Scroll down for lyrics from various albums (along with instrumental and vocal performance credits)
Lyrics For Easley Rider Songs:
(All songs, words and music, by Dave Easley)
1) I’m Crying
Everything was the same till I picked up the phone and spoke her name
The clarion that bade me on was full of a breath I couldn’t tame.
I couldn’t tame the wild dogs I couldn’t name the sea outside my room.
The bitter salt the crying needs.
My soul sounds like the wind as I approach its sea-frame solitude.
I reached into our boiling past to see if our sweet dream was done.
All for nothing, nothing ever lasts.
We woke up in another one.
Mine, the sleep of tigers, ever watchful ‘neath the tropic moon,
I roam the night in sleeping prayers, a glittered sky, my book of runes.
All our past and future flies, a mystery sky of fast blown clouds.
I’m crying like the wind that crowds our sails and won’t let us slow down.
Alfred Uganda Roberts - congas
Kass Krebs - vocals
Dave Easley - frame drum, vocals, guitars, bass, steel guitar, cabasa, shaker.
2) Momma Was a Jailbird
Momma was a jailbird, just like Martin King.
She told me how much fun she had when her jail mates would sing
Those good old time gospel songs like no one sings no more
Till she wasn’t even frightened when they slammed and locked the door.
It was a slap in the face to the CIA and the junta south of the border.
And Mom, she was always one to follow the law and order.
Clapping loud, singing louder so the whole jailhouse could hear.
“You ain’t hurtin us, we’re just having fun in here.”
Momma was a jailbird, just like Henry David Thoreau.
You know the law was made to serve man, not the other way, no, no.
From the trial of Joan of Arc, to the capture of Nathan Hale,
There’s never a convenient time to get your butt thrown into jail.
For interfering with the draft board, my brother was a jailbird too.
And my old friend, John Sinclair, they gave him ten for two.
They locked up Private Manning even though she already did her stint.
Seems the nicest people run afoul of the government.
I grew up thinking if you walk the line and never give no one no grief,
Don’t rob no banks, don’t be a car thief…
That, if you do no one no wrong, you won’t wind up in jail.
But it seems like all the greatest heroes had to have someone make their bail.
Momma was a jailbird, just like Martin King
She told me how much fun she had; with her jail mates she’d sing
Those good old time gospel songs like no one sings no more.
She didn’t even notice that they’d slammed and locked the door.
Momma was a jalbird, just like Martin King, Murphy Dowouis, David Harris, Rosa Parks,
Eugene Debs, John Kiriakou, Julian Assange, Father Roy Bourgeois,…
Mom….. Four foot eleven with her shoes on.
She stood mighty tall in my mind…
Doug Garrison - drums
René Coman - bass
Kass - vocals
Dave Easley - guitars, steel guitar, vocals, organ
3) Mockingbird
The Grandfather Oak has a tenant who plays
a haunting old tune that goes on for days.
At the fork in the road I could not make my choice.
So, here I listen to the mockingbird's voice.
Sing, Mockingbird. Sing your song.
The notes that you choose cannot be wrong.
Your sweet, stolen melodies, clear and strong,
ring through the fog and the haze.
Oh, sing for all of your days.
Scattering notes from his perch in the oak,
like a prayer to the sun as the first day broke.
He sings to the wicked and sings to the kind,
to the lost soul trapped in his labyrinth mind.
Sing, Mockingbird. Sing your song.
The notes that you choose cannot be wrong.
Your melody helps me escape from my maze.
Sing through the fog and the haze. Oh,
Sing for all of your days.
Alfred Uganda Roberts - frame drum, auxiliary percussion
Kass - vocals
Dave Easley - guitars, vocals, steel guitar (bird calls), bells
4) I Followed Her
She was playing on her ocarina in an old, San Juan cantina.
I was whistling along with her wild strains as the night began to rain.
Her skin was warm in her cotton dress.
She danced at the edge of wilderness.
I suddenly felt motherless as I wanted her.
