White Noise And The Road....

White Noise And The Road

White noise and the road
Static on the radio
Blue cloud movin' in
I'm countin' all my sins
Thousands to go
Two mile from home
If the guilty conscience drives
He'll try to skate on by
Hummm...

Love averts her eyes
Smiles a slow, soft sigh
She don' know no lie
But she hears 'em all the time
Hears 'em from the road
They echo down the halls of home
In paper motel wall phone calls
In deeds denied
Betrayal wears real thin
Chasin' down and out has-been
Further 'round the bend
Wave goodbye and hello again
Again, again, again, again
Hummm...

And Love, sweet Love
Does what she does
But needs to be believed

Ties you thought would bind
Seem to loosen, fall behind
Fading from the blood
That still sings in floods of memory
I can take my lonely home
Do supper on my own
Love is somewhere waiting up
But now it's not for me
Hummm...

And Love, sweet Love
Does what she does
But needs to be received

White noise and the road
Static on the radio
Blue cloud movin' in
Countin' all my sin
Hummm...

The Ice Queen of Athens County....

This is a bluegrass song. Kinda.
In honor of Terrell Road, a local road that has "No Ice Control" signs at both ends.

The Ice Queen of Athens County

She’s the Ice Queen of Athens County
Lives up the top of ol’ Terrell Road
Ain’t nobody gonna go and see her
Where it’s always winter, there’s no ice control

And I know this girl
I know this girl
She’s always out of control

Don’ know nobody gonna touch her soul
No Saturday, no rock-an-roll
No college guys, no doe-say-doe
Jus’ keep them all away

She gotta garden and she watch it grow
Sweet potatoes, corn in rows
Dig ‘em, pick 'em, haul 'em down
To town on market day

No matter, spring, summer, fall
Who come courtin’, who can call
Reach that road, look up that hill
They turn around an’ go away

So she’s the Ice Queen of Athens County
Lives up the top of ol’ Terrell Road
Ain’t nobody gonna go and see her
Where it’s always winter, there’s no ice control

But I know this girl
Oh, I know this girl
She’s always out of control

She be lookin’ for a real, real man
Somebody with that special plan
The one who finally climbs that hill
An’ stays

But she’s the Ice Queen of Athens County
Lives up the top of ol’ Terrell Road
Ain’t nobody gonna go and see her
Where it’s always winter, there’s no ice control

Oh, I know this girl
Oh, I know this girl
I know this girl

© D. Dain, 2009

The Village Storefront Church....

I like old-time country stores, old hardware stores, old barbershops and old-time bars with tin ceilings. If I had my choice, a large portion of my time would be spent in those sacred places. And when one of them vanishes into the shadows of our past, our beautiful country dies a little more... along with what is left of a people's heritage.

A couple months ago I was driving through a little Ohio town and saw that one of my favorite country stores was gone. In the window was a sign advertising the space as the meeting place for a church.

Have you noticed, how in tough times, the small town stores vanish and many are replaced by the common but still strange phenomenon of the Non-denominational storefront Church -- you know, the ones with the full sentence-length names?

Well, whether it's a foxhole or Main Street USA, human nature doesn't change much, do it....

Who or what do you put your faith in? The power of the US economy? The government as an extension of the "good" in humanity? Your neighbors? A smooth, but untested politico with big plans and promises and designs on your wallet? Your pitifully frail and fatally flawed human self? Or the God so big that he holds universes in His hand and so artful that He designed every strand of your DNA - and knows your every thought.

This is a rough. And, if you care to reference, you'll find numerous paraphrased (and twisted) quotes from MLK throughout:

The Village Store-Front Church

I used to drive thru every week or so, past the stoplight at the Dew Drop Inn
Get some egg-salad sandwiches, mayo, pickle relish - mustard mixed right in
Local farm-raised Chocolate milk right from the Amish Friends
As an early lunch, it’s good hang-over medicine

I didn’t pass thru for a month or more, and the economy set in
Blue-collar blight hit last year’s hotspot gentrification
No matter who the blames goes to, changes come with the election
And out there in the background hums a lonely violin

And the Village Store is now the village store-front church
With a name from a list of promises made from a politician’s perch
On a stage so far removed from all the pain and hurt
That you can’t see the end of all the promises
You can’t see the end of all the promises

It’s the Pentecostal Church of The Holy Roller Sanctified
To the 13th and no longer secret Apostle Stan the Mortified
Praise the ego as the alter on which the future’s sacrificed
A long-lost verse and a smaller slice of Pie
The Day the Future died

Hope and Change and Righteousness and Love and Peace all Come To Him
With the Seven Signs, Four Horsemen, Second Coming tacked right on The End
Sweet Mary Holy Mother of All Sinners Take me IN
Oh save me
All together now... Hymn Forty-three

Oh promise us the Promised Land
Promise us the Promised Land
Command the deficit to part
Right through that big hole in your heart
Raised from your dead Electric car
Put down your jobs and follow him
Oh follow him

Golden tongue and golden words fall on the floor and spin
Make you dizzy with a light that glows from who knows where and when
Struck down there by the Spirit that flows around, without, within
Criticize and you can tell an lot from the silence of your friends
If empty suits can empathize
Oh, let ‘em

The arc of the moral universe is long, but not that long
When it slips the balance point and it all tips toward wrong
No matter how many attributes are praised and sung in song
If there’s no justice
And there’s no matter
And nothing burning
But the urgency of now

I believe that unarmed truth and love will have the final word
But reality might have a say and reason may yet be heard
Don’t listen to that guy, yeah the one
Behind the curtain
Two masters can’t be served

Forget the immortality proclaimed into obscurity
Live together brothers and fools perish as fools do
No absolute but power and you might think that’s pretty cool
But righteousness will triumph, yes it do
Yes it do

And the Village Store is now the village store-front church
With a name from a list of promises made from a politician’s perch
On a stage so far removed from all the pain and hurt
That you can’t see the end of all the promises
You can’t see the end of all the promises

Hope and Change and Righteousness and Love and Peace all Come To Him
With the Seven Signs, Four Horsemen, Second Coming tacked right on the End
Sweet Mary Holy Mother of All Sinners Take me IN
Oh save me
All together now... Hymn Forty-three

Ah, promise us the Promised Land

© DDC, 2009

Shaky....

Shaky

I got shaky hands and leaky eyes
Tired of shilling compromise
Of lying liars' lying lies
And the way we eat it up

The full debt due is dreck and doom
The end of days might be real soon
We’re slouching toward a ready ruin
And the fire door is nailed shut

Oh my hands
Oh my eyes
Here we stand
And helpless I
Wish wishes win
One last, once more
Hold the course
Steady on
Toward that distant shore

We fenced the range where freedom rang
Where Woody, Jack and Utah sang
Shining cities felt the pang
Slid down the hill in doubt

Cloud floats over Harvest Moon
John Smith and Pocahontas too
Thanksgiving came and stayed and grew
Then the gravy all ran out (Chorus)

Farmer Brown - he plant, he grow
Run the race - he place, he show
Banker take it all, foreclose
Class warfare by a nose

The framers never could relate
We're reined in, tamed, been replaced
With ruthless change for change's sake
And a hope that no one knows(Chorus)

(1st Verse)

Cross my heart, hope to die
Boots off, loved one by my side
No shaky hands, no leaky eyes
Burn it down and start it over
Burn it down and start it over
Burn it down and start it over

© DDC ‘08

Route 50....

(In Honor of the "Bailout" that didn't happen.)

A few months ago I was driving thru the little town of Albany, Ohio, right on route 50, which, as most people know, runs across the heartland of our not-as-great-as-it-was nation, and also through Washington, D.C. I got to the corner where I was to turn onto route 50, looked across the street, and saw a big plastic sign that said: "God Bless America, Diesel $1.99". I looked across at my girlfriend, she looked at me and said, "Now there's a song".

(think a fast shuffle country blues)

Route 50

Lookin' down on my little farm from the ridge-top up above
Brand new four-lane cuttin' through, fencin' in my love
Change is rarely good, and it's always hard to bear
I remember all this open range, before the bypass got my share

Drivin' thru my little town, shops all boarded up
One stop sign, one gas station, take my time, I got enough
My job's moved all the way to China, mmmm.... seems Route 50 takes you there
Glance across the street, the future's hangin' in the air

(Chorus)
And if you're there, a-starin' at that Gas Station sign
It says "God Bless America, She's runnin' out of time"
Jus' 'cause it's up there on the plaaastic, don't mean it's set in stone....
But some things were better left alone

I can’t remember when my taxes ever came right back to me
Got Congress in my pocket, an' they rob me blind, you see
Bunker Hill and Trenton, “Sons of Liberty”
Might be we need to throw ourselves a brand new tea-par-tee
I'll wear my Ten Commandment t-shirt when they stand me up ag’in that wall....
Still my country, still my land, no blindfold – that’s my call
Can't remember where you come from and you ain't goin' anywhere.…
We bear left on Route 50, the future's flyyyin' through the air

I have known for years that Pogo got it right
We have met the enemy, and he's sittin' here tonight
And if God can bless this country, Lord -- He can take it alllll away
And it takes more than a plastic sign to keep ourselves at bay

(Chorus)

© 2006, D. Canterbury

piece d'retirement....

This is a very old song. Inserted here only because the times we are in prompted my memory.

piece d’retirement

At his retirement party, well they handed him a watch
And told him that there was no pension fund
All the lawyer said was that the union had been bled
And some white-collar type was on the run

And he thought about the time, way back in ‘89
When he chickened-out and went against the strike
There was no seniority, just three kids and a wife
And he thought, well this kinda serves me right

So he got up the next morning, ran the sweeper round the house
An’ headed for the cafe for some brunch
As he sat there watchin’ people watch cholesterol counts
He remembers when they used to call it lunch

And he thinks on all the blessings and all of the cliche
That come with the territory of old age
And wonders if it’s not too late for lightning to strike twice,
Grant him wealth and wisdom, and a twenty-year-old wife

When life begins at forty and you missed the startin’ gate
What happens when you’re sixty and the rent check’s two weeks late
And the monthly security society provides
Leaves you cleanin’ toilets at Six-Fifty-Five

An hour, a day, a month, a year; life is so much fun
Condemned to drinkin’ decafe and watchin’ ol’ reruns
He savors life’s last bite before retiring for the night
And sits down beside the bed to clean the gun
He sits there in that rocking chair
And carefully begins to clean the gun

© D. Dain, circa 1987(?)

And Love You....

I was trying to channel John Prine. Didn't work, but I have no shame and it is sincere, so I put it down anyway.

