Stories, and just plain slow tunes
Grayson come from Eden
ugly handsome, straight as Southern pine
said he’d take his chances maybe east
in Caroline
Whiskey in the wagon
barrel of bourbon, smooth as brandy wine
swore he’d never slave another day
down in the mine
Turned mighty cold since we left Eden
bucket of coal to keep from freezing
ache in your soul to find
a little something
for your sorrows and regret
And who’s going to blame a one who’s shivering
giving but so far unforgiven
Who wouldn’t buy a dram
if it’s close as he can get
Mary rode beside him
dress of gingham, sun all in her eyes
baby in her arms
another coming in July
Lord, but she was winsome
had a bit of gypsy, could see it in her ways
took some hard convincing
before she’d end her rambling days
But sometimes the cold just gets right in you
seems like it holds something against you
sometimes you want a tether
when you fear you’ll blow away
And who’s going to blame a soul for staying
counting the toll each day you’re paying
Who wouldn’t buy a chance to get
as close as close we may
Had to Break
Simmering nights in Mississippi
time would not go by
spent forever staring at the sky
Every star in all of Dixie
sent me down a sign
told me better get out while there’s time
And you know I’d half a mind
but I was not the quitting kind
took my pride in looking devils and the damned
right in the eye
And there’s something had to break
and there’s all a man can take
Called me boy until I taught them
just how proud a man can die
Plenty paper, plenty tinder
laying for a flame
half a sideways glance is twice enough
Slender taper, just a whisper
touch it off the same
turn the black of night to red of blood
And you know I’d half a mind
but I was not the quitting kind
took my pride in looking devils and the damned
right in the eye
And there’s something had to break
and there’s all a man can take
Called me boy until I taught them
just how proud a man can die
Double dared me, didn’t scare me
wouldn’t let them laugh
said you’re going to have to kill me cold
You can hang me, you can tear me
but til you breathe your last
I’ll be hanging heavy on your soul
And you know I’d half a mind
but I was not the quitting kind
took my pride in looking devils and the damned
right in the eye
And there’s something had to break
and there’s all a man can take
You called me boy until I taught you
just how proud a man can die
Daddy Played the Violin
Daddy played the violin
so sad and lonely
when he was a child
Had to take if from his chin
so sad and lonely
when his daddy died
Turned his hands to getting by
left his schooling days behind
turned a man, just a boy
so sad and lonely
Mamma dreamed of Hollywood
so sad and lonely
learned a thousand lines
Gave up all those dreams for good
so sad and lonely
became a childhood bride
Between the lines, behind the lies
nobody could read her eyes
never played her own poor life
so sad and lonely
Every evening, Uncle Jim
so sad and lonely
made his mouth harp cry
Sat out on the front porch swing
so sad and lonely
watched the daylight die
Neighbors up and down the way
listened as another day
closed its cloak and slipped away
so sad and lonely
To the Bone
You were sweet when you were a baby
didn’t have to wonder why
had your mama’s kind of pretty
had your mama’s way of laughing
had her hunger in your eyes
Your mama was my comfort
all I had to ease my mind
when we started out from Bristol
didn’t have a hope between us
we just took what we could find
Maybe there’s a diamond
deep down in a mine
maybe we can’t find it
until we give up all our trying
Threw our shadows across the darkness
heard the howling from afar
and the horses they were restless
and the clouds that crossed the moon
crossed out all the stars
Long past asking questions
long past no return
long ago we gave up guessing
all that got us through the mountains
was a hunger to the bone
Maybe there’s a diamond
lying deep down in a mine
maybe we can’t find it
until we give up all our trying
I wish you’d known your mama
she’d have loved to hear your laugh
why she couldn’t stay no longer
she gave me a dozen reasons
I didn’t need to know the half
Just a burning, just a longing
she could never say what for
but I know you know about hunger
like I know you have to find her
I hear the closing of a door
A good many books have been written about the real reason for the war on crime, and they’re all enough to make you want to bust stuff up. I’ve read more than a few, and among them, Nell Bernstein’s Burning Down the House hit me hardest. I taught high school students, and her research exposes some of the depraved people who profit from incarcerating teens, often on far less than questionable grounds. I recommend the book highly; you don’t want to know about what she has to say, but you should.