Shadows in the toothless night devoured her image on site
As, feeling heavy but traveling light, I followed her.
The horses knew the jungle well.
I trailed her to an old hotel, along the coast, beneath the bells of St. Mary’s.
Her rain-soaked dress clung to her skin.
She shivered in the ocean wind.
She said, “I’ve seen you where we have been. Will you perhaps be going in?”
I thrust both hands deep within the pockets of my oil skin.
I answered as if in opium dreams, “I’m busted flat, it seems.”
She said, “then you’ll be staying with me.
The wind will blow the clouds away.
We’ll lie out on the balcony and sleep astride the roaring sea.”
Doug Garrison - drums
René Coman - bass
Kass - maracas, guiro, vocals
Dave Easley - vocals, guitars, steel guitar
5) The Date and the Hour
I've been sitting in my cell for a lonesome stretch of time.
Now and then I think I hear my Daddy callin', not on a telephone line.
No one alive believes my story. That seals my fate.
So I'm bound to meet my Daddy. I already know the date.
I've got an hour every day to feel the sun upon my face.
I know no man alive would want to be in my place.
Yes, the walls are high, razor wire on top.
I already know the hour my heart will stop.
I've been dreaming through the night of your lovin' arms so warm.
I picked you up where high winds storm, took you down where dreams were born,
though I know deep down I won't see you no more.
I hear it in the echo every time they slam my door.
I've got an hour every day to feel the sun upon my face.
I know no man alive would want to be in my place.
Yes, the walls are high, razor wire on top.
I already know the hour my heart will stop.
Doug Garrison - drums
René Coman - bass
Kass - maracas, vocals
Dave Easley - vocals, guitars
6) She Took the Wheel
Lost in thought, I draw confusions
from tangled words that we said before.
Sometimes after the fact I think up reasons
for stupid things that I did before.
Lost in love, I wait in silence
for knowing eyes to find my real face.
Am I the rain through the seasons
or a bullet train in the mouth of the tunnel of love.
On the highway of desire
fear breaks hard around the turns.
Caution flashes yellow in the dark night
but it can't stop the fire that burns.
She took the wheel and I rode shotgun
on the heels of the setting sun.
Knowing how it feels in the morning,
I told my love she was the only one.
One more laugh with a tired face
while streams of memories rolled like silent films.
Running after thoughts like a steeple chase,
I took my love into my dream realm.
I saw it reflected in a silver stream.
I was the unicorn she rode on.
She stopped at a well dressed like pictures in a magazine.
I gave her the tarot deck to draw from.
In her mind was another scene
with the frozen breath of a giant named the lonesome wind,
while, on fire, danced phantom horses and tumbleweed.
She's not as pretty as a movie star
who plays the parts her famous eyes have read.
She loves the beauty of the evening star.
She knows the part that's already in her head.
She took the wheel and I rode shotgun
on the heels of the setting sun.
Knowing how it feels in the morning,
I told my love she was the only one.
Doug Garrison - drums
René Coman - bass
Kass - maracas, guiro, vocals
Dave Easley - vocals, guitars, steel guitar
7) Weed Eater Wars
Doug Garrison - drums
René Coman - bass
Dave Easley - steel guitar, steel sitar, weed eaters
8) Billionaires
No one becomes a billionaire without someone someplace
slaving his way around the clock just to feed his face.
It takes a world where folks don’t care to make the billionaire.
They've got people slaving over in China beneath the coal-dust skies
and right here in your Walmart beneath big brother's watchful eyes,
and even in McDonald's servin’ up your fries.
Now your millionaires are everywhere and multi-millionaires too.
It's a natural state of affairs, people doing what they do.
Truth be known, I'd like to be one too.
But a billionaire is a thousand millionaires rolled into one.
That's just about as natural as a world without a sun
to rise and set on anyone.
In the web of life you pull on a strand; a child dies in another land.
In a tangle of lies you pull on a thread to lend your voice to the innocent dead
and feel like a grain of sand on the rocky hill where Jesus bled.