And Love You

Before we make that move uptown
I want a chance to hold my ground
To stand right here another twenty years
And love you

Been walkin' circles, now I’m found
Been rescued from the lost dog’s pound
I’ve been redeemed and now I need
Time to feed on all the blessings

I’m grateful for the time we’ve had
Lord knows I don’t deserve all that
I've found the house where true love lives
Don't have to bust the locks and steal it

Tonight we’ll take a little ride
County roads in full moonlight
When I break and beg and pray for time
Just take me home and love me

You know I’ll follow you through thick and thin
Past the point where light grows dim
On though what most folks call the end
You are Love and love I carry

Before we make that move uptown
I want the chance to hold my ground
To stand right here another twenty years
And love you
Love you

© D. Dain, 2008.

Clue

This song started from a comment that I heard Lucy Kaplansky make about her mom.
So... leave clues. Lucy's mom said to.

Outside of "Bell In My Chest", this is probably my favorite personal composition. And, it IS personal. Not an untrue word or wish.

You know who you are -- Love Love Love

Clue

I didn’t leave a footprint in the sand
I’m not by the ocean
There might be one in the mud
I’m a stick – been stuck for years
Won’t be walkin’ on the Strand
I never made that kinda jack and those are not my people
Might be hangin’ with the band
They let me sing sometimes

And if you look for me, you’ll find me
Tho’ I never had one, I surely left a clue
If anybody knows, I’m certain that it’s you
‘cause you been there
It’s where I carry you…

Please, just no jokes ‘bout me
Drownin’ in my fears
‘cause there’s the very good chance
That it is true
And while it’s also true I had no neck
It's not that bad
‘cause it would not have been my best feature anyway
And I never missed it

All and all and all and all
Is Love Love Love
All and all and all and all
Is Love Love Love

And if you look for me, you’ll find me
Tho’ I never had one, I’m sure I left a clue
If anybody knows, I’m certain that it’s you
‘cause you been there
It’s where I carry you…
Oh, you been there
It's where I carry you

© Daniel Dain, 2006.

Since Radio Died

When I was about two or three, my dad would stand me in his lap as he drove the big ol' Dodge toward home after Sunday evening Church. There were three radio towers on the hill above Crab Orchard, WVa, and I was afraid of them. Dad would gently laugh as he described the scene: "You would point up at the flashing lights and say, "the Towes, the Towes (I couldn't do "Rs" yet.). I afaid, I afaid."" Then he would let me hold onto the wheel on the way down the hill.

I'm still afraid, Dad. Just not of radio towers.

This has those towers, a Kristofferson(Stevens/Cash) song and a famous DJ's name in it -- and a sense of loss -- all of it.

Since Radio Died

Used to be there was a man down at the station
Used to be you could call him up and give him your request
Used to be he'd honor dedications
You could count on him to pull you through and always send his "best"

Used to be they kept the signal on location
Now on a real clear night you see the satellite from here
Used to be that tower pointed straight to heaven
And that flashin' light was always on to guard against the fear

(Chorus)
But since radio died I been spendin' my time
Lis'nin' to myself
It's not the singin' that's hard
It's the wishin' that I could do better
Since radio died I been waitin' a while
On things that never come
Dreamin's all but done since radio died

Payola turned to billboard corporations
You Peel it back and see the green all underneath
Sunday Morning Comin' Down Gospel and Salvation
Now it’s talkers, stock reports, wars and Middle East

(Bridge)
And some computer runs rotation from a bunker in LA
It's got a master list and never quits just-a-pushin' crap your way
It's got sixty-four - no room for more, and they all sound the same....
And as you drink, you think "You sad luck sucker, mebbe they'll play your song today."

(Chorus)

Used to be there was a man down at the station
Used to be you could call him up and give him your request
Used to be he would honor dedications
You could count on him to pull you through
You could count on him to pull you through
Count on him to pull you through...

© D. Dain, 1999.

The Devil's Handshake

This started as a rip on 80's Arena-Rock Cowboy songs, then I tried to bring that into a modern setting. This song is for the TV Evangelists, politicians, Hedge Fund and Health Care Systems managers, and predators of all kinds.... Here's the flash: you CAN sell your soul.

The Devil's Handshake

I conned an earmark trickle-down
Like tossin' offa shot a' Crown
Cooked the books, gone to ground
Slush-fund glory bound
Bought the vote, got your money
Been cheatin' like a Bear eats honey
I'm a bad, bad man
There's an angry mob and an old oak tree
Somewhere in God's Grand Plan for me

I run your HMO and retirement plan
I take the taken, scam the scam
When I cash out, I leave town
They're still addin’ up the tab
Raise your rates, deny the claim
Dish out dividends in pain
The blood on my white collar
Cancels out the promises I made

I got Congress in my pocket
So my lobby's in your wallet
Dress it up in God and Country
Don't let fact get in the way
An' I can Testify right in your eye
An' mean the end I Justify
Twist the Truth and take The Fifth
Down to Judgment Day

The investors always call for more
So I moved that money way-off-shore
Revelation Seventeen
Says sumpin' 'bout a "Whore"
Playin' shell games with the gains
Got no conscience, got no shame
Hey, what year is that Champagne?
Ill-fated orphans curse my name

No time to turn and wave bye-bye
At the dead-end street with the One-Way sign
Knee-capped by a baseball bat
The HMO don't cover that
Blindfold all the lies I told
In a trunk ride down a river road
No six foot deep, just a shallow hole
22-long and a burnin' soul
The Devil's Handshake
Devil's Handshake
Devil's Handshake
It's waitin'
The Devil's Handshake
Devil's Handshake
Devil's Handshake
It's waitin'
I'm a bad, bad man

© Daniel Dain, 2008.

Higher Ground....

Well, here we go again, folks. It's Memorial Day. Seems the Memorial "just gets bigger as we go. Bales of memory like boats in tow." Be a special one for me. The 2nd without my Dad. Well, not really. He's here. And there. Going to take his Bronze Star out to him for a little visit on Sunday.

Higher Ground

It's Memorial Day
I'm goin' back to the old town
Back to the little white Church
Up on that Higher Ground
Gonna walk in the street
Gonna see the parade
Gonna smell all the flowers
Gonna visit the graves
On Memorial Day

And we'll talk about the kind of man
Who'd lay his life down
I've seen him on the street
He's from our hometown
The catch, the "gleam of glory bright"
Is seeded on the mound
Here’s hopin’ that the cause was just
‘cause the cost keeps comin’ round

On Memorial Day
Back in the hometown
Back at the big white house
Up from the old playground
Gonna sit on the porch
Sip lemonade
The sweet and the sour
Go together... these days

Dusk fallin' on this oak-lined street
My toddler trips across my feet
Comfort's arms don't keep
A Crescent Moon
From hangin' in the east
And I ponder on a way of life
That draws it's strength from war and strife
Demands the bloody sacrifice
And wonder
That there might be a better way

On Memorial Day
I'm goin' back to the old town
Back to the little white Church
Up on that Higher Ground
Gonna walk in the street
Gonna see the parade
Gonna smell all the flowers
Gonna visit the graves
On Memorial Day

© 2006, D. Dain

Failed....

Failed

Red creek runs the hollow
Below the shotgun house on the hill
Next to the railroad trackin' toward the town
That like the mine done gone and failed
Failed, failed
Failed....

TV’s pickin’ up two channels
Charleston weak and Bluefield strong
Both'll go next winter
When the digital turns on

Molly left past two year now
Kinda put me in a crunch
Took the Little One, the blame, and the free lunch
The truck is runnin' rougher
The ol’ John Deere needs a clutch
Money’s tight - don't seem to last the month

The Little One don’t write no more
The cards I mail come back
I miss her most, that crooked smile,
The light, the touch, the trust I had
Had, had...

If there was gas to burn I’d run the truck
On back the poacher path
Take a chance a fresh-cut Cherry'll pull me
Past this winter’s wrath

The Amish don’t ask questions
Furniture don’t talk
I’ll confess my sins in private
To Grandpa’s curly maple Cross

But there’s two beers, half’a bottle
Jim Beam on the porch
Rack of wood and coulda-shouldas in my mind
Hot Stove on the radio
Oh Lord, I miss ol’ Joe
Even Baseball failed us over time

An' the little one don’t write no more
The cards I mail come back
I miss her most, that crooked smile,
The light, the touch, the trust I had
Had, had...

Red creek runs the hollow
Shotgun house on the hill
An' the railroad trackin' toward the town
That like the mine done gone and failed
Failed, failed
Failed....

© D. Dain, 2008.

Be No Cushion....

Be No Cushion

There is darkness on the edge of our time
Along the line of our horizon
Under the smoke-rise we see them
Standing In the tongues of flame
There is a family resemblance
Sadness grabs our hearts

Barney, you must go now and tell Andy
Mayberry is dead
No more sleepy hair-cuts
Slow talks on slower golden
Afternoons
On a bench outside
A door that doesn't open
Anymore
Oh dear Barney
Times are such
Just one bullet will not do...

Laughing at that screaming little
Preacher in the pulpit
Waving his ancient Book around
"Crazy" don't mean maybe
Look NOW TIME IS and Hope
May not be found

And Love will be no cushion, be no cushion
When times get hard
Love will be no cushion, be no cushion
When the image falls so far

The wise are with us always as they point out
That the sky has never fallen
Or wolf knocked at that door
They take pity on these simple songs
Our Father's bless'd Tradition
Curses flying from their mouths
Bound up in all their science
Yet still so unprepared
We beg them to come home

And Love will be no cushion, be no cushion
When times get hard
Love will be no cushion, be no cushion
When the angel falls that far

(Repeat 2nd Verse - "Barney..." and Chorus)

Three Poems on Judgment....

Three Poems on Judgment

God Has Turned His Back

It was Mom's TV where I first heard it. I know,
because I've blocked that channel, so the dogs
couldn't pick up on the bad language.
Anyway, the Preacher on Mom's way-too-loud TV
said that God has turned His back on us,
but he went on and on and on about it, enumerating
the reasons that we are The Great Satan, and for the most part,
I had to agree. But he was stealing his material,
and The Seven Deadly Sins cover most of it.
For my part, I think that cell phones
could take a lot of the blame,
but it's more or less than that,
in days when no one looks much past
the bumper anymore. No side-glances or smiling nods,
no eye contact for either kindred spirit or
despirited bums. The Town Square, all beautiful trees,
statue and fountain, with the empty Santa's House
surrounded by empty churches, cardboard signs
at the on-ramp, all of it might as well not be there.
And while Main Street’s dying, I'm sitting at the stoplight,
looking at the probably pretty girls turning left
across the bow of my old boat. The sets of three-second frames
total a 90 second movie that could entertain,
but for the hands to ears that spoil the view.
No town square and trees, statue and fountain.
No empty prayers for either Christmas bling or Father Christmas.
Just instant message, voice-mail, call waiting.
And the collection of frames roll their way up the on-ramp,
past the cardboard "Out to lunch" sign
propped against the foot of a panhandler's wheelchair,
chocked against the curb
and facing away from Main Street below.