A Thousand Tricks
A slab of stone
a doorway in the slanting rain
Once had a home
but damned if I’ll go back again
The busted glass
the frozen nights, the hungry dreams
it’s all my past
tonight’s the fight by any means
I’m twelve years old and hard as bone
Once was a girl
an open heart, a trusting soul
He grabbed my curls
and forced apart what once was whole
Now any man can have me for an angry fix
I will be damned
but I will damn a thousand tricks
who look for warmth in one so cold
It’s handed down
the need to break a world that’s broke
can’t live it down,
the echoes wake the wakeful ghosts
It all comes round
the bruises and the broken bones
I’ll take you down
so I don’t have to hurt alone
and you can’t say that I am wrong
Took the Long Way Home
Took the long way home
along a crooked line
Took the long way home
I knew you wouldn’t mind
The stars all seemed to race
away from me in space
out along another place
another time
Took the long way home
I knew you wouldn’t mind
Couldn’t count the ones
I’ve loved down to my soul
couldn’t tell them half
of all I’ll always hold
All I’ll ever know of grace
I’ve seen in every face
Took the long way home
I never felt the cold
Found my way, though I can’t say
I know just how
There were plenty days
I felt like I do now
The stars might draw a chart
everywhere but to your heart
Took the long way round
and found it anyhow
Kids in my neighborhood had a poetic little way of playing street baseball. If you had only three kids, you could still play a whole game. A pitcher, a batter, and a fielder was all we needed. If you hit a triple, say, you just came right back to bat and declared, “Imaginary man on third.” I’ve always loved that idea. I don’t know about my friends, but I had no trouble seeing the imaginary man brushing the dirt off his uniform, conferring with the third base coach, taking his lead, dangling his fingers as he stared at the pitcher. Why do they dangle their fingers?
This song has nothing to do with any of that. It’s one of those composite autobiographies–everything happened, more or less, but over the course of many years. Breaking up owns a rare distinction: it’s perhaps the only thing that, the more often you do it, the worse you get at it.
Imaginary Man
I was leaning, back against the door
couldn’t do much more, nothing left to say
Space between us darker than the night
we’d both run out of fight
broken all the way
You were staring through the windowpane
imaginary rain, imaginary rain
Didn’t see me, lifting of the latch
didn’t get the catch
Broken all the way
broken all the way
Down the hallway, twenty-seven stairs
emptier than air, ghostly shade of grey
Distant footsteps, imagined it could be
they belonged to me
broken all the way
Left a dream all shattered
in the hollow of the hall
What happens to it all?
What happens to it all?
Streetlamp lit the shadows
frozen image, frozen frame
imaginary man
imaginary rain
Gunned the engine, threw it in reverse
eased it into first, didn’t care which way
Knew for certain before a dream begins
another’s got to end
broken all the way
broken all the way
Sitting on the floor of a friend’s bedroom, I noticed a guitar case under the bed. I asked about it. “It’s for sale,” he said. I pulled it out and saw the ugliest guitar I’d yet encountered. I played one chord and it became the most beautiful thing of any type I’ve ever experienced. So much for eyeballs.
Red Guitar
I used to play a red guitar
it only played the blues
the words it sang came from afar
they weren’t mine to choose
I strung it up with silver wire
to hear how it would ring
it said there is no flood, no fire,
no sorrow you can’t sing
I found a book from times of old
I read it all clear through
and though each page was edged in gold
the words were all in blue
I played that guitar through the years
but it would only moan
it told me though its songs were tears
nobody cries alone
I used to play a red guitar
I don’t know who played who
but all its songs have come so far
to cry by me and you
Don’t let anyone tell you different.
Nobody Can Say
Nobody can say
when the bell will end the fight
who will land the roundhouse right
where the buried treasure lay
or how to walk a starless night
Nobody can say
if the charts are drawn with care
if you say you’ll take the dare
if the house is good to pay
if the odds are even fair
nobody can say
not a soul can say
Nobody can say
if they mispronounce your name
did they call you just the same
on some heaven-promised day
must you go back all that way?
Nobody can say
Everyone goes tapping
with a long white cane
is it just the pattering of rain?
Nobody can say
if the one-eyed jack will fall
if you hold off on your call
should you fold, or should you play
should you stay or should you draw
nobody can say
Everyone goes tapping
with a long white cane
is it just the pattering of rain?
Nobody can say
what the gypsy understands
when you give her your good hand
will she send you on your way
through another stretch of sand?