Who can stop the billionaires?
Who can stop the billionaires?
Who can stop the billionaires?
Who can stop the billionaires?
Three towers fell to earth and there's only one explanation why.
There was molten steel in the rubble. Firemen saw it with their eyes.
With high-tech infrared, NASA measured it from the skies.
So a madman came to ask why war-torn widows grieve,
why no one stopped to stop the lies that war-bent madmen weave.
A little known wrinkle in a well-known time: there's been no arrest in this capital crime.
No one becomes a billionaire without someone somewhere
laying down in sacrifice to the God-like billionaire.
The doe in the headlight stares at the onrushing billionaires.
Who can stop the billionaires?
Who can stop the billionaires?
Who can stop the billionaires?
Who can stop the billionaires?
Alfred Uganda Roberts - congas
Dave Easley - banjo, frame drum, shaker, vocals
9) La Luna Desnuda
If I could, I'd inscribe all the things you said
into a cloud of winter's breath
till your voice dies out on icicles naked as the moon.
Afraid to speak to soon, I waited for twenty years
to just remember when I loved you best
in your shirt as white and mystic as the moon at its zenith glows.
Naked as the moon, you danced with my pagan tribe.
And I lived just too embrace
the shoulders of your laughing grace
in dreams now only heaven knows.
If I could, I'd inscribe all the things you say
into a cloud of winter's breath
till your voice dies out on icicles naked as the moon.
Dave Easley - guitar, steel guitar, vocals
10) God's Own Rain
I'm lying by the heater on the floor inside
to let the sound of the thunder and the rain close my eyes,
to be a marked man for the wolves of sleep,
and a steel-eyed witness to its lonely keep.
It's God's own music,
my own pain,
my own puddle,
God's own rain.
My ditch is overflowing and the ground is soaked,
puddles forming 'neath the mighty oak.
And there's a feeling like it's God who spoke
in the rain and in the thundering as I awoke.
It's God's own music,
my own pain,
my own puddle,
God's own rain.
In fountains capable I'm sure of running out to sea,
in sore demented monologues that just make sense to me,
in motions like an undertow that pull me when I'm down,
I'm buying back the sound, the sound…
of God's own music,
my own pain,
my own puddle,
God's own rain.
God's own music,
my own pain,
my own puddle,
God's own rain.
Doug Garrison - drums
René Coman - bass
Kass - vocals
Dave Easley - vocals, guitars, steel guitar
11) Fault Zone
It was as sad a fault as undulous women with their wind whipping eyes could endure,
some affections fastened secure, others watching the weather vane, to whip around and back again.
Each revolution leaves its unburied dead on a plain of bloody tears.
He was a different man in every year and only the difference remains the same, remains the same.
Who can cross that lonesome fault in the luminous weather of the dawn, or the black of midnight,
has a heart like a river and a soul like a kite.
See the picture torn in two, an image of half of who I am.
In a fault zone I stand, a double axe in my left hand, chalice in my right,
a heart like a river and a soul like a kite.
Doug Garrison - drums
René Coman - bass
Dave Easley - vocals, guitars, steel guitar
12) Expelled From The Garden
I saw him walking down the street in his dreams and dreams.
The shadow of his weight on the passing debris wants to scream and scream.
Through lifeless windows I spy his path
like the sad tail end of some aftermath.
He's dreaming in his dream that he won’t stop dreaming on, and on.
Like the glint of a knife in the steely night,
his wits must be sharp in his mysterious fight.
Like a holy infant so tender and mild,
he was born to stand up in a dream defiled.
Through broken windows I spy his path,
like the sad tail end of the aftermath
of the fight to end all fights that he won’t stop fighting on, and on.
I saw her rolling ‘cross the bridge in her caravan.
She looked like a ghost in the foggy lights of the endless span.
After all the schemes she’s ever done,
she just wants to fill up her aqualung in her
dream of dying beauty that she won’t stop dreaming on, and on.
