"You sound like Jerry Garcia singing Bob Dylan blues meets Simon and Garfunkel aura dancing on a transglobal, underground beat." - Alexis Larinda Carney

Song Lyrics

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

All songs by Dave Easley