt empty
Everything was easy
all of us were lonely

And though our days together
they were so few in number
time since I met Anna
is all that really matters
Time since I met Anna
Anna Virginia

And I’ve had this feeling
ever since that morning
all the earth is feeding
every creature breathing

Recorded in a noisy restaurant, for effect. I knew someone named Bunky when I was a kid, but I knew nothing about him other than that he owned a black ’53 Mercury that sounded and steered like an ocean liner. This song is 97% fiction. The title is true. Someone in the world is, or was, nicknamed Bunky. The rest is bunk, factually; truth, metaphorically.

Bunky

Bunky rode in his black and yellow Ford
down the road, down the road
He was drinking beer with his eyes full of tears
swearing to god, swearing to god

O, I never thought she would lie
O, I never thought she would lie
she wouldn’t lie

Hear his tires whine, hear his engine crying
doing 95 out on 95
Policeman throwed him in the can
that ain’t no way to drive, son
that ain’t no way to drive

Goin’ bail she said, son, where’d we fail
his mama cried, Bunky’s mama cried
What would your father say if he hadn’t passed away
if your daddy hadn’t died

Cause way down in my bones
I know no good gonna come
if you keep going on
like you been going one

I guess his mama was right
cause Bunky picked hisself a fight
down at the billiard hall
with Crazy Paul

They’d been drinking booze
they started swinging cues
Paul pulled a knife
Crazy Paul pulled his knife

Everybody cried
he must have wanted just to die
cause Crazy Paul
don’t know his wrong from his right

It’s a long story, but I did do a little hitchhiking in Mississippi. Thanks to the trucker who picked me up on I-10; it was cold that night. I felt the heat from the cab when I opened the door, and I didn’t care at all that he immediately said, “I should tell you that I have a gun.” We got along fine.

Driver

Rolling down the road
I see you got a load of Southern pine
Take your time, driver, take your time
Take ’em on down to New Orleans
where the people sleep between their dreams
and their wine
Take your time

If she was next to me
do you think I’d be out on this road
Driver, no, driver, no
We’d be laying on the bed at home
baby sleepy with the TV on real low
on real low

And if I could say for sure
that the whole thing was over
and just don’t love her no more
I wouldn’t mind that white line
tumbling on toward tomorrow

In the sleepy sky above
you can hear the mourning dove
she mourns for love
she mourns for love
it makes no difference
was it good or bad
it’s just that
something you once had is gone
girl is gone

This was one of those “where’d that come from?” songs. You pick up a guitar, and ten or twenty minutes later, there it is. A note to the muses: Why don’t you do this more often, you creeps? Judy and Shelly Schoenbaum do the harmony.

For All of Those Nights

Don’t talk about this time and that time
I know my own mind, I know my own mind
Don’t talk about the way it should be
I know what I see, I know what I see

When I have become your story
Speak please of my light
and I am sorry
but I’m mostly sorry
for all of those nights

Don’t see the broken love in my eyes
I don’t want to cry, I don’t want to cry
Just leave and keep the unfinished fight
and I’ll stay alive for all of your life

When I have become your story
Speak please of my light
and I am sorry
but I’m mostly sorry
for all of those nights

The title comes from a concept in Eastern religious practice. The Golden Chain is the metaphor for our desire to be at one with the deity. All the gurus say that, to merge with the deity, we must give up all our possessions, our desires—the works. The great paradox is that we must also give up our desire to be at one with the deity; this desire might be “golden,” but it is, nevertheless, a chain. This song is only tangentially about that. It’s about a girl I couldn’t get out of my head. I say “girl” because we were pretty young, so don’t go getting any ideas about my respect for women. I wish, sincerely, that women would take over entirely and let us men get back to what we do best: watching TV and belching.

The Golden Chain

Golden as the sun
golden one
my dream of you
is just begun

Golden as the dawn
in your arms
my every child
is nearly born

Golden as the day
when we awake
and find that
everything is done
Golden as the golden fall
of evening rain
Golden shall your dream remain
Golden as the golden chain

I sound like a very young man here because I was. I’m torn between telling you that the harmony vocal is by Mary Chapin Carpenter and not mentioning it. I don’t want to sound like a name-dropper. But we were very good friends long before she made it big, and we sang together a lot. That was heaven. True story about the first time we performed together: I went to hear her at a restaurant where we played, though on different nights. She sat next to me during her break, and I said, supportively, “You sound like your dog just died.” She replied, “She did. Would you help me make it through the rest of the night?” She’d had a golden retriever named Chessie. So I joined her onstage. We tried a song, and we never wanted to stop.