Alfred Uganda Roberts - congas, auxiliary percussion
Kass - vocals
Dave - vocals, guitars, bass, steel guitar, frame drum
13) The Sweetest One
Those decorations you wore in the times of elephants and bangles,
when the life of the river filled the day and night,
I can feel them like the notes of the banjos and the flutes
before a magpie stole the colors of the setting sun.
What a drag I never knew till it was done.
In the echoes of the corner where I hid for lonely seasons,
spat out from the bitterness of hiding there,
the caterwauling cats were just the loudest notes.
Oh, but the river was the sweetest one.
The river was the sweetest one.
Dave Easley - guitar, vocals
Lyrics For A Time of the Signs Album:
(All songs, words and music by Dave Easley)
1) Black Eyed Susan
Black eyed Susan I heard your name in the howling wind.
I was so much into loving you I forgot we once were friends.
Yours it was a balmy day when history was its own reward.
And we were struck like wind chimes, two notes of the same chord.
I kissed you in a dream last night.
I really couldn’t stop.
If it had been for real, you would have had to call a cop.
I guess I forgot you were married,
Or rather, you weren’t in this particular dream.
And I was set to follow you like Merlin and the Gleam.
Black eyed Susan I heard your name in the howling wind.
I was so much into loving you I forgot we once were friends.
Yours it was a balmy day when history was its own reward.
And we were struck like wind chimes, two notes of the same chord.
I woke to disappointment.
I remembered you were married to my friend.
I’m gonna sleep for twenty years like Rip Van Winkle
And dream you again and again.
I woke to disappointment.
I remembered you were married to my friend.
I’m gonna lose my head like in Ichabod Crane
And ride after you again, and again.
2) Confessions of a Mossy Stone
These songs wear my face.
They are confessions of a mossy stone.
I had a brother who had no face to be known by,
No liver to form the bile of hatreds,
No bridge to ice in cold weather, oh,
Or burn from the tired madness of the river of blind ambitions.
These songs have no ambitions.
Maybe they are meant to be
The face of a faceless brother
With no times of his own to draw inside.
3) Once Upon A Sad, Red Rooster
Don’t fret about the cost of that egg you’re frying
Once upon a sad, red rooster the blues was dying.
Just play me that one part
To jump start a broken heart
Where the A chord goes off like a teller mine,
Like some rock throwing bully from the end times.
All I know when that highway bends,
Where true life starts and dreaming ends,
It’s good to motor on with friends.
All I know when the cliff meets the sea,
Reality juts into fantasy,
I need someone there besides just me.
The tired old wind whistles down the streets,
Snaking down the alley like a midnight cheat.
Don’t try to tell me I wasn’t very kind.
My heart only froze so it wouldn’t melt.
If I swallowed every time I was fed a line,
I’d be fat enough to wear an asteroid belt.
When the last leaf falls from the dying tree,
Remember me,
Penniless and free.
4) Now you know why I’ve got the blues
I dated a girl in a hoop skirt so I wouldn’t get too close.
I caught the clap from her anyway,
Must’ve jumped straight through her clothes.
Now you know why I’ve got the blues
So don’t ask for no more clues.
Put all my money on a philly in the 3rd heat,
But not just to place or show.
She led the way to the finish line
Then she had to stop to blow her nose.
Now you know why I’ve got the blues
So don’t ask for no more clues.
I quit drinking so I’d be able to drive straight.
I drove straight into a laundry truck.
The Chinese character that fell on my head
Was the symbol for good luck.
Now you know why I’ve got the blues
So don’t ask for no more clues.
I’ve got bugs infesting my apartment
But I didn’t want to make a complaint.
So I sprayed myself with repellant.
It turned out to be car paint.
Now you know why I’ve got the blues
So don’t ask for no more clues.
My girlfriend woke me up
Said she’s moving to LA
And the only reason she woke me up
Is cause my car’s parked in her way.
Now you know why I’ve got the blues
So don’t ask for no more clues.