Green Town, Illinois:

Judgment runs fast
Judgment comes flying
Judgment catches up
And they don’t make Cream-Sponge Para Litefoot Tennis Shoes anymore...
even in China

Fate lies in... now, not waiting
Years pass that tow-head boy
And scythes kiss the fields of Illinois


Midnight Snack

Judgment doesn’t waste time
Writing overwrought obituaries
Or talking sweet memories
Judgment doesn't do morality plays -
At least not from our script
Judgment reads Revelation Chapter Six
Aloud before bedtime
Its midnight snack is the local Rumor Mill.
A quart of wheat and three quarts of barley
The bread of its Dagwood
Our juiciest sins the meat
Our excuses the condiments
The overweight evidence
Of our collective, hereditary guilt
Is Judgment's cold milk
The rest stripped bare -
Still Lying there on the plate
Still accountable

dc - 2008

Marlin 39....

A short exchange between Chuck Icks and myself spurred me to this. Revisions are probably forthcoming, but don't expect all the cliches to disappear.

Marlin 39

Dad had a rifle
A Marlin Twenty-two
Pre-war Model 39
Octagon and all re-blued
The design was old,
It never changed
Every part was tried and true
Tried and true

Long one down a squirrel' eye,
Groundhog on the run
Showed me more than I could learn
Still, he taught me some
Most of what I ken
‘bout people and their kinds
It came from him
Dad had a Marlin 39

The barrel had a full eight sides
Dad had a few sides too
Still no doubt and no mistake
Straight-shooter thru and thru
Walk the trap-line cold and wet
Skin and stretch and dry
Life is choices, good and bad
Do it right and die
Dad had a Marlin 39

(Chorus)
He grew up in the mines
Working at fourteen
Didn’t learn to shoot back there
It was a favor from the war machine
He didn't talk it up
But the photos showed the change
Just knuckled down and went to work
Wouldn't sow or throw the blame
It’s a Greatest Generation thing

God will not forsake
His people when they call
And though He will correct you, son
His Promise stands to break your fall
He has a plan for every man
Love God, land and line
In sweetness of obedience
Grow peace and peace of mind
Dad had a Marlin 39

(Chorus)

God will not forsake
HIs people when they call

© D. Dain, 2008.

Wings of the Harleys....

Wings of the Harleys -- John Gorka

Bottles back the bar
Lined up like choirboys
Singing to hide the scars they pour
The Woman there is wise
With a roughened whiskey voice
She’s the one that points you out the door
It’s pinball in the dark
’cause it’s a quarter for the lights
The Woman’s tips are nickels and dimes
Leather when it’s cool
Denim when it’s right
Like tattoos, some things don’t change with time

(Chorus)
It’s the power of the bottle
Oh, the currents flow in here
Where the Wings of the Harleys
All land for shots and beer
And all they ever want
Is to drink their fill alone
Make a little noise
As they head off for home

Some are big and mean
Some are in between
Some don’t care ‘bout nothin’ at all
Nothing but their bikes
And the neon lights
Some will clock you if they hear the call
But it’s not just the drinks
That bring the bikers in
It’s those four walls of freedom they can ring
The Woman there is nice
There’s no chains upon her wings
The only chains they need they bring along

(Chorus)

Ummm…
Bottles back the bar
Lined up like choirboys
Ummm…

When Fear Follows

I've never really been able to understand the concept of "necessary evil". I realize that there are people out there (a certain VP, for-instance) who use it as an excuse, needed for "our protection", but doesn't it just come down to "evil'? And how is that necessary?

When Fear Follows

Unsung heroes lost from memory
Returning home unwanted history
When fear follows retreat is impossible
From the Trojan Horse within
Guns and bombs cannot compare
To the danger of the soul’s despair
And the cost cannot be counted
By those who were not there

Take the sons of a nation
Following their flag
Watch them return home, again
In a body bag
When fear follows retreat is impossible
From the frozen corpse within
And economies can prosper
Without wars we do not win

(Chorus)

Home again
Fear follows, even here
Comfort sings, let freedom ring
Oh, take comfort in your fears

Guns and bombs cannot compare
To the danger of the soul’s despair
And the cost cannot be counted
By those who were not there
When fear follows retreat is impossible
From the Trojan Horse within
And the necessary evils
Mark everywhere we’ve been
(Chorus)

© D. Dain, 1996.

Toward Home

Insecurities abound, it seems. I always try to have enough gas in the jeep to make it home without stopping. Just in case....

Toward Home

Fog is layin' on the trees
Sun is swingin' low
Took my time a-gittin' here
Headed back as fast as I can go
And I’ll be feelin’ fine
and load it out my mind
Soon as I catch sight
Of that Hocking County line

‘cause 'I’m jus’ workin’ toward home
Work my way on down this road
‘til I can pull into the drive,
See my baby’s smile, and tuck into her arms
Dog sniffin’ on the tires
Checkin’ out jus’ where I been
They don’t tell time the way we do
But I’m more like them, than I’m like you
‘cause in the mornin’ when I go
Get jus’ ten miles off the farm
It’s already been a long, long while
An’ I jus’ wanna turn aroun’
But I got ninety more to drive
Then ten hours on the job
An’ it wears its way real thin
But lookin’ back on where I been
Love and Love's been on my side

(Chorus)
An’ I don’t know why
But I’m more connected all the time
Can’t stray too far
From my baby’s arms
An' everything is fine
take a load right off my mind
Soon as I catch sight
Of that Hocking County line

It’s another do and die
You push the good on thru the bad
Might be 'nother damn cliché, but one fine sunny day
I’ll turn it ‘round and take it home
One fine day,
I’ll do it right and stay

(Chorus)

An’ I’m jus’ workin’ toward home
Work my way on down this road
‘til I can pull into the drive, see my baby’s smile
And fold into her arms
Dog sniffin’ on the tires
Checkin’ out jus’ where I been
They don’t tell time the way we do
But I’m more like them, than I’m like you…
I’m more like them

© Daniel Dain, 2006.

Broken....

Broken

You took the path of least resistance
And made it all your own
I've never seen such bland indifference
To a life of chances blown
And you say, since you ended up this way
It's all God's fault
Anyway, you were much too busy drinking
To return The Call

‘cause nothing’s never gone unplanned
You Fortunate Daughter
It's all one big command performance now
Losing track of real and true companions
They're leaving notes on doors
Filled with Xs, Os, and questions
And vague threats to call your Mom
It's not that they don't know just where
To find you, 'cause we do
And all the drinking buddies
They don’t balance out the true

And you lay your fate upon the bar
And you practice on your wistful smile
So busy keeping all good company
You show up after closing time
A stray cat, only better spoken
Throw blame over your shoulder
Never looking back at luck

Find the shallow formed relief
That frames the soft blond innocence
Mirror-glanced the barfly moths fall
Drawn to vodka flame
And all of them still love you more
Than you would care to think about
It’s a thing you can’t return
And it leaves you shamed
And you scorn the best the best can give
And dodge the worst just being who you are
And use and use and use the users over

And you lay your fate upon that bar
And you practice on your wistful smile
The better to be all good company
You show up after closing time
A stray cat, only better spoken
Throw blame over your shoulder
Never looking back at luck

Go, you swear
That piece by piece it's all under repair
While we both know that
Everything is broken
You show up after closing time
A stray cat, only better spoken
Throw blame over your shoulder
Never looking back at love

© D. Dain, 2007.

All I Wanted Was This Picture....

I've been working on this one off and on for a long while. This is the latest incarnation.

All I Wanted Was This Picture

All I wanted was this picture
One thing I could carry and keep
Don’t let me go too long
Time’s I can hardly breathe

God did not grant me perfect vision
I was not blessed with Second Sight
A lot of life is solitary
No guarantee past faith and past moonlight

And all I wanted was this picture
One thing I could carry and keep
Don’t let me go too long
Time’s I can hardly breathe

In the mornings in the mirror
In the corner of my eye
A ghost of faith -- of moonlight, reaching
Past my shoulder, past my life
Past my shoulder, past my life

And the ghost, it haunts my waking hours
Old times reach to touch me while I wait
Like me, oh they’ve lost the pow’r
The ghost can hardly bear the weight
It carries for us both
There's a crack and now the light is leakin' out
Past the edge of that locked door
Shines back down the track of years
Don't dare go back for more
It would never be so good

But, in the mornings in the mirror
In the corner of my eye
A ghost of faith -- of moonlight, reaching
Past my shoulder, past my life
Past my shoulder, past my life
Past my shoulder, past my life
Past my shoulder, past my life

And all I wanted was this picture
One thing I could carry and keep
Don't let me go too long
Don't let me go too long
Don't let me go too long
Don't let me go too long

© D. Dain, 2006.

Road Dancer....

I wrote this many years ago.

Jamie Brockett had part of an album in the can and I named this song after the working title....


Road Dancer

I never tell a lie
There's two sides to every story
And I ride that center line
Between reality and glory
And while I know
That love is not enough
Still I always
Let Her trip me up

Love's the road and I'm a dancer
Born to trouble and takin' chances
And I never get enough
Never get enough

From the beaches of Montana
To the shores of Baffin Bay
From the Rockies down to Boston Town
I've danced my life away
From a movin' motel box-car
To the Four-Star top-floor suite
Success somehow eluded me
And my restless, wanderin' feet

And hope is over the horizon
In a castle, just beyond my reach
And my Sleepin' Princess is a phone booth
Out behind "Merle's Gas and Eats"
An' I'm a-preachin' "Love and Peace"
But I'll be here all week....

Still, I never tell a lie
There's two sides to every story
And I ride that center line
Between reality and glory
And while I know that
Love is not enough
I always seem
To let Her trip me up

Love's the road and I'm a dancer
Born to trouble and takin' chances
And l never get enough
Never get enough
Never get enough
Never get enough

© D. Dain, 1992.

Cover Cowboy

I ran an open stage for several years. There are few things more "soul-killing" than trying to satisfy self-involved and indulgent, and in some cases almost talentless musicians night after endless night. And yes, the music from "Rhinestone Cowboy" does fit the chorus... on purpose. Just to make it more painful.

