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Lyrics for Songs of the Iron Men (2009)
The original poems can be read in their unedited entirety at SteamTraction.com
Dreaming of Steam
Words by Chester Phalor; music by Christian Williams
Upon my cottage porch I sit and dream of happy days,
when old steam threshers rolled along the lanes and dusty ways.
I liked to watch those clouds of steam, and loved the whistles tone.
I liked to hear the drive wheels ring when they would crush a stone.
I’d meet it half way up the lane and walk along beside.
And I’d envy my big brother as he ran the thing with pride.
The engine seemed to have pride too, as though it were alive.
It seemed to try to please him, and would purr when he would drive.
The little modern combine has replaced the threshing crew.
But modern harvests do not have the romance that we knew.
So when our task on earth is done and we are called above,
I hope to meet that threshing crew that I had learned to love.
Vanished Days
Words by Eva K. Anglesburg; music by Christian Williams
So you like this country, stranger? Well, I wish you could have seen it
in the nineties when the land was new and we were raising wheat;
When the Valley of the Red was one great sea of fife and bluestem,
raising grain enough to furnish bread for all the world to eat.
It was nothing like this modern sort of farming with its turkeys,
and its sheep and hogs, and cows and hens, and beets and spuds, and hay.
It was something big and splendid like the swing and sweep of seasons.
Seems as if the Lord intended men to farm that grander way.
Those were the days of genuine thrashing - yes, I used to own a “steamer.”
Nothing like those modern tractors with their sharp, staccato bark.
Oh, to hear an engine chugging, and a blower’s hollow moaning.
And at dusk and dawn the whistles as they talked across the dark!
We’d start thrashing in September, when the lazy winds were sleeping,
and the air was still and balmy, and a purple haze was spread
over all the distant landscape. Evenings stillness brought the eerie
minor chant of far off blowers as the sun sank round and red.
Always liked to watch the bundle racks roll in beside the feeder.
And the ease with which the spikes would toss the heavy bundles in.
Where the band cutters could seize them - that was poetry of motion,
Then the growling concaves crunched them and away the chaff would spin.
Thrashed a quarter section daily; but in fields where straw was heavy,
or was damp, and we had failed to clear off all the shocks by night,
we would fire near-by straw pile; as the flames lit earth and heaven
we would finish with a flourish in a blaze of ruddy light.
Gone forever, those great straw fires, gone the blowers’ somber chanting
And the giant drive-belt’s humming and the rich, warm smell of grain.
It's the price we pay for progress, wheat no longer rules the Valley.
With its passing went a splendor we shall never see again.
On the Farm
Trad. American folk song adapted by Harry Fischback; music arranged by Christian Williams
Down on the farm about half past four I slip on my pants and sneak out the door
out of the yard I run like the dickens to milk ten cows and feed the chickens;
clean out the barn, curry Nancy and Jiggs, separate the cream and slop the pigs;
work two hours and eat like a Turk and then by heck I'm ready for a full days work.
(chorus) Now some people tell us there ain’t no hell but they never farmed and they can’t tell. When spring rolls around I take another chance while the fringe grows longer on my old gray pants.
Then I grease the wagon and put on the rack, throw a jug of water in an oldgrain sack, Hitch up the horses and hurry down the lane- Must get the hay in for it looks like rain. Look over yonder, sure as I’m born, Cattle on the rampage and cattle in the corn, start across the medder, run a mile or two, Heaving like I’m wind broke, get wet all through.
(chorus)
Get back to the horses then for recompence Nancy gets a-straddle the barbed wire fence; Joints all a-aching and muscles in a jerk I’m fit as a fiddle for a full days work. Work all summer ’till winter is nigh then figure up the books and heave a big sigh; Worked all year, didn’t make a cent, got less cash now that I had last spring.
(chorus)
Haywire Sawmill
Words by Ernest Pawson; music by Christian Williams
One hay-wire sawmill, nice new location, ten mile haul to the shipping station.
Half mile to plank road rest of it mud, six bridges, all condemned but otherwise good.
Timber yellow cypress, very few knots, awfully sound between rotten spots.
Fire box boiler, flues leak some, injector patched with chewing gum.
Darn good whistle and carriage track. Nine feet left of the old smoke stack.
Belts a little ragged, rats ate the laces. Head saw cracked in a couple of places.
The engine knocks and is loose on its base and the flywheel’s broke in just one place. There’s a pile of side lumber and a few cull ties but they are attached by some credit guys.
There’s a mortgage on the land that’s now past due, and I still owe for the machinery, too. But if you want to get rich here’s the place to begin, for it’s a darn good layout for the shape it’s in.
Charlie and His Case
Words by E.C. Harsch; music by Christian Williams
Old Charlie was an engineer back in the days of steam;
To live again that yesteryear had always been his dream.
The sound of quiet, rushing steam, of cinder-filled exhaust,
The clank of bull gears it would seem were doomed forever lost.
The puff of straw-fire up the stack, the whistle, full of cheer,
the creaking platform at the back, he'd give his soul to hear.
One day an old-time Case he bought; he scraped and brushed it bright.
“I'll make it just like new,” he thought, he worked all day and night.
Charlie had been a Fancy Dan, the folks who know him say,
Was what is called a well-dressed man before IT came his way.
Now his shirt is torn, his pants are ripped, he doesn’t wash his face;
His knuckles smashed, his nails chipped, as he works upon that Case.
The tractor’s got a brand new face, unmarred by passing time;
But Charlie looks just like the Case when it was cached in grime.
The tractor’s cared for like a pup, now it's Dapper Dan,
And Charlie seldom washes up but he’s a happy man.
Threshing Crew
Words by Helen Virden; music by Christian Williams
In August when the grain was sheared of gold
And neighbors gathered where the work was due,
Then last years sorties were brushed off and told
To each new member of the threshing crew.
They started with the dawn and worked till dark
Their laughter flashed beneath the burning sun
To men it was vacation time--a lark
For work that neighbors share is mostly fun.
And women who must feed this multitude
Found pleasure heaping dinner table high
With pyramids of wholesome, tasty food
Fried chicken, garden corn and apple pie.
But combines will outmode the threshing crew
And men will lose a place where friendship grew.
The Lazy Farmer
Words by Mrs. B.K. Francis; music by Christian Williams
He toils and moils from sun to sun;
he never knows when work is done;
his schedule keeps him on the run, this lazy farmer.
He has no time to hunt or fish,
it is in vain for him to wish,
to travel slower than a S-W-I-S-H, this pokey farmer.
Just wait 'til he stops working hard,
plays golf, and has a Union card:
the world will then with awe regard, this low-down farmer.
Good Old Russell
Words by John Kelly; music by Christian Williams
I am sitting here and dreaming of the days of long ago
how we loved those grand old steamers as we drove them to and from.
How we had to watch the water and the lubricator too
and we had to blow the whistle to call the threshing crew.
We would watch the feeder rolling listen to the engine bark
and we worked from early morning often times till after dark.
There were times when we were happy, there were times when we were blue
when we hit a rotten culvert and the drivers fell right through.
We would work and sweat and tussle lift and tug with might and main
till we got the good old Russell rolling down the road again.
The good old days are gone forever and it makes me very sad
when I think of those old steamers and the pleasure that we had.
Village Blacksmith
Words by J.F. Loffelmacher; music by Christian Williams
He brought his plows into my place to have them fixed one day,
He said, 'I'm in a hurry, boys. I'd like it right away!'