Nobody can say
Not a soul can say
What I do know about this song is that I wrote the melody, then fretted for months over what the lyric should be about. When I finished, I said something like, “Well, what do you know?” to myself. Writing is a good way to find out what you’ve been thinking about.
What We Know
I’ve got your picture
around here somewhere
haven’t seen it in a while
I don’t always want to see
the sadness in your smile
You were younger,
you were handsome
wavy hair eyes of grey
you’re turned toward the camera
but your gaze is far away
When did you learn
all we know we just can’t say
When did you turn
down that sad and silent way
what made you go
what makes you stay?
I’ve heard stories
about your family
all those ghosts
you locked inside
the lost and the lonely
hidden forms
you couldn’t hide
How they rode
upon your shoulders
how they murmured
in your ears
the words we can only know
the ones we just can’t hear
When did you learn
all we know we just can’t say
When did you turn
down that sad and silent way
what made you go
what makes you stay?
I’ve got your picture
your old wristwatch
all those things
we all can keep
and I’ve got your silence
like the heavens
wide and deep
When did I learn
all we know we just can’t say
When did I turn
down that sad and silent way
what made me go
what makes me stay?
I put this on two pages, this and the Alien Took Over My Brain page. It’s a ballad, but about the only element in it that has anything to do with me, as I know me, is the business about the factory. I did work in one, briefly. The rest, I don’t know where it came from. Is there a town named Dawson? I’ve never heard of one. If you’re the kind of person who likes being in control, don’t write songs. They won’t listen to reason.
It took me a while to muster the courage to play this for anyone. I thought if people heard it they’d want to Superglue their fingers into bowling ball holes and jump in a river. Turns out my friends really liked it. It grew on me, too. But I’m glad I don’t own a bowling ball any longer.
After I thought about it for a while, though, it did strike me that I’ve often noticed how people just don’t like to ask for help, how we fear putting others out. Crazy. Nothing in the world makes us feel better than helping others, and when it comes time for us to give that blessing to someone by asking for help, we balk. Is there another species as nuts as we are? I don’t think so.
Yellow Curtains
Climbed the stairs
she met me on the landing
apron strings
all hanging down behind
said she’d gotten
some sad news from Dawson
Didn’t have to tell me
I knew all the signs
Last I’d seen her
we both worked the factory
breathing dust
but we were scraping by
At least I didn’t have
a baby nursing
I was aching lonely
but I was free to fly
Tiny kitchen
yellow curtains
wooden cross
she hung above the door
The only flowers
you could see were fading
worn down daisy pattern
on a worn out floor
Tell them all
I don’t want no pity
Me and Billy
gonna do just fine
But won’t you stay here with me
just one hour
I don’t want nobody else
to see me cry
Last I seen her
she stood on the landing
saying ain’t it something
you’re my only friend
But don’t you worry
I ain’t finished fighting
Sorry for the trouble
I won’t ask again
This song came from hearing about returning soldiers. It’s a distillation of accounts I’ve heard from soldiers, from friends, from reading, and through broadcast media.
Broken Soldier
Daddy was a broken soldier
couldn’t talk about the war
came home with it on his shoulders
brought it from that bloody shore
and it was his forever more
Used to be his eyes were gentle
used to be his heart was warm
Came home no one I remember
crying in his silent storm
rained on him forever more
I read about the bullets screaming
heard you heard them streaking by
and how you felt with friends all bleeding
guilty because you didn’t die
ever left to wonder why
Broken soldier
broken children
no one they can ever reach
just the ghost who walks the hills
and wakens shouting in his sleep
now the war is ours to keep
Daddy was a broken soldier
Black Widow Thread
Devil had the diamonds
liked to hold the cards
and deal out every hand
carved his mark
on everyone he damned
Drew you to the table
gave you whiskey
and he whispered in your ear
anything you damned well
want to hear
And he promised you a heaven
and he promised you a virgin
on a golden bed
And he wrapped his cloak around you
and he tied it with a strand
of black widow thread
Devil took the children
and he cut his own initials
in their skin
played with them like soldiers
made of tin
Told the honest people
Either play my game
or I play twice as rough
Dared the world
to call him on his bluff
And he promised you a heaven
and he promised you could have it
long before you’re dead
And he dangled down his golden watch
and he swung it from a strand
of black widow thread
Devil dealt in diamonds
held all the cards
and beat you, every hand
carved his mark
and said the world be damned
Nowhere No More
Used to pull down workers’ wages
like my people done for ages
broke my back and bought a homestead
paid my debts and kept the kids fed
A simple man, with simple pleasures
never wanted wealth or treasure
gave an honest day of labor
fought like hell to love my neighbor
folks like me can’t get nowhere no more
Everybody plays the angles
all the numbers up in tangles
trust will only get you laughter
you’re just the sucker they’ve been after
Double-talk and double-dealing
steal, or lose it all to stealing
troubling about your soul will cost you
that just gives them the time to cross you
folks like you can’t get nowhere no more
They shout it on the dollar
they stamp it on the dime
in god we trust