Cover Cowboy

Well it must have been last Sunday
You saw me at the open stage
With my fake felt hat, my Chinese boots,
And my cheesy “Turn the Page”
I sang with soooo much feelin’
You jus’ know it caused me pain
But it might have been the fact
That “No One Called Me by My Name”

(chorus)
I’m jus’ a cover cowboy
Playin’ other peoples songs the way they hear ‘em on the radio
‘nother cover cowboy
An imaginary man in an imaginary video
And I keep standin’ on those tracks, stranded in the rain,
Waitin’ on you momma, waitin’ on that traaaaain

Got a “No Fear” t-shirt and a pickup truck
Shiny belt buckle and a little luck
It’s gonna take a lot more than a little luck
I might win the competition, don’t you know
Might win a couple tickets to the sold-out show
Ohhh it’s always, always a sold-out show

(chorus)
When you’re a cover cowboy
Playin’ other peoples songs the way they hear ‘em on the radio
‘nother cover cowboy
An imaginary man in an imaginary video
Got a “No Fear” t-shirt, pickup truck,
Bottle of velvet and a lotta luck
An' I keep standin’ on those tracks, stranded in the rain,
Waitin’ on you momma, waitin’ on that traaaaain
Standin’ on those tracks, stranded in the rain,
Waitin’ on you momma, waitin’ on that traaaaain


© D. Dain, 1997.

In honor of Ken Burns' WWII, on PBS.... "Know Fear"

Know Fear

The young man wore a t-shirt
That said he had "No Fear"
We bumped, I said "Excuse me son"
And sat down to drink my beer
And I saw the beach at Normandy
The trench at Guadalcanal
The jungle just outside Da Nang
And I wondered how
He don’t know fear

'til you feel the knife hit bone
And know the blood is all your own
'til you're starin' down the barrel
Four-thousand miles from home
And you think about your family
And you see them oh-so-clear
You don't know fear

Oh, you won't find it on the weight-room floor
Or on the football field
Pills and booze might by you some
But you need the thought they steal
'til the doctor said she's got bad news
And winter's hand comes callin' near
You don't know fear

'til you feel the knife hit bone
And know the blood is all your own
'til you're starin' down the barrel
Four-thousand miles from home
And you think about the one you love
And you see her oh-so-clear
You don't know fear
You don't know fear

The young man wore a t-shirt
It said he had "No Fear"

© D. Dain, 1997.

Fall Away

Fall Away

Call me home,
my own have never been that far from You
And I've been as all
since lilacs bloom, the stripers run and Summer's come
With only hope
I'm born into that Nature thing
Knowing right and doing wrong
I let it fall away

And I can't help
but think on where we've been
Crying out to anything
Whistling past that fancy yard; our communal separation
We drive toward home
and all that all those left behind can say
Is that knowing right and doing wrong
I let it fall away

And call me home
But while I wait, I live here
Remember me
to my Dad, he won't forget
No matter how many
transient tears and sorrowful no mores get wiped away
It still springs
Oh, it still springs

----And I never look where I am going
----It's hard to tell just where I've been
----Might be sunny on the outside
----Inside is shadowed sin
----Standing up before the Judge
----Is talking to a friend

"… the least of these"
my arrival may be very unexpected
Having been nothing
but the subject of vague hope from just a few
Draw a line, Pretending to Belief to Destination
And it still springs
Oh, it still springs

----And I never look where I am going
----It's hard to tell just where I've been
----Might be sunny on the outside
----Inside is shadowed sin
----Standing up before the Judge
----Is talking to a friend

But call me home
I've never been that far from You
Across the Vale,
of forest, river, wailing wall of waiting
It cannot be
that far for me, I'm counting
I'm knowing right and doing wrong
Oh, don’t let me fall away
Oh, knowing right and doing wrong
Don't let me fall away

© 2007, D. Dain

Pimpin' The Blame....

Ok, this song/rap is a combination of two separate incidents that were directly related to me. I combined them with my own observations and interpretations. I believe that popular NeoCon radio personalities and well-known liberals are the ones "pimpin' the blame".

Pimpin' The Blame

you slither 'cross the tracks to my side of town
leavin' a trail of slime so the rest of your kind can follow, follow
across the street from the grocery sto'
you stand on the corner with yer $40 dollar 'ho'
1/2-a-block up from the jr. high school
fly ain't fly and cool ain't cool no mo', no mo'

as we walk on by you never take your eye
from my 10-year-old daughter
you motion to the ho a-standin' there waitin'
like a lamb led to slaughter
i'm between my little girl and the trash
hold on to her, keep her from lookin' back
i believe you, so believe you me
you owe a death to society
you ask "you wanna a piece a this?"
a-here's a hollow-point you can kiss

and
(chorus)
get the **** away from me boy i'll shoot you dead (x4)

escalades make the rounds 'round the block
still, it's all malt likker to the Clear Channel talkers
keep your ear to the ground and the neighborhood watchers
and you watch 'em turn up dead, dead
it's one thing to listen while you're ridin' in your car
about white-flight on the NPR
about the welfare system and ol' FDR
and the easy money made jus' pimpin' blame hard, hard
but it's another when it's does a drive-by
on the neighborhood bar (chorus)

check the PC hypocrisy at the real world door
it's got nothin' to do with the real state of poor
the reaction in relation to the real state of things
you creep on the corner don't give a crap about blame
but if you could do radio you'd pimp that hate
and sooner or later it's fish or be bait (chorus)

jus' pimpin' the blame, pimpin' the blame
it's got nothin' to do with the real state of pain
jus' pimpin' the blame, uh huh uh, and (chorus)

i'm between my little girl and the trash
hold on to her, keep her from lookin' back

© D. Dain, 2007.

Worth A Song....

Worth A Song

She can speak intelligencia
Make a mean cheese sandwich
Talk Latin to the dog

Long, black dresses
Italian table wine
Too much education
Way too much free time
and too much coffee

Wouldn't you say
She's worth a song?

© D. Dain, 1990.

I Can't Remember, They're Just Names....

I Can’t Remember, They’re Just Names

I can’t remember, they’re just names
And I’m not tryin’ to change somebody’s mind
Got a little nit to pick
Couple tricks to try and I’ll be fine
Writin’ while I’m drivin’
It’s when I do the little thinkin' that I do
Caught here in the traffic
The only freedom of the road is solitude

(And) Sometimes, if not always, it’s all me
If it’s your hat, why’s it hangin’ on my tree?
Hard to walk a mile when the shoe don't fit
Take that trip and then you’ll see...

Let's talk about this human stain,
Sad, sweet, short, conditional refrain
Follow all the rule of thumb
It all comes down to just one thing
An' if you’re the one a-listenin’
Why am I the one in pain?
Jus' how it's got to be
I don’t bother to explain

(And) Sometimes, if not always, it’s all me
If it’s your hat, why’s it hangin’ on my tree?
How you gonna walk a mile when the shoe don’t fit?
Take that trip and then you’ll see...

Maybe Rodney got it wrong
Can’t spin out when the give-a-damn’s gone red
Sometimes a curve is just a curve
And there’s a lighthouse in the cornfield up ahead
I know that you don’t care
Just in case, give it a wave before we’re dead
And I stopped meaning all that much
Just to keep the children fed

(And) Sometimes, if not always, it’s all me
If it’s your hat, why’s it hangin’ on my tree?
Hard to walk a mile when the shoe don't fit
Take that trip and then you’ll see...

I can't remember, they're just names
And I'm not tryin' to change somebody's mind

© Daniel Dain, 2006.

Nashville Train....

This is an old one that recently made it back into rotation in our somewhat spotty practice schedule....

Nashville Train

All my life, I've been waitin' on that train
To roll through my town and past my house and carry me away
Didn't matter much to me how the track was laid
All I knew is I would do almost anything

And if you listen very carefully
You hear that Nashville Train
From Memphis out to Muscle Shoals
And the little towns that lie between
And I don't know jus' when I'm leavin'
Or even if my ticket's paid
Think of all the dreams I wasted
Waitin' on the Nashville Train

There are things that you can come to love
More than life itself
They can pull you down and turn you out
Leave you stale up on that shelf
An' while I'm not too sure
What this life is all about
All I know is I could do
With a little less self doubt

And if you listen very carefully
You can hear that Nashville Train
From Athens out to Bato' Rou'
And all the dreams that lie between
And I don' know jus' when I'm leavin'
Or even if I'll make the grade
Think'n "all the time I've wasted"
Waitin' on that Nashville Train

There's a lot of people out there
Been waitin' jus' like me
An' waitin' never done no good
Never set no captive free
And I been sittin' here too long
To worry on my state of mind
When it comes to movin' on
There's always things you leave behind

And all my life
All my life....

And if you listen very carefully
You hear that Nashville Train
From Memphis out to Muscle Shoals
And the little towns that lie between
And I don't know jus' when I'm leavin
'Or even if my ticket's paid
Think of all the dreams I wasted
Waitin' on the Nashville Train

© D. Dain, 1998.

Rublev's Dog - "What kind of dog is that?"

Great little article/introduction. A right-thinking guy, Chuck, of Rublev's Dog.


http://rublevsdog.blogspot.com/2007/05/dogs-weltanshaung.html

Effective Love

My father went to be with his Father at eight-thirty AM, May 3rd.

He spent his life, both public and private, caring for people.

As he grew older, he lost some of his considerable mental faculties. But he still had the ability to shoot to the heart of the matter.

Love, he said, defined for practical purpose, is simply "beneficial caring". And he didn't mean just the niceties of modern philanthropy, writing that check to the deacon's benevolence fund or aid for Darfur, but actual in-your-face care. For many, that check might assuage the guilt complex which passes for conscience, and provide a false self-satisfaction; but my dad's aim was "Effective Love".

So it comes down to what's important: the self-satisfaction most of us seek and settle for, or real, deep and abiding effectiveness. Beneficial caring requires effort -- and response. It's a sure-fire guarantee of effectiveness, in both the giving and receiving.

Dad left school in the 8th grade to support his father, mother and sister. Called away from this for WWII, he refused a deferment and achieved the rank of Staff Sergeant in the Army. As a member of an anti-aircraft artillery unit, he served for 3 ½ years in the European theater from North Africa, Sicily, Italy, France to Germany, being awarded a Bronze Star -- which he never wore.

He returned to assume care of his family, caring for his own invalid father for eleven years.

The young man who didn't get past 8th grade taught himself to read both Hebrew and Greek, and taught college courses.

He was the best father a boy could hope for and the best friend a man can have.

My dad was effective. And his whole life was a demonstration of Effective Love.

And my father was a righteous man.

My father IS a righteous man.


Love you, Dad. Goodbye and hello and see-you-soon.