We left the other work we had, and fixed this fellow's plows,
So he could get back home again to feed and milk his cows.
Then when the job was finished, and we helped him load his plow,
He said, 'Well, Bill I'm sorry but I cannot pay you now.
Now I will shear my sheep next week, and when I sell the wool,
I'll come right in to see you and I'll settle up in full.'
I waited and I waited 'til I met him on the street.
I said, 'My friend what happened? Have you not sheared your sheep?'
He answered, 'Bill I'm sorry but the money is all spent.
But when I'm through with threshing I will pay you every cent.'
I waited and I waited 'til the cutting had been done,
And every threshing outfit had completed all their run.
Then I met this same old fellow and asked him for my pay,
I told him of his promise on the street that summer day.
His answer was the same as yore, the money was all gone.
And I must keep on waiting for the work that I had done.
He said, 'Bill, don't you worry. Just as sure as you are born,
I'll be right in and pay you when I've gathered in my corn.'
Now the corn has all been gathered the Spring is here again,
And still this fellow owes me. I've been waiting all in vain.
And I kind of get to wondering as I stand by the fire,
How a real dirt farmer can be such a doggoned liar.
Smoke on the Prairie
Words by Chas. L. Genter; music by Christian Williams
The smoke is gone from the prairie, and the boys from the cook shack door
the whistle is silenced forever and its call is heard no more.
No more in the summers darkness will the engineer rise at three
and crawl in a sooty fireboxs black as black could be.
No more on sunlit mornings will we load the racks with sheaves
and across the fields go trailing to some old faithful Reeves.
No more we'll wash together in the dishpans rimmed with dirt
and dry on a towel wet and grimy or the tail of our sweaty shirt.
No more we'll lay in the, hay loft and listen to the rain drops beat
while the hoboes told of the charmers 'mong the girls on Tremont Street.
No more we'll hear their lusty songs or the thrumm of the old guitar
as a coyote wailed his troubles to the points of a lonely star.
No more we'll sit in the moonlight when all was quiet and still
and list to the farm girls singing the songs that gave a thrill.
No more we'll follow the threshing from the place where hot winds blow
to the far fields of Canada the land of the North light's glow.
No more we'll eat the cook shack grub Herring, beans and punk
Java, tomatoes, lovely spuds Sow bacon by the chunk.
The coffee'd come in on crutches The butter'd walk in alone
The cake they baked was soggy The bread was heavy as stone.
No more we'll tail from sun to sun but know the joy of rest
we grieve the threshermen’s passing and yet we know its best.
The smoke is gone from the prairie and the boys from the cook shack door
the whistle is silenced forever and its call is heard no more.
My Old Steam Engine
Words by O.H. Nieman; music by Christian Williams
The Iron Horse now silent stands among the towering forest trees,
Like an aged man whose tired hands enjoy the days of rest and ease.
Its days of youth and manhood past; its beauty and its glamour gone,
Its fiery nostrils cold at last, no more is heard the whistle's tone.
(chorus) When the Great Recorder comes at last to check our deeds against our name, He will not ask “Have you won or lost?” but “How have you played the game?”
In bygone days its handsome form with matchless energy endowed,
Has trodden fields and highways long and labored honestly and proud.
Around it now the children play without a thought of pain or harm,
The birds and squirrels feel no dismay nor view it with undue alarm.
(chorus)
The boiler shell is old and weak, the fire sheets are patched and frail,
The aged flues are full of leaks, the furnace crown is decked with scale.
Its ragged coat has lost its shine, the iron feet are red with rust,
The massive gears no longer whine, the wooden parts have gone to dust.
(chorus)
For those of us who loved to feel the marvelous power these engines gave,
Fond memories around us steal that will not cease this side the grave.
May we who drove these faithful steeds prove true as they were in their day.
When Time and conscience test our deeds we need not fear the light of day.
(chorus)
Death of a Steam Man
Words by Mae Baber; music by Christian Williams
No fancy long-tailed Sunday coat or proper satin tie
Need grace my grave – or fragrant flowers perfume me when I die.
Just blow a whistle over me – don’t tuck it in for burying.
But give it to an engine man that it go on a carrying.
Steam engine joy – Mt. Pleasant way;
And I shall go – still tarrying.
And I shall go – still tarrying.
Lyrics for Thirty Minutes with Christian Williams (2008)
Apple Tree
When I was just a boy the Lord said to me, “Don’t go near that apple tree – secrets hidden in that apple’s meat. Your eyes are 20/20 but your mind is blind so listen to your heart let it be your guide. Your questions will be answered in due time.”
I grew a little more the Lord said to me, “Look up in that apple tree. Look up there and tell me what you see.” I said, “Strong limbs that I long to climb, shade from the sun in the summer time, and apple’s that I fear will make me die.”
When I became a man the Lord said to me, “Climb up in that apple tree. Your faith has earned the answers that you seek. The apple in your hand will reveal the truth and make you reconsider all you thought you knew. So blind or sight: which one will you choose?
Holy Roller
Living in the house of the one true Lord is the picture of a king with a long broad sword. The glass is many colors but the king’s skin white, and sheep surround the throne to the king’s delight.
He listens to the word and he understands the plan: God’s given him the world, better use it while he can. He holds out his hand with a smile so bright but there’s fire in his eyes as he squeezes tight.
She listens to the word and she knows her role: Be faithful to her man and the rest will follow. Eve’s mistake was she thought for herself and her sinful choice cast wide the gates of hell.
They listen to the word and they fill up every pew. They’re proud to be among the ones known as the chosen few. They spend their days complaining and looking to the sky, waiting for the holy glow to leave their clothes behind.
Same Song
Poor folks holding out hands for bread, sure does make you think: Is their need just greed or a lost paycheck? Will they eat or will the drink? Do you drop them a dime or do you walk on by? Do you trust your best instinct? Well, everybody’s right and everybody’s wrong because everybody’s trying to sing the same damn song.
War’s going on gotta find a real man, sure does make you think: Should he stand flag-wrapped with a gun in his hand or in a suit using words of peace? Do we call the man yellow if he can’t kill a fellow? Should he shoot and never blink? Well, everybody’s right and everybody’s wrong because everybody’s trying to sing the same damn song.
World’s been changing, weather’s strange, sure does make you think: Is it human fumes, factory plumes or nature that’s to blame? Is a tree-hugger’s wish just an evil myth or are we headed for the brink? Well, everybody’s right and everybody’s wrong because everybody’s trying to sing the same damn song.
Thin Ice
When the only mirrors that mattered were in our mother’s eyes, and the only words that flattered came from father’s full of pride, success in life was graded by how hard we showed we tried.
When trust in those around us could be garnered by a smile, and we laughed at their disguises like a lonely only child, we lived under umbrellas rigged to flutter inside out.
When faith was more that sleight of hand, and we could clearly see that anything imagined could become reality, we breathed life into legends that won’t die so easily.
When rules were all we needed to determine right and wrong, and gray was only wielded to paint clouds and write sad songs; authority’s been fed by our fears all along.
Chaos
Can you hear the people screaming? Listen close you’ll hear them say: We must take the war them – they won’t forget who made them change. We will fight!
Grab your bricks and black bandanas, raise your fist and hide your face. Lock your doors if you’re not with us, revolution’s on its way. We will fight!