but that old motto’s ringing hollow
it’s tarnished over time
you’d be a fool to fall for that old line
You simple folk with simple pleasures
someone’s going to take your measure
grab the earnings of your labor
laughing while you love your neighbor
and he’ll leave you with nothing, nothing more
Used to pull down workers’ wages
like my people done for ages
gave an honest day of labor
fought like hell to love my neighbor
folks like us can’t get nowhere no more
Took It All Away
Lost my job, nothing I could say
they took it all away
left me with a mortgage I can’t pay
they took it all away
And they hammered up a paper
nothing I could sign
they own the bottom line
my home’s no longer mine
And they dragged my things out to the street
for everyone to see
changed the lock and key
now it’s just the kids and me
Up and down the block it’s all the same
they took it all away
The only piece of rock that we could claim
they took it all away
All the corners have been taken
you have to stand in line
to hold a cardboard sign
“God bless you for a dime”
And something broke keeps breaking
when I see my children cry
can’t hear a lullaby
above the highway’s whine
Can’t go to a shelter, I’m afraid
they’ll take my kids away
Every prayer for help that I have prayed
they took them all away
Jesus was a beggar
I wish I was that kind
turned water into wine
No wonder he don’t mind
And the preachers give you wafers
about a quarter-sized
then look up to the skies
won’t look you in the eyes
Lost my job, nothing I could say
they took it all away
Only piece of rock that I could claim
they took it all away
Around Pimlico
I grew up around Pimlico
mamma never let us go
and daddy never seemed to care
to watch the ponies run
but all around East Baltimore
my uncle used to run with whores
and made his money running numbers
and keeping pretty low
We’d see him in his Pontiac
when things were good down at the track
driving around, top rolled down
some redhead by his side
but when old lady luck turned mean
they’d repossess that big machine
and it’s come see me when your money’s green
them girls would soon be gone
My god don’t give no guarantee
that you’ll ever get set free
all you get’s a will to be
a man that no man owns
Mamma used to talk him down
and never let him come around
but daddy used to sneak us
down the drugstore where he hung
and we were kids, but we could tell
when his luck was running well
he’d slip us a five dollar bill
or just a couple ones
When my daddy passed away
it’s funny, mamma seemed to change
at least she always seemed to take
from my uncle’s open hand
we’d sit around the kitchenette
until he had to phone his bets
then we’d leave the room
and let him whisper numbers to his man
My god don’t give no guarantee
that you’ll ever get set free
all you get’s a will to be
a man that no man owns
Phone rang and my sister said
come on in, your uncle’s dead
and all those people who called him friend
probably won’t show
But every hood in Baltimore
every outlaw, all his whores,
and those politicians he played for
came to see that bookie go
My god don’t give no guarantee
that you’ll ever get set free
all you get’s a will to be
a man that no man owns
A Banjo Picking Girl
Going on seventeen
living down in Silver Spring
where you live don’t mean a thing
in this country no more
Every goddam where’s the same
from Californ on out to Maryland
and every goddam railroad train
leaves you off drunk in Baltimore
My daddy is a drunkard
stumbles home most every night
and him and mamma start to fight
until it don’t even do to cry
Judge said he should be ashamed
daddy said he’d be no such thing
they sent him up in the early spring
on his fifth dwi
And when my teardrops begin to start
I tune my banjo to my heart
sit out in the parking lot
and let her fly
tell it to the world
I’m a banjo picking girl
and you ain’t about to hear me
you’ll never hear me cry
Every once in a little while
they send my daddy home from the county jail
and, Lord, don’t it seem to never fail
mamma makes me drive him back again
There’s silence in that old Cadillac
a couple people holding something back
windows always down just a crack
be it winter, be it rain
And when my teardrops begin to start
I tune my banjo to my heart
sit out in the parking lot
and let her fly
tell it to the world
I’m a banjo picking girl
and you ain’t about to hear me
you’ll never hear me cry
I remember about a year ago
wintertime in the bitter snow
daddy opened up the kitchen door
and in walked a stray cat
he cursed her a steady streak
cursed her up and down a solid week
threatened her with Sligo Creek
with her curled up in his lap
A Beautiful Girl
She certainly was a beautiful girl
we’ve got these shots of her
down by the sidewalk
and everybody used to think the world
and talk, you should have
heard those people passing by
talking about our girl
she certainly was a beautiful girl
She certainly was a beautiful child
we’ve got these shots of her in a bonnet
she’s going to drive the little boys wild
and the world’s just a page
she’s going to write her name upon it
in a while
she certainly was a beautiful child
They say she laughed like little bells
and gave herself
when someone else had need of her
but all the papers just had space
and time enough
to make her face
the only part we’d ever see
they must think we think hearts come free
She certainly was a beautiful girl
we’ve got these shots of her
now it’s all over
You see her pictures all around the world
the misfit’s rage, the trembling voice
the little shell that held
a little pearl
she certainly was a beautiful girl
The music you hear wafting in the background is that of a carousel. This take was recorded at the Washington Folk Festival, many years ago.