Well, my boss has really been screwing me
Till it really makes me ill.
The thing that makes it worse,
He’s been taking penis enlargement pills.
Now you know why I’ve got the blues
So don’t ask for no more clues.
5) Judge Dat Towin’ Sign Wuddn’t Der Before
Judge that towin’ sign wasn’t there before
They put it up so they could tow me.
Now, that’s really low.
I said, “Now, we goin to court!”
They put up two more.
Why they had to go and do like that way for.
When you park your car way down in New Orleans
You better take a picture of the whole dang scene.
And, don’t you forget to put the time stamp on.
You might just come out to find your car is gone.
My old junk heap ain’t that pretty
And she ain’t that slick.
But I paid for that ride.
I didn’t pull no tricks.
Now that I finally got the title that says it’s really been bought,
I got to buy it back again from the towin’ lot.
Judge that towin’ sign wasn’t there before
They put it up so they could tow me.
Now, that’s really low.
I said, “Now, we goin to court!”
They put up two more.
Why they had to go and do like that way for.
When they put up that sign they put it up so high
They had to either climb a ladder or drop down from the sky.
Why they had to put it out of sight like that?
I couldn’t even see it through my cowboy hat.
Now, don’t you laugh at my vehicle.
Don’t you say nothing mean.
She’s a little crumpled up but she’s a fine machine.
Why they need all the money on my credit card
Just to drive my car out of that towin’ yard.
Judge that towin’ sign wasn’t there before
They put it up so they could tow me.
Now, that’s really low.
I said, “Now, we goin to court!”
They put up two more.
Why they had to go and do like that way for.
6) Bale of Hay
My old lady wants me to treat her like her name is Brittney Spears.
The onliest thing is the poor old gal ain’t got but two tin ears,
Weighs about a half a ton and that ain’t counting what she put on today.
My girlfriend thinks she’s a rock star but she’s built like a bale of hay.
She polished up them toenails. Armani cosmetics are on her face.
She bosses me around like she owns my whole damn place.
When she makes a beeline for the fridge, well I’d better clear out of her way.
My girlfriend thinks she’s a big ol’ star but she’s built like a bale of hay.
She always likes to berate me ‘cause I ain’t as pretty as Johnny Depp.
And I ain’t as handsome as Bradley Pitt, so I’d better watch my step.
She tips the scales at about ten times what Angelina Jolie weighs.
My girlfriend things she’s a movie star but she’s built like a bale of hay.
If she really was a haystack, she could feed a Clydesdale horse.
And, if you could fit that horse into a frying pan, she’d eat him for a second course.
You’d be far more likely to see her with Mr. Ed than Doris Day.
My girlfriend thinks she’s a TV star but she’s built like a bale of hay.
She always wanted her presence to be felt both near and far.
They feel tremors over in Uzbekistan when she dances the cha cha cha.
She’s bummed out that she’s got to be stuck with me instead of Laurence Olivier.
My girlfriend thinks she’s a movie star but she’s built like a bale of hay.
7) Sad Train Whistle Blues
I saw your train pulling away and I heard the whistle
And it’s too, too late to tell if one more kiss will make you stay.
Now this blues won’t leave anymore than the black will leave the night,
Though it may cloud over and rain all night they say.
One thing you can say, we both played fair.
Never went to sleep on a fight, never acted like we didn’t care anyway.
And, if I see your train in some sad dream time miles,
I’ll hope you’re sleeping sweet and safe, like some baby child of mine,
Like some baby child of mine.
Oohhhhhhh
Now our insides are wound up like two balls of twine,
But I’m not yours and you’re not mine anymore.
And, if I see your train in some sad dream time miles,
I’ll hope you’re sleeping sweet and safe, like some baby child of mine,
Like some baby child of mine.
Oohhhhhhh
Saw your train pulling away and I heard the whistle
And it’s too, too late to tell if one more kiss will make you stay.
Stay.
Stay.
Stay.