Organized thoughts cast aside by hands cuffed to chaos. Who’s strong enough to turn the tide? Who cares enough to save us? Who will fight?
Empire
Outpost of a distant crown when taxes made revolt break out; once tyranny, now liberty, conspiracy to make us free. A nation built by those who dreamed of hope and opportunity from fields of slaves to factory graves to soldier’s with their trust misplaced.
Open land where bison roamed, sliced and diced by devil’s rope. Compromised and privatized till concrete boxes block the skies. Dreams once built on banker’s loans: broken, vacant, left, foreclosed. Rich are twitching with the mission to turn it all to subdivisions.
Trace their path from trail to rail, the frontier pushed by souls for sale. Compassion tried for native tribes: “Assimilate, or soon you’ll die! We answer to a higher voice, we’ll take it all you have no choice. It’s still God’s plan for every man who’s blessed to be American!”
McCall’s Luck
Two men gambling in Puddler’s Hall; one named Gage, the other McCall. And Gage’s cards were hot, McCall’s were not. A man asked Gage, “How you win so much?” Gage said, “skill” McCall yelled, “luck” as the chips stacked up to make a monstrous pot. And just before the winning cards were shown, McCall asked for a most peculiar loan: “Would you lend your luck to me for just one day? You name the price and damn it, I will pay!”
Well Gage sat still and he thought a bit how to make the most off this dimwit, but all he saw were bags ’neath loser’s eyes. McCall just never caught a break, he could kill a cow but he’d burn the steak, and Gage had sympathy for his sorry kind. So he reached down deep in the pocket of his coat and he found the charm he used to boost his hope. Though he knew the badger tooth held no real power, “It might change McCall’s demeanor for a while.”
Gage threw the tooth into the pot said, “You win this hand, my luck you’ve got” and McCall’s pathetic smile lit up the place. “Gage, my friend, you are a fool, because the hand I’ve got will never lose: Gravedigger’s Flush– spades to the Ace!” As McCall stood up to rake in all he’d won, a stranger dressed in black readied his gun. He screamed, “McCall – you owe me for my luck!” And McCall fell dead in a pool of chips and blood.
Bowersock Dam
When evening comes I’m heading out, won’t be back until morning. The water’s moving fast for sure and will take you without warning. The air is muggy as a swamp, the stars are prime for wishing, tomorrow we’ll be eating well as long as I keep fishing.
My bait is on the river floor, my line is taut and waiting. And when I see that rod tip bend, no time for hesitating. I hear some action near the dam and then some voices louder. I’m jealous as it’s soon announced, “He caught an 80 pounder!”
My back is stiff so I lay down, my tackle a pillow. The river’s rush lulls me to sleep beneath a weeping willow. And then the rod begins to bend, the hook is set for reeling; I always catch the biggest fish whenever I am dreaming.
Free State
It was May 25 back in 1856 when five men paid the price for their hate. John Brown and his sons made a stand for freedom and they cut down those five men with their blades. In those bloody Kansas days, whole towns were set ablaze by some thugs from the state of Missouri. They made money off their slaves while their energy they saved to make sure black folks were never free.
Good men made up their minds to work for their own dimes and made Kansas, their home, a free state. Then the lazy men next door found a cause worth fighting for, but the Jayhawkers showed their mistake. Bushwackers made their mark with a man who had no heart – Bill Quantrill was a scoundrel first class. They took Johnny Reb’s side for with the South they sympathized, but they were just a murderous, thieving band.
It didn’t take too long before Quantrill was gone having met a rather bloody fate. And the Union boys in blue did what they had to do and now everyone lives in a free state!
KK Bridge
Hot steel rolling on the river’s flow, drawbridge up makes traffic slow, shirt-sleeves short on a summer’s day while a pigeon couple lounges underneath the gate.
Blue-collared men working down below, guiding the wheel and watching the load; white collared men complain in line while the pigeon couple struts with the bell in time.
Big Poppa pigeon and his watchful eyes keeps tabs on Momma, it’s no surprise. But she’s wandering from her mate and flirting with the wrong side of the gate.
The load below is moving right quick but the suits up top are having a fit. One throws his phone on the seat in disgust, mutters to himself and starts to cuss.
While men in cars loosen their ties, Momma pigeon has her eyes on the prize. It doesn’t take long before she finds that gap and jumps in between it looking for a snack.
Before Poppa figures out something’s wrong, the gap closes up and his lady is gone. Slabs come together and the bridge is flat when Poppa figures out where his lady’s at.
A Breeze Between Two Trees
Listen to me my flesh and blood these words full of hope once gave sight to the blind who wandered less to see straight past the grave:
Depend on the ones who come in love, be sure that you keep them close. Know that the places they’ve come from were left so that you may grow.
Believe in these roots when you are young to guide you as helping hands but don’t look for them to lift you up - you must trust yourself to stand.
Reach through the clouds to touch the sun and learn from the burn it makes. Stretch out your arms just far enough to know where they might break.
Defy your fears, deny your doubts – they’ll keep you from growing tall. And though the ground will take you back, the truth is we never fall.
Listen to me, my flesh and blood, these words full of hope still give sight to the blind who wander less and know that we long shall live.
To the Trees
Original banjo composition by Christian Williams
Born Again
Sometimes I think of the summer that you took a chance on me, saw what the rest couldn’t see. I worried you’d find out my secrets but you said you already knew – the past didn’t matter to me. So I opened my heart one more time and you filled the lonely holes inside. You showed me the world through a new pair of eyes. What once was dead is now alive.
Maybe that makes you my savior, though you’d never say you’re that. You make me a better man. And now that we stand here together, before we say I do, these promises I make to you: I’ll defend and protect you with all that I am; Whenever you’re down, I’ll help you stand; When all you need is an ear, I’ll give you that and my hand; I’ll honor you more than any other man can.
I love you, I love you, I love you – I do. I’ll love you, I’ll love you, I’ll love you – I will.
Lyrics for To the Trees (2008)
Judas
Question everything
You’ll find me at the right hand of Satan, standing at the left hand of God. They say I sold my soul for silver, but all I know is thy will be done, yeah all I know is thy will be done.
Without a thunderstorm there’d be no flowers. Without the sun you’d never find the shade. One person’s battle is another’s balance. You can’t be saved until you’ve been betrayed, Lord no - you can’t be saved until you’ve been betrayed.
You’ll find me when you look along the edges of the fences that you use to separate. Right and wrong and black and white sound simple but the world’s a complicated shade of gray, oh the world’s a complicated shade of gray.
Bison Jump
Native American hunting technique
Original banjo tune by Christian Williams
Out of Line
Don't always follow the leader
One by one they shuffle their way past me. I watch the sun as its path lights the way. They think they know the road but stagger blindly and trust their souls to strangers just the same.
They ask me why I’ve chosen not to follow when all signs point to happiness ahead. I said, “I tried but find their promise hollow when they say to drown the doubts inside my head.”
The line is long and you can’t see the leader but no one wants to ask who it might be. It’s easier to put your faith in rumors when the truth is something you’re afraid to see.
Troubadour
I aim to be remembered
It’s usually not easy to use words to show your feelings, but some folks still appreciate the try. And some words bear repeating even if they’ve lost their meaning, like “thanks,” “I love you” and “goodbye.” I’ve sharpened some like knives and used some to sympathize, but I’ve never learned to keep them to myself. Maybe one day I’ll decide that they’re better left inside, but I’m not one to piss in my own well.