Joe Jackson
Gonna sing you a song about Shoeless Joe Jackson
played for Chicago back in the ‘teens
Some say he was guilty, some say he wasn’t
but most everybody says
he was the greatest that’s ever been
You won’t find his name down in the Hall of Fame
they kicked him out of baseball when he said he took a bribe
said he took some money on those games with Cincinnati
though he might have had to tell that lie
just to keep himself alive
Say it ain’t so, Joe
the kids in the bleachers cry
Say it ain’t so, Joe
Keep our hopes alive
Charles Comiskey ran a tightfisted business
treated his players just like beggars at the gate
so it stands to reason to crown his ‘perfect season’
they’d be tempted to throw it
just to set the old man straight
So Cicotte and Gandil got it all set with the gamblers
A hundred thousand dollars, a few bucks against disgrace
and when Joe heard about it
and tried to let it out
old man Comiskey slammed the door right in his face
Say it ain’t so, Joe
the kids in the bleachers cry
Say it ain’t so, Joe
Keep our hopes alive
You can read the records, you can sort through all the papers
but in the 1919 Series it was the Reds, five games to three
and believe the bosses, or the gamblers, or the writers
the big money who condemned him
or the jury that set him free
And it’s just a game, but someone must take the blame
might as well have been Jackson,
hell, he couldn’t read or write
but Joe’s sleeping easy, though it’s wrote he threw the Series
he played without an error, batting .375
Say it ain’t so, Joe
the kids in the bleachers cry
Say it ain’t so, Joe
Keep our hopes alive
It’s done some traveling. Rick and Lorraine Lee put it on an lp; Nic Jones, over in England, heard their version and wrote a guitar part for it. There are at least two versions on YouBoob, nice ones, I might add. A couple of friends, the duo named Magpie, once walked into a pub in England, and the folks in the place were singing it. So they got to say, “Hey, the guy who wrote that song lives around the corner from us.” I need to check with them; I’ve forgotten whether anybody replied, “In that case, let me buy you a pint.” Seems only proper.
The song’s interpretation has been the object of some debate. The roles of, and relationships between the characters, and the exact circumstances behind the narrative–as it were–have sparked some lively discussion. I often boast that I deliberately included ambiguity to encourage differing views, thereby giving the song life and mystery, though that’s a lie. Truth is that I wasn’t thinking at all clearly; I was stuffed with arroz con pollo–I think it was–, so I was in no mood to argue; and I just let the song have its way. So, if the lyric is brilliant, that’s its business. I’m only accidentally brilliant, and not very often.
The crackle you hear at the very beginning is intercepted signals from a UFO. We get them around here a lot.