8) Stove Pipe Hat
Daddy, you know I always try to win, just like your dear true son.
But, is it the fault of a stove pipe hat if it don’t fit the head it’s on?
You know I’m always trying to make my way, working day and night.
But, is it the fault of stoney brook some beavers dammed up all it’s might?
And every turn is like the catacombs beneath the Roman streets.
But, is it the fault of my tired feets if I can’t find my on way home,
Can’t find my own way home.
Ten thousand roads, ten thousand turns, taken one by one,
Like each new day to disappear into the setting sun,
Into the setting sun.
Daddy, now you’ve reached the other side, like your father and his too.
Every step I take on this hard earth, I’m on my way to you.
I’m on my way to you.
Ten thousand roads, ten thousand turns, taken one by one,
Like each new day to disappear into the setting sun,
Into the setting sun.
9) Under a Pagan Moon
Let me hear the midnight cricket choir,
Leave fear and spite in the Beltane fire,
Come to still, cool water soon,
Under a pagan moon.
Baby moths like fresh, green leaves.
Grown up moths prefer sweater sleeves.
Many struggle for a life of ease.
I want something to believe.
Let me hear the midnight cricket choir,
Leave fear and spite in the Beltane fire,
Come to still, cool water soon,
Under a pagan moon.
Dark stream currents carry life itself.
Fire feeds the music in your muscle and blood.
Lost in his chant, a little elf collects faces in driftwood from the flood,
And waits to be in our dreams.
As the elf spins, magic drawings from his hat appear
That draw you in like passionate voices from a play.
Yet it’s only full of dream chasers on a flash lit stage,
Tragic actors on a burning page.
Hope, she would keep her wings in a black-swept sea
And dry them in a breeze of laughing stones.
T’was a still birth mother with her silence gone
Had to wade through the forest of my clanging song,
Though she smiled inside as she reached the sea
And said,
“So long to the boiling sun of my days.
I’ve already gone on,
Like the blind kiss of dawn,
Left in orbit when the moon rolls over and
Royal dreams walk like the escaping night,
Or, sometimes, lie like some cold cop’s chalk drawing on the ground
Around the failure of a love light or the victory of fright.”
Eerie eyesores assault your vision down on River Road.
You’ve heard of that road that’s paved with good intentions.
This looks like the end of that road.
My road has gypsy fiddles in a covered bridge.
Rains stream through ditches then you top the ridge.
A little Spanish girl loves my icicle coat,
Reflecting scenes around me in its crystal, hologram awakening
And cool dripping impermanence.
I asked the professor for a consciousness probe,
Where the dark star landed?
Meet the new wrinkle on the face of time,
The heart of gold dis-banded.
I asked the cab driver with a pleading sob,
“Turn off that Jesus station.
Fifty thousand watts and the power of God are such a noxious combination.”
Baby moths like fresh, green leaves.
Grown up moths prefer sweater sleeves.
Many struggle for a life of ease.
I want something to believe.
Let me hear the midnight cricket choir,
Leave fear and spite in the Beltane fire,
Come to still, cool water soon,
Under a pagan moon.
10) Two Nightmares
Four ice block oceans from a big, red summertime,
Three riders of the Arapaho,
When the world was just barely mine,
When the world was just barely mine,
Two like Handsel with his crumbs now eaten,
One dead like winter at the edge of the quiet night,
When the world was broken by the bells of Christmas,
And my hound would shiver at the Prince of moontime,
Hollow out the night with his wolfen whine,
Yes, he would hollow out the night with his wolfen whine.
I was depressed enough to state, “Here he is!”
With great sarcasm, whenever I saw myself anywhere,
And mean enough to respond in kind.
One night, when their stride was broken,
Two mares of the Arapaho broke away
Three miles from nowhere and, if their thoughts were spoken,
“For what?” would be what they would say.
Envy him, the saddest player of the broken fortune wheel,
Grand beginner of endless stories.
And they all started with the Big Bang cataclysm.
Three anthropologists and a priest and a Rabbi
Went into the bar where their horses were tied.