I’ve been spared the desire to walk these roads until I’m tired, but I’m a homebody with a rambling soul. Deep within me there’s a fire to find the truth and burn the liars and my mind is always moving, truth be told. Most folks don’t know who I am in accordance with my plans but I aim to be remembered when I’m gone. But it’s all out of my hands - I guess I’m leaving it all to chance that when I die my words keep living on.
The Trail
Six months west on the Oregon Trail
It’s been seven days since we left the last town, and God and the sun keep my heavy head bowed. What’s left of the water is sweat on my brow.
My wife hasn’t spoke since our little one died. She sits by his body and swats at the flies, and I keep the wheels moving with dust in my eyes.
These ruts hold the wagon but my will is worn, and the horses keep plodding though my mind is torn. The dreams that we left with aren’t much anymore.
But we’re too close to give up to far to go back. I’m banking what’s left of our hope on that fact, so we follow the sunset through tall prairie grass.
The men are all moaning, the women they wail. The buzzards above us wait for us to fail. If heaven’s our homestead, then hell is this trail.
The Recluse Anna Brown
Shake your shoes out
The sun outside is shining, the air outside is warm, but inside lonesome Anna’s head worry brews a storm. “The sun will turn my fair skin red; the air might make me sneeze. I’d rather breath alone at home than outside with a wheeze.”
Poor, lonesome Anna living on the hill, watching life pass her by from her windowsill.
The blades of grass are waiting to tickle Anna’s feet; the water’s moving slow for her to wade in Miller’s creek. She said, “A danger lurks below the water and the glade: rusty nails to stop your step and lock your jaw in place.”
Poor, lonesome Anna living on the hill, watching life pass her by from her windowsill.
Your beauty lures a suitor whose love won’t be denied. He sings beneath the windowsill, “Won’t you come out tonight?” “I fear that man’s the devil, I see it in his eyes. He plans to make me drunk and drag me off to my demise.”
Poor, lonesome Anna, living on the hill watching life pass her by from her windowsill.
Soon the summer ended, then ten and twenty more, and Anna spent each one of them afraid of the outdoors. To sunshine, air, nails or men she thought she’d lose her life. So it came as a shock when she succumbed to spider bite.
Poor, lonesome Anna lived up on the hill; watched as life passed her by from her windowsill.
Too Late
No time for fear
“Daddy come quick!” he heard him cry. “I see death when I close my eyes. The wind blows cold ‘neath darkened skies and I’m standing all alone.”
“Rest easy my son, you need not fear. It’s only a dream – the end is not here. The moon’s shining bright and I am here, so lay back down on your pillow.”
“No!” he shouted, “this dream was real – I saw it when I was awake. My hands were big and I could not feel, and I knew that it was too late. I knew that it was too late.”
“Tell me my son, did you see more? Have you seen these things in your dreams before? Sometimes you’re scared by the creeks in the floor and it’s all your imagination.”
“Daddy I’ve seen many people in pain. I’ve seen the results of torment and hate. I’ve seen the future and witnessed our fate – its total devastation.”
“No!” he shouted, “these dreams can’t be real – the horror is too much to take. So many believe that we will prevail – believe that it’s never too late, son. Believe that it’s never too late.”
Flood
High price for a view
Grab my hand push through the door, we don’t live here anymore. Take the pictures, take the cat but run away and don’t look back. The sky is angry don’t you see, it knows when things need balancing. It hears the rivers and the lakes cry out aloud, “For heaven’s sake! Who will save us from the sun who shines all day to dry us up?”
Flood doesn’t discriminate; it took our shack and your estate. There’s nothing left for us to do but lose it all and start anew. We watched our homes turn into boats that barely helped us stay afloat. We tried buckets, we tried sands, we tried praying to the land. But land is weak, it holds no sway – water always gets its way.
When the Smoke Clears
There are two sides to every coin
I open my eyes, and then I look up as I tilt back this bottle of sun-baked rotgut. And my clothes are still wet from the dew on the grass, but here at the bottom we don’t give a damn. The wood is still burning from yesterday’s fire, our home turned to ashes on a funeral pyre because I lit the match and I watched the flame as I tried to erase my mind of your name but I still see your face in the clouds, and I still smell your hair in the flowers, and I still hear your voice in the sounds at night, and all I can do is lay here and cry.
Now I close my eyes and dream about us, how I felt when I knew it was you that I loved. How I always struggled with words hard to find, how you smiled, held my hand and told me to be quiet. And I realize what I need to lose is the fear of a future alone without you so I pick up the bottle and shatter the glass that made me believe you belonged in my past and I still see your face in clouds, and I still smell your hair in the flowers, and I still hear your voice in the sounds at night, and I know that you’ll always be by my side.
30 Minutes
If you wander, be ready to run
I hear the angels’ voices singing this refrain, competing with the demons screaming out the same: “You’ve got 30 minutes to get to heaven before the devil knows your dead.”
Though my life is over, the race has just begun. I listen to the warnings and I begin to run. I see the gates of heaven, closer by the step. I think I have a moment to stop and catch my breath. But then a world of wonder as far as I can see of all my dreams and wishes becomes reality. I see that I am barefoot and 12 years old again. I hear the long lost voices of all my childhood friends. I hear familiar laughter; it’s louder over there so off the path I wander though there’s no time to spare. I finally find them dancing, I laugh and call their names. But they’re not friends they’re demons keeping me from heaven’s gate. The angels part the forest to help me find the path. I’m trying to run faster than the demon’s on my back. The world of wonder crumbles behind my frantic steps and I can feel the devil and his breath upon my neck. And all at once it’s over and all I see is white. I made it into heaven and I was right on time.
Back in the Morning
Things could always be worse
“So,” she said, “you heard me crying, but I won’t cry no more. You’re hard to love and I’m tired of trying – I can’t fight this war. Look at all the time I wasted, what was it all for? The years have passed like the lonely steps that trail me through your door. But maybe I’ll be back in the morning, and maybe I’ll regret what I just said. At least this life we’ve got is never boring; I guess I’ll stick with you until I’m dead.”
“No,” she said, “I ain’t lying you push me to the brink. Your smart remarks get my blood boiling every time you speak. My friends all say you’re good looking and that just makes me think: I’ll have them clean and do your cooking while I go out to drink. But maybe I’ll be back in the morning, and maybe I’ll regret what I just said. At least this life we’ve got is never boring; I guess I’ll stick with you until I’m dead.”
Let’s Step Outside
Irish fighting song
Original banjo tune by Christian Williams
Lake Effect
Always remember "I'm sorry"
I remember blue skies and the sun over you. Saw my face in your eyes swirled in orange and blue. I remember the breeze pick up quick from the east, and the waves showed the anger that bubbled beneath. Clear skies can quickly give way to grey – don’t count on the weather down by the lake.
You’ve seen deep within me and you know I’m not cold, but there’s times when my feelings are hard to control. I said I was tired but I’ll still take the blame for saying whatever bent you out of shape. We both learned the lessons of innocence lost – that snowflakes can quickly become snowballs.
It grew to confrontation with each passing word and we made it our mission to yell and be heard. But discussion is futile when you use words to fight, like the wind and seagull at battle in flight. Clear skies can quickly give way to grey – don’t count on the weather down by the lake.