Grateful Song

Beneath the Southern pines
I met a lady
and I made her mine
gently,
and though there was so little time

A thousand miles I’d gone
but with my lady
I was right at home
wrapped in her arms
just for a little time

And in the skies
we heard the laughter of the stars
the moon as she rises like a song
and we were wise
to know when love comes from so far
you hold her tight
and you do not ask how long

Now to the stars back home
I sing the laughter
of my grateful song
lucky was I
just for a little time

Another song I wrote in the South, before the muscadine had a chance to kick in. The recording quality is eh, or eh minus, but the rendition has what I had in mind when I wrote the song, and I never got a better take. A curious night this was. I’d just, that very evening, gone through a very nasty break-up. In a moment of what you might call perversion, I challenged myself to take a recorder to my gig, just to see what I sounded like on my worst night. Verdict: not as bad as I felt.

Other Side of Braxton

Road goes on and on
every mile a song
rolling down to Hattiesburg
on my way from Jackson
left that girl without a word
other side of Braxton
road goes on and on

Thought I heard the trees
whispering low to me
boy, you’d better make it up
else you’ll run forever
can’t you face a few teardrops
hell, it’s only water
thought I heard the trees

And all the highway signs tick by
and start to rhyme
I will apologize
in miles
and my own time

Nothing but the sky
heard me as I cried
Lord, I don’t know what it’s for
unless it’s all for nothing
tell that girl how hard I tried
now it’s come to nothing
nothing but the sky

Outstandingly bad recording, but the only one I’ve got. I’ve always wanted to hear a rock band do this song, despite its elusive lyrics. I did have something in mind when I wrote it, but I failed to convey it. Instead of doing more work on the song, though, I tried thinking, “Ooo! Maybe people will see it as a mystery, and engage in spirited debate over it.” But most everyone I’ve played it for just finds the words irksome. I seized on that, too: So many people have made a fortune being irksome, I left the song as-is.

Penitence (aka Shelby Turner’s Butane)

Toni had a rose tattooed to her shoulder
man, my tears used to water that flower
crying penitence, deliverance
I was magnificent
just magnificent

Sundays in the South on the porch in the evening
nothing but the crickets and the radio preaching
preaching penitence, deliverance
ya’ll magnificent

I tell you what
your bottom dollar
a young boy’s heart
it just gets hollow
one such liar
gonna put out the fire
in his soul, o, my soul
She weren’t to blame
she was just a youngster
I played her game
got in amongst
her lost congregation
hanging down the filling station
hopping on the freight trains
in back of Shelby Turner’s Butane

Strummed my soul, searched a sad ukelele
Lord, won’t you show me something halfway holy
Crying penitence, deliverance
I was magnificent

This is the only recording I have of this song, and I’m sad about that. I muffed a line. It should be “and how she held me close to her.” So sing that in your head when you get to it. I muffed it twice, yet.

To Toni

Lightning lit the whole damned state
headed down Rte. 98
to Toni

Thunder rolled and split the sky
on I drove, not knowing why
to Toni

She was down in Mobile town
and I was just plain down
and I was on my own
hadn’t seen her
been so long

I remembered
how she’d called me “sir”
and how she held me close to her
Toni

And how I’d slept like I was dead
them few times I laid my head
by Toni

And could I hear her laugh again
and look into her eyes
where all you see is you
laughing, asking,
How’s she do it?

Glory toys with whom she will
some will never get their fill
Toni

And saints just hang round heaven’s gate
but angels hold us poor who wait
Toni

I remembered
how she’d called me “sir”
and how she held me close to her
Toni

I was fortunate to meet Mike Auldridge, and he was gracious enough to agree to record “Driver” with me. When I’d finished mixing it, I dropped a copy off at his home. This was maybe around midnight, noon to a musician. He opened the door, and almost before I had a chance to give him the tape, he asked, “Wanna pick?” So, for the next few hours, we sat in his basement and had a blast. This was the first he’d heard either “Lightning Bug” or “Told by the Rain,” which is on this page, somewhere. At some point, we decided to turn on the tape recorder, for the hell of it, to coin a phrase.

Mike passed away recently, and we’re all the poorer for that. He was, first, a real gentleman. And what a musician.

This self-explanatory song came from the basement. It’s a tough song to play–many quick chord changes. But he got it, by sheer pluck.