"And there are more i remember
And more i could mention
Than words i could write in a song
But i feel them watching
And i see them laughing
And i hear them singing along

We're all gonna be here forever
So mama don't you make such a stir
Just put down that camera
And come on and join up
The last of the family reserve"

- from The Family Reserve, by Lyle Lovett


And the moon is a sliver of silver
Like a shaving that fell on the floor of a Carpenter's shop
And every house must have it's builder
And I awoke in the house of God
Where the windows are mornings and evenings
Stretched from the sun across the sky north to south
And on my way to early meeting I heard the rocks crying out
I heard the rocks crying out

Be praised for all Your tenderness by these works of Your hands
Suns that rise and rains that fall to bless and bring to life Your land
Look down upon this winter wheat and be glad that You have made
Blue for the sky and the color green
That fills these fields with praise

And the wrens have returned and they're nesting
In the hollow of that oak where his heart once had been
And he lifts up his arms in a blessing for being born again
And the streams are all swollen with winter
Winter unfrozen and free to run away now
And I'm amazed when I remember Who it was that built this house
And with the rocks I cry out

Be praised for all Your tenderness by these works of Your hands
Suns that rise and rains that fall to bless and bring to life Your land
Look down upon this winter wheat and be glad that You have made
Blue for the sky and the color green
That fills these fields with praise

- from The Color Green, by Rich Mullins

Darkness at the Edge of The Shire

Mayberry Existence

Took the long way (Is there any other?) back to Athens last night, and coming down the hills back of Lithopolis I looked across into the valley west of Lancaster and north of 33 and saw the new Dominion-Centex-MI-etc., moneypit/cookiecutter scourges, all packed in on top of each other.

It reminded me of a smaller version of the view-by-air of Denver, or the West side of Columbus from certain parts of Interstate 70. My first thought was, "Dear Lord". My second thought was "fly - run for your life". Then it all went behind the hills and I turned up the everybodyfields and headed toward the Mayberry part of my existence.

Darkness is coming to The Shire.

Elijah

Elijah -- Rich Mullins (Oct. 21, 1955 - Sept. 19, 1997)

The Jordan is waiting for me to cross thru
My heart is aging I can tell
So Lord I'm begging for one last favour from You
Here's my heart - take it where You will

This life has shown me how we're mended and how we're torn
How it's O.K. to be lonely as long as you're free
Sometimes my ground was stony and sometimes covered up with thorns
And only You could make it what it had to be

And now that it's done
If they dressed me like a pauper or if they dined me like a prince
If they lay me with my fathers or if my ashes scatter on the wind
I don't care

'cause when I go I wanna go out like Elijah
With a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire
And when I look back on the stars it'll be like a candlelight in Central Park
And it won't break my heart to say goodbye

There's people been friendly but they'd never be your friends
Sometimes this has bent me to the ground
But now that this is all ending I want to hear some music once again
'cause it's the finest thing that I have ever found

But the Jordan is waiting though I ain't never seen the other side
Still they say you can't take in the things you have here
So on the road to salvation I stick out my thumb and He gives me a ride
And His music is already falling on my ears

There's people been talking, they say they're worried about my soul
Well I'm here to tell you I'll keep rocking 'til I'm sure it's my time to roll

And when I go I wanna go out like Elijah
With a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire
And when I look back on the stars it'll be like a candlelight in Central Park
And it won't break my heart to say goodbye

Rich Mullins was killed in a car crash in 1997. He was ejected from his vehicle and died immediately. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rich_Mullins

The Demographic Blues

Hummm, lessee. This is for Fred Eaglesmith, Chris Knight, Tommy Womack, Todd Snider, etc.... Just about every "alt-country" player out there.

The Demographic Blues

Here's a song for you; it’s the Demographic Blues
Oh, a song for you, the Demographic Blues
Keep your head on loose and your buzz on straight
No hesitation
Oh, the Demographic Blues

He's a not-so-angry, not-so-young white male
Oh, not-so-angry, not-so-young white male
Got no discretion and no income
And no hesitation
Not-so-angry, not-so-young white male

No self-starters, got no careers in sales
Oh no self-starter, no career in sales
He got two pair a shoe and three pair a pant
An' a 12-pack left after Uncle Sam
Not-so-angry, not-so-young white males

Now, my demographic, it don't look like yours
My demographic, it don't look like yours
Yours has potential and stayin' power
Mine blows his wad on some passed-out-drunk chick's whiskey souuurrrrr....
My demographic sure don't look like yours

(Optional bridge)
Now, I’m shakin’ in my ratty blue suede public radio shoes
When I think about just who listens to who
My cohort segment scares me
I got a case a demographic envy
I take my market research way too far
Spendin' all my time down at the bar

(Break)

My demographic's tryin' to make bail
If he's not right now, he'll soon be sittin' in county jail
He's got one phone call and a bidness card
Two Tylenol, one match and he's been barred
And the smart money says nobody's pickin' up

Oh, those not-so-angry, not-so-young white males
Those not-so-angry, not-so-young white males
Got no discretion and no income
Choosin’ just desserts in lieu of fun
Those not-so-angry not-so-young white males

(repeat 1st verse)

© D. Dain, 2007.

The Angry American

I know this guy. He is a cliché. But this is the guy that everybody in the world sees.
He blames China or Korea or Mexico for the problems caused by his own government.

But, he'll end up working as a greeter at Wally-World.

The Angry American

White number three
Back window of his SUV
Power of Pride
Two sticker for ev-er-ree side
And he tears up that freeway
Flying finger in the wind
Ahh, the wonderful world
Of the Angry American

Feel sorry for me, he say
He used to work in that factory
Now the job is Chinese,
And they’re tearing it down
That’s just half the good news
Things are bound to improve
Now Wal-Mort's movin’ in
On that Semi-hallowed ground

And his half-brother's in line
For a "greeter" job, now
We're fallin' further and faster
Hey, ain't the Founders proud?
A history of ignorance
That cannot be feigned
The presumed to be Empire
Slides down the food chain

And we shall be known by our stickers
By the red, white, and blue
'cause it shows --
Oh, it shows… you
Emotions get stirred
And it never occurs
Through all the talking points and spin
That we recognize just where we been
And the deadliest of deadly sins
Somehow, it never goes out of fashion

(Repeat 1st verse.)

Feel sorry for me, he say
Feel sorry for me, he say
Feel sorry for me, he say
Feel sorry...
For me

© D. Dain, 2007.

He Came From the Mountain -- Bruce Cockburn

Bruce Cockburn from Sunwheel Dance.

He Came From the Mountain

He came from the mountain,
to walk among the wounded.
They couldn't see Him.
But the snow did melt whenever he passed by.

He came behind winter,
His face was like the sun.
They wouldn't see it,
But He sang on the bank that made the waters run.

In His world, we wait.
In His hands, our fate.
Keep on climbing.
We shall see His gate in good time.

He came to the lowlands.
He said we must have faces,
So we could see like him,
Before our wings would ever come to fly.

In His world, we wait.
In His hands, our fate.
Keep on climbing.
We shall see His gate in good time.

Powerlines and Pogo

I'm adding this in deference to my buddy Karl Conrad, AKA "Harmless". When we played regularly, this was one of our first originals. I got the idea while driving home on route 33, chased by a storm and looking at the powerlines crossing the road and marching off into the distance. This was possibly influenced, at least in my first thoughts, by CS Lewis' description of "Norns" in "Out of the Silent Planet".

Power Lines and Pogo

Giant stick men walkin’
They carry lightning in their hands
They proceed in single minded files
All across the land

They fence out the horizons
Defile them where they can
They carry lifelines of destruction
That only awful change demands
And only fear can understand
That we have met the enemy

There is sickness in the sunlight
There is sickness in the air
All around and underground
Sickness everywhere

We drink it in our water
It falls upon our heads
It creeps up from behind us
To catch us in our beds
Is there something more to dread?
Got to be something more….

And we have met the enemy
Yes, we have met the enemy
Oh, we have met the enemy

© D. Dain, 1995.

She's Got My Heart

This might be the worst song I have ever written. But it is pretty catchy.

She’s Got My Heart

She’s got my heart
And everything that matters to me
She’s got my heart,
My credit card, and my brand new car

You know, I never go for the easy rhyme
Just to prove it, I’ll take us back in… time

When she had my heart
And every thing that mattered to me
She had my heart,
My big ol’ house and my good ol’ dog

Yeah, you can tell where it’s goin’ from here
So relax, sit back and pop another beer

‘cause she’s got my grill
My brand-spankin’ new two burner grill
She’s got my grill,
But the propane tank is empty

What she’ll do, nobody knows
I suppose she’ll make a real quick trip to Lowe’s
But she made that trip for nothin’….

'cause I’ve got the final laugh
My credit card is a-finally maxed
And she’s got the final tear
‘cause my poor heart is broken

© D. Dain, 2007.

Covington

Years later, we still get requests for this one. True story, and I would post the chords, except that only Bruce knows them.

Don’t Take Your Gun to Covington

Well, won’t you sit an’ listen, buddy
I got a tale that I can tell
Some advice at a real nice price
I got nothing lef’ta sell
Oh the weekend come with plans for fun
Hear some music, ‘cause I’m a fan
And if you had seen me way back when
You’d say, “There goes a happy man”

Well, I headed toward the border
Down that interstate
Thru Cincy into Newport
Ahh, to that Southgate place
Well, I never saw it comin’
Or I would’a stayed away
The cops down there have got a thing
For white Toyotas with Ohio plates

(Refrain)
Now, don’t you take your gun down to Covington
‘cause you’ll end up in jail
And if you do, you better make real sure
Somebody gonna go your bail

Well, there’s not a whole lot happenin’
Sittin’ in a holding cell
I got cigarettes and rationed matches
Steel benches, cold as hell
Warm milk on my Cheerios
Liver for my lunch
While over in the corner
Another Kentucky drunk up…. well, you know

My brother come to get me
‘cause he’s a real nice guy
I never was so glad to see him
And the freedom he could buy (Refrain)

(Talk-it-through)
Now, there’s a phone over in the corner, guys
Why don’t you line up and make your calls
An’ if ain’t nobody gonna come and git you
You might be here ‘til Moooonday Mornin’ (Refrain)

(Talking it)
My lawyer say he can git me outta this
But I ain’t countin’ on nothin’ (Refrain + Refrain)

© D. Dain, 1998.

Silver Wheels

Rolling through a PA night, somewhere between State College and Bethlehem.