The Jukebox as She Turned
Now all the boys up Smokey’s Bar
could easily understand
how Judy left without a word,
but not without a man
The old routine that she had going
was like the sun, so sure
which, by surprise, just might not rise
It always has before
She snapped the little plated latch
and closed her pocketbook
and paying for what she had drunk
gave all us boys a look
And something in that little glance
sent creeps throughout the room
we all just stared, and no one dared to speak,
or even move
Now I cannot say what others thought
but I can likely guess
they were probably scared at where, just where
she’d take what we’d confessed
And I still remember what was on the jukebox
as she turned
the dobro part from “Cheating Heart”
she ain’t never returned
That good old gang up Smokey’s Bar
is probably busted up
with no one here to drink our tears
or fill our empty cup
And I still remember what was on the jukebox
as she turned
the dobro part from “Cheating Heart”
she ain’t never returned
But you can hear David’s rock-solid rhythm and clean, sweet lead on “Sugar in the Sun,” somewhere on this site. I forget where I put it. It’s an existential ballad, but a ballad, nonetheless; so I should have put it here. But it’s being punished for being quirky. I might have put it in with Philosophy 101 songs, where you’ll find more answers to the age-old question “Would somebody tell me what the hell this is all about?”
David Goodfriend
If ever anybody was true to his name
I guess it’d be my buddy, David Goodfriend
and people usually laugh, and it takes them a while
but a good friend name of Goodfriend
is bound to make people smile
Just a boy, goes the story, just a young boxing fan
at the Teaneck Armory by the concession stand
old Hurricane himself bought him a hot dog and a Coke
and then he went and lost his very next fight
and Davey’s heart just about broke
One time, him and this other fella
were out on the lawn when a couple flying saucers
did some stunts then were gone
they thought they’d call the Air Force, but then figured no,
nobody’d probably believe them, so they just let it go
For a while there back last winter, when he broke with his girl
there was no way I could cheer him, though I tried for the world
he came all alone to this bar where I played
and just deeper endeared me
when he left me to pay
If ever anybody was true to his name
I guess it’d be my buddy, David Goodfriend
Little Bird
We used to call her “Little Bird”
and everyone knew why;
no one would have said a word
if she’d showed us she could fly.
Her face spoke of wariness
fragile to the bone,
and she confessed, this world’s a nest,
but it’s really not our home
Where have you gone, Little Bird,
where have you gone?
She made her living tending bar
and listening all night;
we poured our sorrows out to her
in the freezing neon light.
We watched her understanding eyes
take our troubles on;
she gently placed them all beside
the ones she called her own.
Where have you gone, Little Bird,
where have you gone?
So many years, so long ago,
we thought we loved her then;
how could we know, how could we know?
No young man ever can.
So I will sing into the sun,
what I could never say,
Little Bird, I pray you’re home,
in this world, or far away.
Where have you gone, Little Bird,
where have you gone?
Mississippi
Mississippi, a lazy boy like me
once had a home
Mississippi, tell you what you’d find
should you ever be inclined to roam
Mississippi, the city lights are bright,
that is true
Mississippi, they shout ‘variety’
but they’re about to me
like every shade of blue
Let me just sing your same old song
let me just sing your name
from now on
let me just feel your flaming sun
all along my way back home
Let me just hear your windy sighs
let me sing your lullabies
let me see my mama’s eyes
when I tell her I’m home
Mississippi, you know I’ve tried so hard
to keep this city pace
Mississippi, but all along these streets
there’s people looking at their feet
and not my face
Let me just sing your same old song
let me just sing your name
from now on
let me just feel your flaming sun
all along my way back home
Let me just hear your windy sighs
let me sing your lullabies
Let me hear my mama cry
when I tell her I’m home
One More Song
Been up and down the dial
and round again
those fakers on TV
are not our friends
We’ve stumbled to this bar
it smells right bad
but we’ve found other folks
who’re feeling sad
So, Mr. Guitar Man
you choose the key
we’ll tap our feet in tune
and ask you, please
Sing us just one more song
We’ve spoken with our worries
they promised that
they would be back
tomorrow morning early
so give us just one more song
Don’t want to go back home
there’s no one there
except an old black cat
who’s got my chair
So Mr. Guitar Man
you choose the key
we’ll tap our feet in tune
and ask you please
Give us just one more song
We’ve spoken with our worries
they promised that
they would be back
tomorrow morning early
give us just one more song
Our troubles they will tide us
and like old friends
they’ll come again
and sit right here beside us
so give us just one more song
Slow Blue Song
I met a weary traveler
on a slow blue train
he said he’d been most everywhere
you might care to name
just to change his luck
just to duck the rain
just to find a way out of the shadows
From his inside pocket
on a golden chain
he pulled a little leather book
of every place he’d been
all the lines were blank
every page the same
nothing he could say about the shadows
I asked where he was going
he said he didn’t know
said he’d never asked the wind
which way it would blow
but he would know the signs
if they’re ours to know
how to find a way out of the shadows