Though feelings were hurt, pain began to subside when we both saw each other with tears in our eyes. And the anger soon melted like the snow in the sun that burned through the storm clouds retreating above. We both learned the lessons of innocence lost – that snowflakes can quickly become snow balls; that clear skies can quickly give way to grey – don’t count on the weather down by the lake.
To the Trees
Back to where we started
I used my hands to part the earth, pushed the seed into the dirt and called out for the rain. The sky above soon answered back, festered up and turned to black and hallelujahs rang.
I watched the soil turn into mud, the seed beneath then opened up and knew which way to reach. It met the sun and broke the ground, the leaves turned green, the bark turned brown; I claimed its shade for sleep. I felt the bitter chill of fall, heard the winds of winter call and saw the branches naked. The cold and snow both took their toll, I knew my time to pass was close. I went outside and waited. I woke to feel the warmth of spring and heard the birds begin to sing while perched along my arms.
Lyrics for Defiant (2007)
Summer Breeze
A tall tale in four parts
I think of Charlie, every now and then. He was a simple man and he was my friend. Loved the Lord read his Bible everyday. But then his wife died and he began to change.
They lived happy in a shack along the creek. Their love enough to plug the holes and leaks. But then her runny nose became a nasty cough and Charlie prayed to heaven up above: "Dear Lord, I love you - please don't let her die! I'll be alone without her at my side! I'll be your servant, I'll worship every day. Just please don't take my Summer Breeze away!"
Two days later, he put her in the ground. He never left his house, never came to town. From reports of many passerby, Charlie's pain rode above the pines. One stormy morning, Charlie let me in. His shack a mess and he muttering, "The Lord give, the Lord take away, the Lord will bring my Summer Breeze, back to me today!"
And then a rumble, shook the shack apart. And Charlie stood with wide open arms. A twisting finger, came down from the sky and that's the last time I saw my friend alive.
The Sad Song of Sequin Island
a ghost story
Broken boards were bobbing. The notes hung in the air, he dropped the red ax handle while with lifeless eyes she stared. He closed his eyelids softly, his mind began to race. The pain throbbed unrelenting like the waves against this place.
He met her on the mainland, about two years before. Her eyes were like the ocean - deep, restless and at his door. He asked her hand in marriage, her heart she freely gave. He tended to his duties but the boredom, he couldn't take.
He bought her a piano, and dragged it up the rocks. He thought one song would suit her but her fingers never stopped. He heard her notes while working. He heard them in his sleep. He went as mad as she was counting spiders, flies and fleas.
She sensed he wasn't sleeping and she told him to relax. She tried to help by playing and he thanked her with his ax. He stared into the ocean and then he closed her eyes. Walked that crooked staircase and he leaped into the night.
It stands on the horizon, a light to the distressed. But inside there is darkness and a song that never ends.
An Honest Man
ego
Who am I to call you out? Who am I to try? I whisper when I should talk loud and laugh when I should cry. My humble aspirations drown when my lips drip with pride. So, who am I to call you out? Who am I to try?
How can I earn your trust when I don't know where I stand? I throw the rope to hold you up but it's me stuck in quicksand. I know my words aren't enough when it's action you demand. So, how can I earn your trust when I don't know where I stand?
Who am I to know the truth, to claim the only way? The path that's clear for me, for you, is blocked by barricades. The obstacles that I've passed through may be the peace you've made. So, who am I to know the truth and claim the only way?
Who am I to ask about the secrets that you keep? Who am I to pull your mask and show what's underneath? You hold a mirror up in your hands that reflects right back at me. So, who am I to ask about the secrets that you keep?
Henry May
survival of the fittest
When he saw the sun was shining and the sky above was blue, he spent the day under the shade and dreamed about the moon. When he woke up to the crickets and the sky above was black, he claimed it was his wife to blame for the day spent on his back. Oh, Henry May - pushed his luck one time too much that summer day.
When he sat down at the table and all he saw was corn, he took his heel and pushed the meal clear across the floor. When his wife started crying and her heart began to ache, she took the gun he used to hunt and blew his head away. Oh, Henry May - used his head to paint the kitchen red that summer day.
When he reached the gates of heaven and saw the line was long, he bitched and moaned with such a tone he ruined the angels' song. St. Peter heard the ruckus and screamed out through the gate, "Make no mistake, I know a place where you won't have to wait!" Oh, Henry May - it suit him well to burn in hell that summer day.
When he stood before the devil and bitched about the heat, a sulfur breeze made him sneeze and knocked the devil off his feet. Ol' Hank was such a nuisance that the beast gave back his soul and sent him up to bug us as a big black cockroach. Oh, Henry May - walked away with four more legs that summer day.
Upstairs
she died, he cried
Through drapes and drops of rain I watched the sky go blue to black. She sighed and slowly closed her eyes while I at her bedside sat. I gazed upon her rosy cheeks and wiped her burning brow. I told her she'd be better soon but dared not question how.
The branches bent and swayed as gusts of wind pulled on their leaves. I dozed a bit but woke up with every cough and wheeze. I held her tiny hand in mine and whispered in her ear, "The darkness won't last very long the light will soon be near."
A slice of sunlight found my eyes and woke me from my rest. I heard the chirping birds outside but not my darling's chest. I held her hand once more in mine and kissed her on her cheek. I cried but quickly realized that she was finally free.
PBR & Crackers
the sunny side of life
Oh, times are tough and so are we. Imagine all the possibilities: If we just put our heads together, no more worries - cuz in the school of life we're PhD's.
Now your stomach's growling, and honey, so is mine. And we ain't had a square meal for some time. I make no claim to fate's manipulator, but take another look in that refrigerator - PBR and Crackers will suit us fine.
Now I apologize for this morning's fuss. But that mailbox of ours has become a dirty cuss. All it ever gives us are bills and fines so I took some dynamite and blew it sky high. Now I think the cops are after us.
Now I'm sorry baby, that we're on the lamb. But I thank the Lord you love me for who I am. We're poor criminals and we're hungry as hell but we'll sure have some pretty good stories to tell to our kids or the angels - whichever might come first.
All of Her Kin
a near-tragic tale
Sweetness, you told me that you'd never leave but now I see you walking on another man's sleeve. Oh tell me how does a warm heart freeze? How does a warm heart freeze? The bar boys warned me that your soul was black and they told me about the hour glass design on your back. Is this punishment for the faith I lack - pain for the faith I lack?
I'd pray but I don't know what for. Do I want you to come walking back through that door or is my own well-being to me worth more? My own well being worth more? Over in the corner, laying on a grate is my pappy's reliable .38. Should I let its old blast seal my sad, sad fate - blast seal my sad, sad fate?
But then you and him bust through the door and my hands drop the .38 down to the floor as you introduce me to your brother Mort. Nice to meet you Mort. So the next time your girl gets your mind running, to avoid a messy misunderstanding, make sure you've met all of her kin. Every single last one of them.
A Winter Away
requiem for a season
I think these leaves are talking to me. And they all speak at once as they roll down the street. Ragged and worn like they've just lost a fight and they think I can save them from eternal flight. An autumn breeze lets them rest for a spell and they comfort each other from what I can tell. Refugees by the wheels of my car, they beg me for mercy as my engine starts. And oh, with such pain, they send up the refrain, "It starts over tomorrow, a winter away."
Bare branches groan a funeral song and the clouds up above shed their tears before long. A sad procession of squirrels pay respect by patrolling the tree trunk and collecting what's left. The sun shows its face but its visit is brief and it can't hide the fact that it's tired and weak. It turns in early which serves as a cue for the curtain of darkness to fall way too soon. And oh, with such pain, it sends up the refrain, "It starts over tomorrow, a winter away."