Silver Wheels

Silver Eagle rollin’
through a Pennsylvania night
Past little farms asleep
inside their circled safety lights
Like little pools of righteousness
that stand against the dark
With help from a harvest moon
and a solitary star

They go to bed real early,
out west of Bethlehem
The towns close down
and the theory is that trouble can’t be found
Oh, you and I know better,
but why worry them with proof
We slide by on wings of eagles,
like an ill wind blowin’ through

(Chorus)
And we see the world on silver wheels
We are travelers and know
that life like this just can’t be real
Hi-ho silver wheels
Hi-o, hi-o
O-hi-o silver wheels

We see the bad - ignore the good,
because the good does not bring danger
So used to the unusual
that the normal seems a stranger
We can take the trash talk,
gangs and scams and all the jive
But the Good Word and a “God Bless you, Sir”
seem to take us by surprise

The things that are important here
seem easier to see
Could it be that we just need
something simple to believe?
Or are we just too jaded
by our travel and our big-time greed
That we don’t see the value
in living clean and good and free?

(Chorus)

They go to bed real early
Out west of Bethleham

© D. Dain, 1997.

Depression Era

A look at my possible future. Not all that far away.

Depression Era (Ref. Robert Herrick)

Scouting pottery
South, out of Zanesville
Shawnee, Corning
Down Route 13
What I do Saturday,
Sunday afternoons
Sneaking beer from the cooler
Hot stove league on the radio
Marty and it used to be Joe
I don’t collect myself
and don’t know much
But find what I can
and take it home to my Sweetie

No Weller or Roseville for me
It’s mud or china SPI
Chips oh so easy,
takes up too much room
Like me
And, like me, it mostly just sits there
Sometimes, putting a new piece up
I get shaky - knock another off the shelf
She doesn't mind
She knows I’m… past my prime
She says it's all a'hunting and a‘gathering
Just instinct --
And I'm thinking extinct
Why pottery? Pottery, for God’s sake.
I like beer and football

Any humor at all
that Herrick was born in Cheapside,
and like me, a fan of his betters?
My side is the junk stores
No fancy pants "Antique Mall"
My wallet needs a place where they may not know what they have
Some place where Old Time’s dying - not flying
Slinking 'round dusty bookcases
Sniffing out small pieces of the past
Nothing to make much of
But you can smile at it

Ah, there’s the old stuff
No virgins here, for sure
I see a possibility
A nicely painted salad plate,
pick it up and turn it over
and I’ve been fooled again
Made in not even Occupied Japan
I move on to the bud vase in the corner

© D. Dain, 2007.

Fools and Crows

Fools and Crows

Gets harder every time I hear it
Harder to imagine you
Out there feeding on your fury
All alone without a clue

You'd rather be caught dead than happy
Never speak a word unarmed
Always keep that pride aligned
Between your heart and any harm

I never thought that you would feel it
Never thought that you would fall
Under a pow'r that would do you damage
Leave you at it's beck and call

And it's the choices that we make
It's the promises we break
Honor is not anything you know
Seems doin' right is just for fools
Doin' right is just for fools
Doin' right is just for fools
... and Crows

I know how looks can be deceiving
It all depends upon the view
Still my music is my own
And we live with what we choose

You can lay your fate upon the furies
You can blame and you can scorn
You can lose track of your companions
And all that time and fear has worn

Now that I can see you better
I say distance suits you fine
I guess I never knew the danger
'til it left me far behind

'cause it's the choices that we make
It's the promises we break
Honor should be something that we know
Seems doin' right is just for fools
Ummm, doin' right is just for fools
Aw, doin' right is just for fools
... and Crows

© D. Dain, 1997.

Hard Time's Fallin'

Well, 1st lyric of '07. And, as you can tell, it's happy one -- not.

Hard Time's Fallin’

We had a meetin’
Listened to the lessons
Lessons that we ain’t learned jus’ yet
They tell me hard time's callin’
Hard time's fallin’
But we ain’t seen or heard ‘em yet

But they be a-comin’
I know it, I feel it
Hand in my pocket and ear to the track
We been way too willin’
To do the killin’
Can’t pull up and won't turn back
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huh-uh-uh-uh
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huhhhhh

We got "Power of Pride"
Might on our side
Now, who would Jesus bomb?
Love it or leave it
Hard to believe it
Another Vietnam

No President's daughter
No Senator's son
Gets the chance to cut and run
A rich man's war
A poor man's chore
And "God's" work is never done
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huh-uh-uh-uh
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huhhhhh

Listen people, listen
Might be a blessin' in the lesson
But we ain't even learned it yet
I tell ya hard time's callin’
Hard time's fallin’
And we ain’t seen nothin’ yet

They be a-comin’
I know it, I feel it
Hand in my pocket, ear to the track
Little birdie tol’ me
Then he tol’ me ag'in
Hard time's fallin', fallin’ fast
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huh-uh-uh-uh
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huhhhhh

We had a meetin’
Listened to the lessons
Lessons we ain’t learned jus’ yet

© D. Dain, 2007.

Quiet Desperation

Quiet Desperation

Up at the five, out by the six
I beat the rush hour, I know all the tricks
I sleep in the traffic while the rest of you play
Don't you worry about it, my truck knows the way

Now I'm forty-five and I'm feelin' old
Used to be I'd look down and I could stare at my toes
Now I can't see past the mortgage, I'm actin' my age
Am I worth any more than the shit I am paid
I used to look through my dreams
Now it's the bars of this cage

And the mass of men
Lead their lives
In quiet desperation
Jus' lookin' to hide
Down in the dark
Jus' waitin' to die
Be quiet
Listen, you can hear it
Be quiet
Listen, you can hear it

I used to travel a road made of bricks colored gold
And I could do anything, 'til I put it on hold
Oh, where did that record and that best-seller go?
If the truth was known, it'd never get told

Now, I'm tired like a train pullin' up a steep grade
And the light in the tunnel is beginning to fade
And I drink even more than I ever did
And it's on the way home, 'stead of just now and then
And I don't ask for help and I can't shout it out
I just lay here and drown
In my soul

And the mass of men
Lead their lives
In quiet desperation
Jus' lookin' to hide
Down in the dark
Jus' waitin' to die
Be quiet
Listen, you can hear it
Be quiet
Listen you can hear it

Up at the five, out by the six
I beat the rush hour, I know all the tricks

© D. Dain, 1996.

Where The Sun Shines Through

Where The Sun Shines Through

Put me down
Where the grass is green
Down near close
Where I dreamed my dreams
Where a big ol' tree
Throws a big ol' shade
But where the sun shines through

Take me home
While you live life
Home with you
Is never Bye and Bye
And it is sweet
And it will be
Home

I can go
But I won't leave
Going's easy
And I believe
That I've always been happy
Hangin' 'round
With you

So put me down
Where the grass is green
Down near close
Where I dreamed my dreams
Where a big ol' tree
Throws a big ol' shade
But where the sun shines through
Where the sun shines through

© DDC, 2006.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

My favorite Christmas song -- I have accented the verses I use in red. I like to sing the first three verses. The forth verse is lyrically weak in relation to the others and the fifth verse, while very good, in my mind detracts from the strongest lyrical point of the song, which is the end of the third verse.

Bruce Cockburn has the best recording of this song, on his "Bruce Cockburn Christmas".

The slight pause before and after the word "still" rings that "Bell In My Chest" every time.

And, there is still time. For now.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

Lyrics by Phillips Brooks, 1835-1893.
Music by Lewis Redner, 1830-1908. (The tune is named simply "St. Louis")

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.

For Christ is born of Mary,
And gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth!
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him, still
The dear Christ enters in.

Where children pure and happy
Pray to the blessed Child,
Where misery cries out to thee,
Son of the mother mild;
Where charity stands watching
And faith holds wide the door,
The dark night wakes, the glory breaks,
And Christmas comes once more.

O holy Child of Bethlehem!
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us to-day.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel

My Best Friend

Merle (Chalky) Pittman was a Veteran of the Korean War, a Mailman in every sense of the word, and in the end, dignity personified; a remarkably composed, gracious and mercifully understanding friend.

My Best Friend

My best friend was a mailman
Through rain and sleet and snow
God chose to take him early
So let us look at what we know

Seems delivery times are much improved
And the service is so very smooth
The mail is hardly ever late
So let’s call this an even trade

He'd quit smokin’ 20 years ago
Then they said he got the bug
He was kinda proud it was so rare
They said the only cure was prayer

Seems grace and mercy are conveyed
By a Higher Power far above harm’s way
And there’s not life enough to understand
And not a lot of faith on hand

My father had this theory
That the chosen should be tested so
That the ones spared, not scarred by pain and loss
Are the ones God does not know
- He does not know

Still, delivery times are much improved
And the service is so very smooth
The mail is hardly ever late
So let’s call this an even trade

My best friend was a mailman
Through rain and sleet and snow
God chose to take him early
So let us look at what we know

My best friend was a mailman
Through rain and sleet and snow
- that’s all I know

© D. Dain, 1997.

Winter's Hand

A song for my earthly Father.


Winter’s Hand

I’ve seen Winter’s Hand a-creepin’
‘cross my Father’s brow
And I know that certain things have changed between us
But I’m not certain now just when and how

And if I did not have that certain hope of Glory
And I did not know just where I’ll be
I fear despair would overtake me
With Winter’s Hand so close to me

But, there is a beauty buried in that sorrow
Though we may not think it very plain to see
It takes a hold upon the souls
Of those who do believe
And it throws us toward the Promised Land
It pushes, drives and binds
These fragile ties together
In a song of the sublime


Sometimes I feel it reaching out to me
And though all of Nature screams against it
I cannot help but want to leave

For there is a beauty buried in that sorrow
Though we may not think it very plain to see
It takes a hold upon the souls
Of those who do believe
That we are more than just mere numbers
More than Chance can think upon much less conceive
And we are who we are
And He is who He is
And Winter’s Hand just sets us free

Winter’s Hand
Oh, Winter’s Hand
Just sets us free….

© D. Dain, 1998.

Lord....

How much do we really love?

Lord....

Lord, where we goin'?
Do I really want to go?
How do I handle knowin'
Jus' Who is in control?

I bite the hands that love me
Cut 'em off to save my soul
Keep my head down, screw my friends
Mosy back on to the fold


Oh, It only finds You early
Only Blesses chosen ones
Most times you miss that Train to Glory
Shot thru by Destination's Gun


No oil left to light the lamp
So thirsty that it hurts
We read it all, we left it lay
And now we pay the curse

And I cast my lot so long ago
The choice was bound to stone
Desparate blood is in my eye
Not the kind that can atone

And Lord, it's gettin' warm down here
The course is almost run
Horsemen crest the ridge above
Look down on what we've done

Mark my forehead, mark my hands
Mark my soul's march to Mt. Doom
Mark the Word and slam the door
The Inn has no more room


Lord, where we goin'?
Do I really want'a go?
How do I handle knowin'
Jus' Who is in control?