Lightning Bug

I’m gonna catch you like a lightning bug
put you in a jar
and every time I pass you by
you’ll twinkle like a star

Like a star
like a light in heaven
like a star
for them all to see

I’m gonna catch you like a nightingale
put you up so high
and when the evening darkness starts to fall
you’ll come on like a light

Like a light
like a star in heaven
like a light
for them all to see

And I’ve been told
you can’t hold nothing
and you can’t trust loving too far
but when I hold you little darling
how the love comes rising in my heart
like a star

See the weeping willow tree
hear the morning dove
they don’t mean a thing to me
mama, got your love

Told by the Rain

Imagine the dobro in tune. Mike Auldridge and I were having too much fun to mess with details (see song above). Besides, back then, you had to use your ears to tune. Took a lot longer.

Told by the Rain

I heard a story of the spring
told by the rain
and tender shoots of green
I try to believe it
but it just don’t seem true
I’ve been missing you

They say if you cry with all your heart
your teardrops will dry
just go on, let them start
Can’t they see my heart’s
been broken in two
I’ve been missing you

Outside my window shine the stars
and somewhere, in silence,
go the passing cars
Somebody tell them
there’s nowhere to get to
I’ve been missing you

Tombigbee

The Tombigbee River runs through the South. I liked the name. As for the rest of the song—it’s one of those that you hear about: I felt as if I had almost nothing to do with writing it. Call it inspiration, or voodoo, or a visitation; but one minute the song wasn’t there, and the next, it was, in total, intact. Nice when this happens because the rest of the time, writing songs is an advanced pain in the patootie.

A second version of this tune follows beneath. This first is a pretty rough solo recording from the Washington Folk Festival. But I like it for two reasons. First, I hadn’t planned on singing it, and I didn’t feel like singing it. But Larry Seifel–an old friend and formidable luthier–was in the audience, and he requested it. So, since I wasn’t at all in the mood to do it, I did it well. For Larry. Second, I like it because it features a fetching moment in which a kid drops a plastic toy. Nice touch.

Tombigbee

Billy said that the mantises pray for the day
when they’ll no longer pray
Billy said the day was delayed
because the lord don’t like creatures who beg

So Billy come with me
down to the Tombigbee
hear the old pine trees
whispering, whiskey, oh whiskey,
the lady’s nothing to me

Billy said that his pine needle bed
was a covenant, likely as not
otherwise, how come the skies
seem to circle above this one spot?

So Billy come with me
down to the Tombigbee
hear the old pine trees
whispering, whiskey, oh whiskey,
the lady’s nothing to me

Billy said that the pain in his head
was just wisdom struggling for birth
Billy cried as the bottle went dry
that the wisest are those with the thirst

Here’s another version of Tombigbee.

Greg Artzner (half of the duo Magpie) plays concertina, and the other half of Magpie, Terry Leonino, joins Eleanor Ellis on backup vocals. Maybe I’ll get around to adding bass to this version; I’ve always wanted to. I’ve always wanted to come into a substantial amount of money, too. Chances are better that I’ll add a bass, but still not all that good.

When You Were Mine

This sounds like the kind of song I’d always wanted to write but never did.

When You Were Mine

When you were mine
the whole thing seemed
to make a little sense
for a time
the whole world seemed
to fall into rhythm and rhyme
when you were mine

When you were mine
the sun seemed
to make up his fickle old mind
the raindrops
couldn’t stop him from
trying to shine
when you were mine

When we parted
there were reasons
and each one had a name
but the tears I cry in dreaming
can’t wash out the bitter shame

When you were mine
took all my troubles
and laid them aside
prayed to the lord
let these moments abide
when you were mine

What You Lose

I put this way, way down here because it’s not really my type of song, if it’s anybody’s. This is a scratch recording, just to get it down and off my mind. I have no idea if it’s any good. If I decide it’s OK, I’ll re-record it. Maybe.

What You Lose

I come by my loneliness alone
Sure didn’t need hers
I had plenty of my own

But I hadn’t used my heart in years
I hadn’t done my part
or shed my share of tears

I played much too smart
and I found
how loud the empty dark
can sound

Only one bargain
you can make
let your heart ache
or let it break

What do you lose when you win?
you’ve still got the rain and the wind
the hurricane still gets in
you’ve still got your oldest friends
that’s what you lose when you win

Box with the shadows on the wall
prop up your lonely world
or let the whole thing fall

Play it all real smart
you sad-eyed clown
find out how deep the dark can sound

Only one bargain
you can make
let your heart ache
or let it break

What do you lose when you win?
you’ve still got the rain and the wind
the hurricane still gets in
you’ve still got your oldest friends
that’s what you lose when you win