This window's like my focus these days: reflection at war with indifferent glaze. But when the frost thaws, I can see through to a hillside of snow lit up by the moon. It's times like these that I contemplate how a sled for a shovel is an uneven trade. And I do all I can to pretend I don't care that childhood dreams become grown up nightmares. And oh, with such pain, I send up the refrain, "It starts over tomorrow, a winter away."
Blood & Tears
620,000 lost 1861-1865
Remember the leaves? How they fell at your feet? How you told them to help you hold on? Your eyes whispered "please" as I let go to leave and I ran to catch up with the drum. We both left with smiles from your love and our pride. And our guns shined dark wood and clean brass. But hope can't survive when it's founded on lies and each day is somehow worse than the last.
We've counted the years with blood and with tears and we've both felt our fair share of pain. You wait but I fear that you won't be there when I finally come in from the rain. I've tried all I can but you can't understand how I deal with the demons inside. Who's greater the man: the one who still stands or the one whom by my hands has died?
The Barn by the Creek
defiance
In the barn by the creek, a horse is asleep when the door blows ajar from the wind through the wheat. The moonlight shines in, his brown eyes open and he looks at the stars, each one beckoning. It's only a few steps to take, just one simple move to make and he can't understand what's holding him back.
He looks at his home - it's all that he knows. And he fears it's too hard to make it alone. But then he hears a new sound like a drum beating loud and his legs match his heart yearning for different ground. It's only a few steps to take, just one simple move to make and he can't understand why he's not looking back. It's only a few steps to take, just one simple to move to make. If it's right or it's wrong, it's too late he's long gone.
Preacher
wolves in sheep's clothing
Last night I heard the voice of God. It's tone was sharp and stern. He said I'd sinned and done him wrong that I deserved to burn. He told me he'd seen everything I'd tried so hard to hide. I felt the guilt wash over me - I hung my head and cried.
He said, "The rules are plain to see - they're written in my book. But you've ignored the men I've sent who tell you where to look. These selfless men want nothing more than to save your helpless souls. They do my will so they've been blessed with fingers ringed with gold."
He said, "My son if you believe, if you love only me, then cast away all earthly gods and give me your money. Choose to live with chosen men and learn to separate those heathen folks from those who know how to show their love with hate."
Last night I heard the voice of God - it shook me from my sleep. But it was just the ravings of the preacher on TV.
I Tried
inscription for a tombstone
The shadows are long. The sand's almost gone. Each breeze is the second to the last. These words that they speak mean nothing to me when all that I want is to hold your hand. But oh, when they ask, "Who was this man?" Say I was wrong more than right and tell them with pride that God watched one helluva try.
I wasted those years a slave to my fears convinced the truth was just ahead. But then I made up my mind to stop asking why and that's when I finally learned how to live. And oh, when they ask, "Who was this man?" Say I was wrong more than right and tell them with pride that God watched one helluva try.
Lyrics for Built with Bones (2007)
You Ain't Exempt
Though they plead and they cry, no man's ever survived. A visit by me means you've run out of time; that's because I'm good at what I do. I'm the end of the line, the caboose of your life, the cold hand, the hour glass and the last grain of sand in your eyes. Tell your momma you love her, make up with your brother. But don't waste your time tryin' to hide under covers, it's no use - I'll always find you. Well, forget what you've read, there's no bargaining. Everyone's on the list and you ain't exempt; there's the light - you know what to do.
When Its Roar Woke Me Up
I took a drink of water from the stream behind my cave. I thought about my daughter how I missed seeing her face. I cupped my hands and filled them, splashed the water on my neck. Went home to sharpen spears and stones in case the beast came back. That's how it goes, that's how it goes, when you're living in the age of stone.
The sun began to dip behind the edge of what I knew. I readied for my busy night by cooking rabbit stew. I stood the spears along my wall and chose the longest one. Then I hid beneath a bearskin rug to wait for it to come.
The fire crackled softly as its light slowly fell dim. I focused on the darkness but soon closed my heavy lids. I dreamed about my family living in that monster's gut. And I couldn't stop from trembling when it's roar woke me up.
I scrambled from the bearskin and I reached out for my spear. My heart gave in to fear when I found out it wasn't there. But then I thought of something while the monster sucked me in. To lose this battle means I'll see my family once again.
Rattle Trap
Out walking in the forest, just to give his wife a break. He leaned on his cane over rough terrain and found a rattle snake. It's tail began a shakin' as it coiled up like a spring. And the path to take for quick escape had been washed out by the rain.
He knew that he was cornered so he said a little prayer. He clutched his cane and braced for pain and wished his wife was there. But it didn't move a muscle, except the rattler on its tail. And soon even that began to relax as it stretched out like a rail.
When his face regained its color, he heard his stomach groan. He thought of the snake and the meal it would make and loaded his cane for the blow. But it was waiting patiently for the greedy man to act. When the timing was right it delivered its bite and the morning soon turned black.
Never the Widow
They walked alone outside the old saloon. She said, "I know that you'll be leaving soon and I'll mark every moment we're apart - with tears and fluttered beats from my broken heart."
He said, "I know that you will wait for me though I can't tell you when that day will be. I pray to God that I come home alive but keep for me this promise should I die."
"My love," she said "what could this promise be that makes you seek assurances from me? If there's a sacrifice that I must make then let this kiss serve as my oath to take."
He said, "If I as just a ghost come home, go find another please don't live alone." She said, "I'll find true love if you should fall for I will die and find you after all."
The Last Thing I Do
Feeling my way past trees in the dark; shuffling my feet trying to pull these shackles apart. Every so often I fall to the ground but can't stop to rest 'cuz the wind brings the bark of the hounds. What'll I have to do? What'll I have to do - to make it through? I'll press on for you. If it's the last thing I do. Took the first path away from this place but found that I wasn't the first one to take up this race. Hoped when I started that I knew the road. Departed with nothing to guide me except for my soul.
Sometimes I wonder if I should turn back. The thought doesn't last, though, 'cuz I know I'm smarter than that. Now the black sky gives way to the sun and I celebrate with a smile my life on the run.
Red
The fog was glowing 'neath the harvest moon that night. His cheatin' wife in mind and in his hand a knife. He walked the gravel road the devil as his guide and when he reached the end he took his woman's life. He found a spot for her behind an empty shed - looked down at trembling hands and saw that they were red.
He heard the bubbling coming from a nearby stream. As he got close he started recognizing things. This place was holy ground about ten years before when he got wet to join the family of the Lord. He hoped the water could still wash away his sin - saw his face reflecting in a shimmering pool of red.
His hands were clean but his heart and soul were black 'cuz once you cross a certain line there ain't no coming back. He walked the gravel road back down to the shed but didn't see the cheatin' man or the gun aimed at his head. He tried to scream for help but he knew he was dead 'cuz when he looked around all he saw were burning shades of red.
Beneath the Branches Dancing
Once I walked into the trees the sky turned dark beneath green leaves, low branches brushed my naked knees - I left behind my compass. I stumbled over stumps and stones, took extra steps past ancient bones, looked back to see I was alone as sweat streamed down my forehead.