I bite the hands that love me
Cut 'em off to save my soul
Keep my head down, screw my friends
Mosy back on to the fold


Oh, It only finds You early
Only Blesses chosen ones
Most times you miss that Train to Glory
Shot thru by Destination's Gun


Megiddo and a White Throne waitin'
And then Your Golden Eye
All my fault and all my failing
All my love and all a lie

© D. Dain, 2006.

Train Thing

This is an old one.


Train Thing

I saw her on the 4th Street Bridge that overlooks the freight yards
And a hundred directions and the choices are so hard
She was standin’ at the railing, with a grey wind at her back
I said "I always find you here" - she looked away and softly laughed
Then she motioned toward the weeds that are always there beside the tracks
And she said “The lies can grow so high, that love can never make it back.”

And I said, “It’s just a train thing.
You jus’ got a thing for trains.”
It's just a train thing
And we held hands and made our way on home

Well, the metaphor escaped me and I took comfort in the fact
That stability could mean much more than a rusty, old, train track
Her daddy was a preacher man, she grew up singin’ in the choir
With a voice that gently slit your soul, then set your brain on fire
Maybe I’m a little slow, it sure took some time to see
Maybe even then she knew her train would someday leave

And it’s just a train thing
She’ jus' got a thing for trains
It's just a train thing
And I made my way on home

Now I come down to the 4th Street Bridge that overlooks the freight yards
And a hundred directions and the choices are so hard
And I hold on to that railing and the life that's at my back
Sometimes I see her here and I always hear her laugh
And I look over the weeds that have covered all the tracks
And know the lies can grow so high that love may never make it back

And it’s just a train thing
I jus’ got a thing for trains
Oh, it’s just a train thing
And we hold hands and make my way on home

© Daniel Dain, 1996.

God's Golden Eye

God’s Golden Eye - John Hiatt

We came through the forest
Of jealousy and greed
All our loved ones before us
They gave us everything we need
To cross that great river
Of every tear been ever cried
And we find ourselves staring
In God's golden eye

In the desert love waited
Licking salt water from her skin
We could have been sedated
For all that we put in
We thought it was some devil
Who put the cryin’ in goodbye
’til we found ourselves staring
In God's golden eye
Found ourselves staring
In God's golden eye

And we did all that we could do
We couldn't run from me and you
We did the best we could
No matter how hard we tried

Like babes we come whining
For some forgotten sin
Surprised to be shining
Just like diamonds in the wind
Every facet so perfect
And every cut the proper size
When we find ourselves staring
In God's golden eye
Find ourselves staring
In God's golden eye

Destination's Gun

I'm not the first person confused by the "Doctrine of Predestination ". And I guess I won't be the last to overreach and try to explain his anger.

Destination’s Gun

Steel spires stretch up toward heaven
They rip the belly o’ the sky
Built by the church of too much thought
They scratch the wrath of God
Sour grapes spring forth in rage
And deface the face of love
Hate might never take its place
If heaven is enough

A wounded sky, an angry God
A little too much thought
They say that truth is where you find it
… most times it’s not
Most times it finds you early
Or blesses chosen ones
Most times you miss that train to Glory
Shot down by destination’s gun
Oh, by destination’s gun
Oh, destination’s gun
Most times you miss that train to glory
Shot down by destination’s gun

I understand Ecclesiastes
ALL of Saint John, Chapter Three
Those are not threats, they're promises
And I weep for what we leave
Look down into that forest glade
Into that sparkling stream
Can heaven with its angry God
Touch these shades of green?
Touch these shades of green
Touch these shades of green
Can heaven with its angry God
Touch these shades of green?

All The Diamonds - Bruce Cockburn

My brother Timothy has his 40th birthday tomorrow. I still remember my dad holding me in his arms as he steadied my mother down the stairs out into the fall night air, into the car and on to the hospital.

Love you, Tim.

All The Diamonds -- Bruce Cockburn

All the diamonds in this world
That mean anything to me
Are conjured up by wind and sunlight
Sparkling on the sea

I ran aground in a harbour town
Lost the taste for being free
Thank God He sent some gull-chased ship
To carry me to sea

Two thousand years and half a world away
Dying trees still grow greener when you pray
Silver scales flash bright and fade
In reeds along the shore
Like a pearl in sea of liquid jade
His ship comes shining
Like a crystal swan in a sky of suns
His ship comes shining

Party Line

I'll preface this by saying that the rough draft was written approx. two weeks before the 9/11 attacks. I had just come back from New York. Took me awhile to finish it. The famous "Bottom Line" is closed. There are several musical references throughout, notibly to JG's "Land of the Bottom Line" and the excellent alt.country magazine, "No Depression".

Party Line

Took some time last week, got up to The Apple
Land of the Bottom Line, then I grabbed me a Snapple
Headed out route 22
Got to New Jersey, turned and looked back
Like Lot’s wife ummmmm….
I jus’ had to
Didn’t turn to salt, jus’ felt the need for a shower
Headed south, down thru the mornin’ hours
Drivin' fast - amazed I’d got on past

(chorus)
And I’ve heard them all, almost
And their songs are good,
Almost all the time
But in between they toe that party line

I turn on NPR to catch the BBC
No Depression, I jus’ feel the need
To know things - still don’t agree
You get used to it, and you pick on thru
And in between you catch a bit of news
You take it anyway, ‘cause you know that play

Huge island in between the coasts
Don’t count much ‘less they’re countin’ votes
And only sometimes
And it’s all jus’ one big reservation
It’s a wonder how they’ve caaaged a nation
District at a time, inside them party lines

I pull off the road, surprise, surprise
It’s a two lane truck stop diner-dive
‘jus too close to real for some
Make a great short-short to marvel on
Oh notice how the colors run together
…. No matching federal funds

If I don’t pay the tax, I must not love my neighbor
“Government is good!”, and I can buy its favor
And the party line mmmm….
And it’s back to one big reservation
Amazing how they’ve caaaged a nation
District at a time, to save that party line

(Chorus)

Got to New Jersey, turned and looked back
Like Lot’s wife ummmmm….
I jus’ had to
Didn’t turn to salt, jus’ felt the need for a shower
Headed south, down thru the mornin’ hours
Drivin' fast


Ó 2003, D. Dain

Bell In My Chest

This might be the best song I have ever written. Everyone else thinks so. What an experience. Never want to go through that again. Wouldn't trade it, though.

I usually start with a single phrase or idea. In the "Lovejoy" mystery series by Jonathan Gash. "Lovejoy" is a "antique savant" who, when in the prescence of a genuine antique, feels "a bell go off" in his chest.

Bell In My Chest

I do my best work while I’m waitin'
On You to find I’m home
The map I gave You
Was designed to keep You close
But the cards that I’m a-holdin’
Are all I got to show
You make Your hearts up
All alone

When we talk I bend back Your words
And I look all underneath
I work on all the ciphers
While the promises I keep
And I keep my promises
Like I know just what You mean
And I take it all
Real slow


(Chorus)
I got this Bell in my chest
And it’s keepin’ me alive
Good intentions, road to Hell
And all the rest is just a lie
I got this Bell in my chest
And it’s keepin’ me alive
Believe me when I say
You ring it every time

And You, You seem to know
More than I do
While I… I’m just a-hopin’
Things improve
You keep this slice of You apart
You got a pie chart for Your life and heart
And a bar that I can’t
Walk into

(Chorus)

(Repeat either the 1st or 2nd verse)

I do my best work while I’m waitin’…
On You… to find I’m home

© D. Dain, 1999.

9 Marbles

As far as I can recall, this was the first song I ever finished and put to music.

9 Marbles

There has got to be something more
Outside this rough and wild and ruthless world
Full of Your sick and tired and wretched ones
Mostly Harmless, mostly poor

How can we find Someone out there
When we can’t see outside our own disease
A life of peace is a guarantee
That we will hunt You down and nail You to a tree

Nine marbles in a silver circle
Maybe ten or maybe more
With a silver shooter in the middle
Who knows how well She’s worn?

Well, if you and I could live forever
Do anything we wanted to
Fly deep into the heavens
Vacation on the moon

But you and I don’t have forever
We’ve only got this little tune
It’s short and really not that sweet
But this life will have to do

Nine marbles in a silver circle
Maybe ten or maybe more
With a silver shooter in the middle
Who knows how well She’s worn?
Who knows how well She’s worn?
Oh, God knows how well She’s worn


© D. Dain, 1992.

Wolfe County

I lived in Wolfe County, Kentucky. This is an accurate description.


Wolfe County

It’s a muddy road
That rides rougher than the run-off ditch beside it
Back up the ridge
A little farm lies hidden behind the trees
And if you look real hard
And it you know jus’ where yer goin’ ya jus’ might find it
Used to be a Federal subsidy
Now it’s a monument to a real growth industry

‘cause, ya see, nothin’ ever changes
Down there in Wolfe County
Where cancer was the cash crop
And things always stay the same
If you can smoke it, they can grow it
Down there in Wolfe County
They’ve always been in tune with Nature’s ways

Down by the creek
Lays the town of Campton, it’s the county seat
Back in them hills
Where young boys learn the skills of basketball
And high school history
Provides the rules of white supremacy
And any fool can see
There’s two things that really go together

‘cause, you see, nothin’ ever changes
Down there in Wolfe County
Where cancer was the cash crop
And now it’s MaryJane
If you can smoke it, they can grow it
Down there in Wolfe County
They’ve always been in tune with Nature’s ways
Ah, they’ve always been in tune with Nature’s ways


© Daniel Dain, 1997.

Sir Robert

Sir Robert

Well, Sir Robert said "the cruelest lies
are often told in silence"
But I always looked on Silence as my friend
Else I would utter thoughts that rise
from this old and bitter man
And to paraphrase Al Tennyson,
I'd break far more than I can mend
Yes, I'd break far more than I can mend

And I am led through these dark valleys
Where only One Wide Will does shine
So little faith for so much promise
Still, I know that You and they are mine
And I know that Death will one day die
Yes, I know that Death will one day die

When work is done, one bright note
will break into the air
And Silence will no longer be my friend
I will sing a song of joyous praise
in a voice that finally can bear
A melody untouched, unstained by man
A melody, untouched, unstained by man

Well, Sir Robert said "the cruelest lies
are often told in silence"
And I don't talk much, anyway
And I am led through these dark valleys
Where only One Wide Will awaits
Where only One Wide Will awaits
One Wide Will, One Wide Will....


© Daniel Dain, 1997.

Stone Table

Yesterday was my Mom's Birthday. Happy Birthday, Margaret Lee Canterbury.

She has always said she wants "Pomp and Circumstance" played at her funeral.