All sat waiting for the punch line to be delivered,
Till, one by one, they all died.
And my hound would shiver at the Prince of Moontime,
Hollow out the night with his wolfen whine,
Yes, he would hollow out the night with his wolfen whine.
I was depressed enough to state, “Here he is!”
With great sarcasm, whenever I saw myself anywhere,
And mean enough to respond in kind.
One night, when their stride was broken,
Two mares of the Arapaho broke away
Three miles from nowhere and, if their thoughts were spoken,
“For what?” would be what they would say, woah.
11) Magic Dreams
One day a wandering amazon met a piper with a light-fingered sway.
On her back did she bear him to the child’s dream (child stream) where the night meets the day.
With darkness come the owls who tell who I’ll visit in my seeking slumber,
Stranded in the stairs (stares), I can’t get past the drunken avatar.
Who can measure the pride of lions,
Or the deeply buried streams?
Between the fabric of truth and madness,
Lies a world of magic dreams,
A world of magic dreams.
Bonded into slavery, the blond witch of the highlands took flight,
Blinded by the gleam from the kimono-clad assassins knife.
“Only speak my name,” she said, “when twilight covers the shadowy glen.
In billows like from a burning pyre, I’ll return into your dreams again.”
Vision comes in the land of darkness.
Shed the garments of disguise.
Remember your most secret cries.
Lift the window on those inside,
While Isis climbs the silent skies.
Indigo heart waves that ripple and steam,
When will I meet you in my magic dreams?
Snakes that recoil when the sand dollar screams,
When will I meet you in my magic dreams?
12) Mystery Pose
I’ve been working on a mystery pose
So I can think things nobody knows,
So I can live in my silent dream,
Watch the world through a one-way screen, woah.
All the clouds that crowd the sky above
Rain down around me like a mystery love.
Stolen glances on a carousel.
It’s the things you didn’t say that tell it so well.
Starlight falling on a Ferris wheel
Made of laughter and cold steel, woah.
I, a writer of sub-plots to the middle eight,
Said, “I’ll pay when I’m ready, then you can sue my estate.
When you dance in the candle light without a stitch,
That’s the tune of the body’s resilient pitch.” Whoa.
13) Got Here Leaving
Spent three nights on the mountain and I don’t ever wanna be cold again.
Can I curl up next to you and your fire in your cozy den.
Is living on the road better than dying at home?
I may be lonely but I was born to roam.
I’d lay into the wind and follow it’s wind
Till the bending of the river was slowly mine.
They said, “How could you ever think that you could ever be done?”
Oh, I got here leaving I was born to run.
Spent many a long summer in a furnace called Louisiane.
Sometimes I got nowhere to spread out like a fire in a garbage can.
Is living in a tomb better than dying in a street?
There’s someone somewhere I’m dying to meet,
Twinkling eyes, song unsung,
Just the wind in collaboration with the setting sun.
They said, “Son, we don’t even know where you’re coming from.”
Oh I got here leaving. I was born to run.
14) Stone Hotel
I’ll meet you some cold and lifeless day
When our wheels have gone astray.
We’ll break into the lonely room
Where our years have gone to stay,
Shuttered in the darkness
Where our dreams have gone to pray.
I cried to find the stone hotel
Where trance-sick loves and losts are reached
Between stone echos of old church bells
And sterile sheets, so chlorine bleached,
Where stolen love feels canonized in whispers on a cold wind,
Where blue eyed daughters of revolutions,
Brown eyed sisters of simplistic sins,
And black eyed mothers of death’s cool laughter
Would carry me in, carry me in.
I pulled the window open wide.
The curtains billowed in,
As if announcing escapades of where the wind had been,
Caressing Venus on the square, like a weeping mandolin, mandolin.
I’ll meet you some cold and lifeless day
When our wheels have gone astray.
We’ll break into the lonely room
Where our years have gone to stay,
Shuttered in the darkness
Where our dreams have gone to play.