A squirrel ahead began to play with shadows from a branches sway. It stopped and beckoned me its way - I followed without thinking. The birds above sang mournful tunes of good intentions laid to ruin. I knew the melody and soon was joining in the chorus.
A bush with berries plump and bright stood tall against the waning light. I tasted them then closed my eyes - beneath the branches dancing.
Kingman
Lean in closer - I can't speak too loud. Son, I told her I'd come back to town. Before your mother, there was another - she's had my heart ever since I was twenty, busking for money back in old Kingman.
Her name was Rita - hair like a desert sunset. Best working girl I believe I ever have met. We started dreaming, both of us leaving - building our own homestead. But that depression, taught us a lesson back in old Kingman.
I packed my suitcase - left in early morn. Wrote a note saying, "There's work in Californ. When I get settled and shake the devil, I'll save every cent. I'll bring that money home to you honey back in old Kingman.
One year later, I packed two cases. One filled with clothes and the other filled with tens. I started smiling, my car climbing toward my baby again. But then I found her deep in the ground there back in old Kingman.
I took that money and bought a proper headstone. I cried for weeks and I never left her alone. I made a promise that's now upon us - I need to know you'll keep it. When I die lay me next to my baby back in old Kingman.
Shake the Dust
Hear that baby cryin' - hear that baby scream? Out of luck with an empty gut better find something to eat. Corn stalks stopped growing - the cow, she went dry. Fields we trusted turned to dust and turned the daytime night, Lord.
We gave in to begging, lost our pride in pounds. But beans and mush weren't enough to keep them from the ground, no. See those branches swayin' - naked without leaves? Look below there's two headstones, my wife and child beneath, Lord.
See that suit a'comin'? See him and you run. Watch his pen or you'll be dead 'cuz he don't need a gun, no. The bank stole my house, Lord, the dozer did the job. I asked for just a moment but the driver wouldn't stop, no.
What's that a floatin' like mist in the night? Three poor ghosts from Oklahome - lookin' for a fight, yeah.
The Long Drop
Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned. I pushed you out and let the devil in. He placed this noose around my neck. I stand a man prepared for punishment. I spoiled my blessings from above. I've failed my wife, I've failed my son. Before the gates below open, I'll spend my final prayer on them. I hope this rope will end their suffering.
I'm blind to light beneath this hood but see too clear the evil deeds I've done. I've traced my steps from right to wrong and past the paths I should have travelled on.
I don't expect any reward. The life I've led is worthy of the sword. I fear what lies beyond these doors but it's too late to contemplate the horror.
In the Corner of Your Eye
I wander through these hallways but I don't remember why. I check my wristwatch often but it's always the same time. When can I go? I hope it won't be very long before my soul ends up where it belongs.
This place once looked familiar through my younger pair of eyes. But all I see are faces that I just don't recognize.
Some have tried to help me find what I've been looking for. But when I walk into the light I end up here once more. Why can't I go? I fear there may be nothing wrong that this is where my lonely soul belongs.
Laudanum Lady
Opening piano - Nocturne No. 2, Opus 27 by Frederic Chopin (Ivan Davis)
Maybe I'm the one to blame but I'm leaving you just the same. I just can't seem to see through to you anymore. All I see are glassy eyes when you even care enough to rise and greet me with a hug at the door. I found an empty bottle stashed behind the sink. Found another in the closet and I began to think there's more than just water in that cup you like to drink. You'll be a lonely laudanum lady now.
Talking didn't seem to do the trick. You just told me you were sick and more excuses that I've all heard before. Said, "There's a choice that you must make: a smile that's real or one that's fake." But your hopped up snicker turned to a roar. I've been going around in circles with these thoughts inside my head. I wonder if it'd help you if I turned my back and left. I'd go and break my own heart if it'd help put yours on the mend. But you'll be a lonely laudanum lady now.
Something Like Love
When the skies open up and fire rains down don't worry, I'll be by your side. When the streets start to flood from streams filled with blood, oh honey - I'll keep your feet dry. Oh, it won't be long 'fore everything's gone and we only have memories and lies. But if I want to see the sky or the sea I'll always find both in your eyes.
When the fields and their crops all wither and rot I'll look for the last apple tree. I'll find that old snake and from him I'll take the fruit that he used to trick Eve.
When the trumpets all sound, and we're gathered around to watch good and bad duke it out, I'll recall the ballet and how you saved me that day by leaving early so that we'd beat the crowd.
Lyrics for For My Mind, It Was Flying (2006)
The Devil's in Your Eyes
I'm wanderin' baby, miles away from home. I'm wanderin' baby, miles away from home. I ain't got no money, no place to call my own. And the worst bit baby - you don't even know I'm gone.
I bought you flowers pink, yellow and red. I bought you flowers pink, yellow and red. Slept by your window with a rock under my head. Found the flowers in the garbage, they were wilted, brown and dead.
I saw you walkin' with another man. I saw you walkin' with another man. The tears came fast, I put my face into my hands. Then my legs got weak and I could barely stand.
You're a cold-hearted woman, that I realize. You're a cold-hearted woman, that I realize. You got the face of an angel but the devil's in your eyes. Still I can't stop wishing that one day, you'll be mine.
Rye Whiskey
Traditional, arr. by Christian Williams
Well, I'll eat when I'm hungry - I'll drink when I'm dry. If the hard times don't kill me, I'll lay down and die. Oh whiskey, you villain - you've been my downfall. You've kicked me and cuffed me but I'll love you for all.
I've gambled for whiskey, I hustled for wine. Some 10,000 bottles I've killed in my time. Sometimes I drink brandy, sometimes I drink rum. But most times I drink whiskey just to make sure I'm drunk.
If the ocean was whiskey, and I was a drunk I'd dive to the bottom and never come up. But the ocean ain't whiskey and I ain't a duck. Still I sit here and daydream and top off my cup.
Her momma don't like me, she says I'm too poor. She says I'm unworthy to walk through her door. So I'll drink my own whiskey and I'll make my own stew. And if I get drunk dear madam, it's nothing to you.
Now I've no wife to quarrel, no babies to bawl. And the best way of living, is no wife at all. I left her for whiskey now my money's my own. But I'm as drunk as the devil so just leave me alone.
Lonesome Wail
The walls around me are still pink. And there's still make-up in the sink.
I didn't think it'd take this long to finally realize you're gone. There's still hangers on the rack hoping one day you'll come back. I didn't think it'd take this long to finally realize you're gone. I'll let the breeze carry my song and pray you'll follow the notes home.
There wasn't much you didn't take except the dried rose from our first date.
I didn't think it'd take this long, to finally realize you're gone. When the wine gets to my head I still sleep on my side of the bed. I didn't think it'd take this long to finally realize you're gone. I'll let the breeze carry my song and pray you'll follow the notes home. Now hear my lonesome wail.
Three Kisses
Sweetness, I'm telling you no lies. My heart leaps up whenever your eyes meet mine. But I'm mixed up baby don't know which way to go. I'll follow your lead as long as we go slow. This world's full of uncertainty but you can't count on me for eternity. That's the only thing I know for sure. There's lots of fishes in the sea but you're the only one I want to swim with me. That's the only thing I know for sure.
Had my fair share of broken hearts been through some times that proved mighty hard. But somehow honey you've given me hope that life ain't always like a hangman's rope. I know it ain't to hard to see that living with you makes me happy. That's the only thing I know for sure. There's lots of fishes in the sea
but you're the only one I want to swim with me. That's the only thing I know for sure.
Spend my time worrying bout what's to come. I guess it's so I know what to run from. But you're an anchor for a stormy soul. Gonna hold on tight if you don't let me go. This world's full of uncertainty but you can't count on me for eternity. That's the only thing I know for sure. There's lots of fishes in the sea but you're the only one I want to swim with me. That's the only thing I know for sure.
CC Rider
Traditional, arr. by Christian Williams
Oh CC rider, see what you gone done? CC rider, see what you gone done? You made me love you but now your man done come. You were standing in the kitchen, in your morning gown. Standing in the kitchen in your morning gown. Cooking up the best damn corned beef hash in town. When I saw him coming, I said "Go and lock the door." Saw him coming said "Go and lock the door." You didn't say nothing but your face fell toward the floor. So I grabbed my pistol and broke that window pane. Grabbed my pistol and broke that window pane. Cocked that hammer and then I took my aim. Last thing I remember before the room went black. Last thing I remember before the room went black. Was the sound of a bell and the smell of corned beef hash. So CC rider, see what you gone done? CC rider see what you gone done? You made me love you but now your man done come.
Itchin' for a Fix of You
Call me up honey and I'll come right quick. You can't squeeze lovin' from a poker chip. I'm long gone - itchin' for a fix of you. I'll hitch a ride or I'll steal a bike. Just promise me you'll leave on the light. I'm long gone - itchin' for a fix of you.
If you're not tired I'm not either. It's cold outside but I've got the fever.
I'm long gone - itchin' for a fix of you. Bossman wants me in by nine. But I've never been one to be on time. I'm long gone - itchin' for a fix of you.
My friends, if you can them that, are always asking where I'm at. I'm long gone - itchin' for a fix of you. They ask me why I don't get drunk. It's cuz I'm on to harder stuff. I'm long gone - itchin' for a fix of you.
I took up smoking just to quit but you're one habit I'll never quit. I'm long gone - itchin' for a fix of you. My pockets are thin but my heart runs deeper.
I'll prove to you that I'm a keeper. I'm long gone - itchin' for a fix of you.
For My Mind, It Was Flyin'
I can't tell anymore, but I'm straining. There's a voice on the breeze and it's pleading. Her name's caught on my lips but I have to admit there's no room in my heart for this feeling.
I can tell this old road's been good for my soul. Even though I feel pangs for letting her go. She thought I should stay I said, "It's better this way." At least that's what I thought when I left her.
I know that she gave it all to me. And everyone wondered where my mind could be.
But I didn't have words or the time to explain, for my mind it was flying, toward the great plains.
So I look to the stars in the sky. And the trees floating past on this westbound freight line. I know that I'm selfish and there's just me to blame, but I'll make it up to her when I come back some day.
Retirement Plan
Green grass waving in a summer's breeze. Clouds float by in the sky with ease.
Eyes closed tight as my mind daydreams. Might be morning or it might be late.
Got work to do but it all can wait. Last thing I'm doing is wasting this day.
These are the things I'll remember most when my hair turns gray and my body grows old.
Sunlight sneaking past those lazy drapes. Bright beam follows my hand to your face. But it's your smile that lights up this place. Shut the clock off 'bout an hour ago. Plans have changed I thought you should know. Well I ain't leaving your arms no more. No I ain't leaving your arms no more. These are the things I'll remember most when my hair turns gray and my body grows old. I thought you should know I'm not leaving you no more.
Cora
One mornin' 'bout the break of day. I heard my loving pappy say, "By the Lord above this old oak treek. Don't let me rest in no six-by-three. "No matter what your momma thinks I won't be bound by no chain link. And when it's time for soul to die I want my ashes to fill the sky. You can spill me from a moving train. Or let me fall from an aeroplane. However you do it, I don't care. Just promise me I'll be in the air. My eyes'll see New York's skyline. While my legs stretch past the Great Divide. My ears'll hear Congress debate while what counts is already in the Pearly Gates." I asked, "What of the preacher man who says that we belong in the land? Ashes to ashes and all that stuff - that we gotta go back to where we came from?" He said, "The way I see it my curious son in heaven this old body won't serve no one. If all I need is my heart and soul, why not let these old bones circle the globe?"
No Good Baby
You're my no good baby, best I ever had. I could find a better lady but I'll always want you back. Cuz, you're my no good baby, best I ever had. I could find a better lady but I'll always want you back.
I got half-a-mind to ask you, "Where you been last night?" But you smile and bat your lashes and it takes away my fight. Sometimes I get anxious and I don't feel right when all you ever ask for is more of my money and wine. But, you're my no good baby, best I ever had. I could find a better lady but I'll always want you back.
You ain't much for conversation and that would be fine if instead of conversation you'd let me hold you tight. The bar boys tell me I should cut your line but a few shots of whiskey shuts them up all the time. You're my no good baby, best I ever had. I could find a better lady but I'll always want you back.
Cuz, you're my no good baby, best I ever had. I could find a better lady but I'll always want you back.
Old Flame
The sign post tells me almost, but not quite. And my coat is soaked on this cold, rainy night. But I'm still walking toward her light, I'm looking for the candle in her window. It's been too long since I last saw her eyes. And I should've followed her heart instead of mine. But I learned that lesson serving time. Now I'm looking for the candle in her window. I was restless for a life I never knew. I must admit it's wasn't easy leaving you. To my defense I didn't know what else to do than shake these bones and come back home when my ramblin' days were through.
I didn't last long without her in my arms. And the trail I took offered temptations charms. While my body wandered I left her me heart. It's waiting by the candle in her window. I kept an honest face for quite a spell. 'Till I shot the man who told me to go to hell. The details aren't important enough to tell. Now I'm running toward the candle in her window. I was restless for a life I never knew. I must admit it's wasn't easy leaving you. To my defense I didn't know what else to do than shake these bones and come back home
when my ramblin' days were through.
I see the shadow of a broken home. And the porch swing creeks while the tree branches moan. But I realize before me head hangs low, there's never been a candle in her window. I find a weathered note nailed to the door. And it's written by the one whom I adore. My eyes fill up - I can't read anymore.
These words are the source of my sorrow: I was restless for a life I never knew.
I must admit it's wasn't easy leaving you. To my defense I didn't know what else to do than shake these bones and come back home when my ramblin' days were through.
Most days, all I do is sit and cry. And there's work to do but I can't even try. But before I lay my head down every night, I light my darlings, candle in my window.
San Francisco
When I watch my memories flip past like slides I see each image clearly through the glasses of time. And though I might pause quick to dwell on what was it's just to remember from where I came from. Where worries once wandered hope's loosened the binds. And the tears that filled buckets have turned into wine. Dreams once hard to reach pave reality's streets and I don't wish to be someone other than me. These are the things you think about when you're climbing Telegraph Hill. These are the things you think about when you're breathing in North Beach. These are the things you think about in San Francisco.
My heart I protected so selfishly that my soul remained hidden so tragically but you my true love as my heart's only key are the guide through my being unchartered. Through fog shrouded shoreline my eyes strained to see that which to me now can be viewed easily. I've thousands of questions to ask the great sea but the journey's worth more than the answers I seek. And these are the things you think about when you're sleeping on Nob Hill. These are the things you think about when you're haggling in Chinatown. These are the things you think about in San Francisco. This is what I thought about in San Francisco.
All words, unless otherwise noted, by Christian Williams (ASCAP)
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