Here's a little ditty I wrote several years ago. I think it was wrought from the combination of a C.S. Lewis inspired nightmare and the after-effects of some bad choices, acquainting me with mortality. Again.

Stone Table

Lay me down on the Stone Table
Watch with me through the night
When the sun shines on the Stone Table
I feel my soul take flight
Take flight

When mornin' comes you will find me
Dead to the World and its ways
Like my brother the Son and my father before me
I've no desire to stay

Where doubt and fear plague the nations
And most men walk alone
Where everybody's askin' questions
But few have directions home

Lay me down, shelter my spirit
Lay me down, God rest my bones
Lay me down on the Stone Table
Good Lord gonna take me home

Oh, lay me down, shelter our Spirits
Lay me down, God rest my bones
Lay me down on the Stone Table
Good Lord gonna take me home
Take me home
Take me home
Take me home


© Daniel Dain, 1997.

Western Blvd.

Western Blvd.


It happened down on Western Blvd.
The cobblestones, the broken bottles, broken cars and hearts
Too little sleep and too much drink
Combined to leave no room to think
But we think we think we know....

Four in the morning and a date with destiny
He left that light so late that he was way too early
It was a shiny red Impala, and the sight is with me still
He flew right through that windshield and was impaled upon the grill


(Chorus)
And we think we think we know
Think we’ll hear the footsteps
Think we’ll know it’s time to go
We think we think we know

Well, his mom was from Missouri, so he had the attitude
She left him in Ohio, and he had oh so much to prove
Never was the pretty boy, had to fight to hold his own
Desperate blood was in his eye and he left it on the chrome


(Chorus)

(Bridge)
Most of us get everything we need when we are born
We start out healthy, big, and strong, and still manage to ignore
Don’t take what’s freely given and try to make it any more
And I'm thinkin' we're all so surprised when the Mover slams the door


Dried blood is so much darker than bright cherry paint
And it stains the cobblestone
Here's hopin' he's still on his game
And that he finally made it home

(Chorus + chorus)

It happened down on Western Blvd.

The Libertarian Folksinger's Lament

Several years ago, from the last row of a John Gorka show, but written for Fred Eaglesmith.

The Libertarian Folksinger's Lament - (Get My Way)

I’m fairly certain it can’t be my pretty face
And my taste except for music is just way too commonplace
….To suit you
My dress is not androgynous
I don’t cater to that new-age fuss you make….
Aww, that pretty fluff you take

But I’m happy jus’ to be here
And you know I came to play
And I know that we can get along
If you would only, let me…. get my way

My politics aren’t where you think they have to be
I’m jus’ plain full of antisocial tendencies
My friends are all annoying; forgive if I offend you all by toying
With your genteel sensibilities

(Bridge)
My girlfriend’s lookin’ way too tough,
My lyrics are not sweet enough to sell you
And I paid the band in cash
And they are out there gittin’ trashed
An’ if you think they drink too much, well….
Jus’ let me tell you….

But I’m happy jus’ to be here
And you know I came to play
And I know that we can get along
If you would only, let me…. get my way

I’m here because I heard your towers call to me
From your ivy-covered eyes and universities
Adversity is hard to see, empowered tho’ you be
When your crystal’s on the fritz
It takes some balls to be….

Happy jus’ to be here
An’ you know I came to play
And I know that we can get along
If you would only, let me…. get my way

© 2004 - D. Dain

News Story: Gorka and Wal-mort Ink Deal....

Deal With The Devil.... Evil Empire to carry new John Gorka CDs



Associated Press,
Bentonville, Arkansas


Wal-Mort CEO Lea Scott says the Arkansas based behemoth is looking forward to the challenge of conquering the Folk Music market.

Setting its sights on the BAC-like .08 market share currently dominated by St. Paul based RedHouse Records, Wal-Mort is announcing a breakthrough deal with the Preeminent Singer-Songwriter of the New Folk Movement, John Gorka.

Wal-Mort will be stocking the New Folk star’s CDs in virtually all of their virtual 4,000 plus stores.In order to meet Wal-Mort’s enormous demand, Gorka's staff has started overtime production in several sweat-shops set up on the Angle Indian Reserve on the Lake-of-the-Woods in Northwest Minnesota. Gorka’s team will be driving the CDs into the Northern Minnesota metropolis of Warroad by way of a fleet of recently leased GEO Metros where they plan to sneak the CDs past Pete Seeger and load them onto the local Fed-ex flight into Minneapolis and on to Wal-Mort’s Chicago terminal for distribution.

Gorka plans to cover start-up costs by using seed money provided by St. Paul based entrepreneur Garrison Darth-Keillor. They are paying the native residents who work in Gorka’s sweat shops each a nickle per month to hand chisel the CDs out of US banned Canadian White Pine.

When asked what effect the ban would have on Wal-Mort’s ability to successfully market the CDs, Mr. Scott snickered, auto-dialed a number on his cell phone and said “Hey there Georgie, can I talk to Dick?”.

Wal-Mort is also in contract with Gorka to release three new CDs on the Wal-Mort Only imprint. These releases would be available only at Wal-Mort.

According to Mr. Scott, Gorka is held in such high esteem by the Ojibwa Tribe, presumably for jump-starting the local economy, that the Red Lake Junior College Football team has named their mascot, the "Funny Little Polish Guy", in his honor.

For his part, Gorka expressed surprise on hearing that the NCAA has banned Red Lake Junior College from any post-season tournaments until they change the name of their mascot.

The Road Of Good Intentions -- John Gorka

The Road Of Good Intentions


I wish to point out that the "Religious Right" (which I thought used to include me, but doesn't now, even though I am a Christian - i.e.: Follower of Jesus) has been thoroughly, almost universally duped. I say this as I watch my brother (one of the finest Christian men I know) watch Bill Blowhard O'Reilly.

It's amazing what a few promises will do. Just because a guy says he's against killing babies doesn't make he or his cadre of "neocons" fit to guard the borders, run the economy, and stave off the inevitable (he's hastening it, but he don't know it -- obviously going to the wrong Bible classes) in the ME.

Viewing things purely from the practical side, I would like to point out that our preemptive strike has so far cost us approx. four times the money it would take to seal US north and south borders and pay N.Guard to patrol them for the next ten years. Or five years, if we want to spend the savings on a LOT more smart bombs (I recommend it - but smart bombs cost more than soldiers, evidently).

‘Course maybe in the end it’ll be worth it. Maybe they'll stick some factories in Iraq that will sell things to Wal-Mort at “always low prices.... Always." That'll be worth it.

Our problem, as Americans, is when we stopped acting as a "country" and started acting as an "empire". And we all know what eventually happens to empires, don't we....

Personally, I don't think we have much time. Gonna be a tough little go before the even tougher 7 years.


The Road Of Good Intentions -- by John Gorka

there's addition and subtraction
but division over all
hope once in fluid motion
is slowed behind a crawl

oh, the images are strong
and the words are pretty good
but there's more fiction out of washington
than out of hollywood

on the road of good intentions
all gets justified to hell
the price revealed in stories
too short, too sad, to tell

is this permanent improvement
through abbreviated lives
or another tragic venture
shocking when the bill arrives

by the rubble where the house was
there are markers in the dirt
children with no need of freedom
they can no longer be hurt

on the road of good intentions
all gets justified to hell
the price revealed in stories
too short, too sad, to tell

and the soldiers and their families
with life and limb they pay
while the ones who sent them marching
get to dance the night away

i always come back to the soldiers
with their courage and ideals
i've seen them smoking in the airports
there's no telling how it feels

on the road of good intentions
all gets justified to hell
the price revealed in stories
too short, too sad, to tell

New Band Name List....

New Band Names


Prompted by Andy Whitman's Blog "Razing the Bar", here are a few possibilities:


"Bump and The Skin Tags"

"The Preemptive Balls"

"Over the Little Hocking" (Obscure covers of already obscure "Over The Rhine" songs)

"70% Off"

"Red-Neck Pickup Truck Drivers On Meth"

"The NASCAR Sticker Bunch" (Logo: obviously a t-shirt with large #3 and the statement "Dale died for your party!")

"The Meth Lab" (Logo: pic from rear of 1975 Plymouth Fury with trunk open)

"Call Me Idiot" (Logo: hillbilly riding pig, complete with straw hat and sporting a pitchfork)

"The Additives"

“Walt Mort and The Greeters”

"The Wife-Beaters"

"Cult of Mediocrity"

"Cult Kool-Aid"

"The Phish Sticks" (condensed versions of jam-band songs)

"The Bris Doctors" (Hasidic speed metal versions of klezmer classics)

"Mile High Collagen Blow-Out" (any number of visuals here)

"The Old Lady's Workin' Agin" (actual quote from guy at bar)

My Vote For Best Album Ever!

Just a note.

Because my opinion might be the only one that counts.

Blue Rodeo's "Five Days In July" may well be the best
top to bottom album ever recorded.

For Amy. And the August moon.

Yeah.

"When the Lilacs bloom the Stripers run...."

Here's a little song for spring.

Wrote this one several years ago after listening to
an NPR interview of a Canadian fisherman, and
the first line of the song is a direct quote from the
old guy.

Still play it at art shows, the occasional folk club gig,
in elevators, and at carwashes and Friday afternoon VFW fish fry's.

The saying also works as an indicator for mushroom time,
if you're in southeast Ohio.


Life Goes On


Oh, when the lilacs bloom, that's when the stripers run
And I hear the river callin' me to come and join the fun
Down that short slide into summer
We are the lucky ones


(Chorus)
And Life goes on, we take what we are given
'cause this is Life and this is Love that we are livin'
And Life goes on....


Ah, when I cast my line, I don't expect too much
A simple word, a little fun, and a gentle, lovin' touch
I never knew what Time can do
Until I spent some Love on you....

(Repeat 2nd verse and chorus)

Jaime Brockett and John Gorka -- The short version of my musical Salvation.

Jaime Brockett and John Gorka -- The short version of my Musical Salvation.



Practically everyone who knows me also knows that I am a John Gorka fan. I spread the Gospel of Gorka practically everywhere I go.

After all, I DO know what’s best for you.

I’d like to tell how I met him, for he and his music have had a profound effect on my life.



Here goes.


I actually met John in a social setting before I knew his work. Jaime Brockett, the outlaw-folk legend ("Ballad of the U.S.S. Titanic") who's life seems to continue to provide excellent research material ("Ballad of Jaimie B.", "Blue Chalk", "Always Going Home", etc....) lived for about eight years in my hometown of Lancaster, Ohio.

Jamie introduced me to John (I was just fresh out of college) right about the time of the release of "I Know".

Jaime was a regular at Godfrey Daniels, a coffeehouse/folk club in Bethlehem, PA and John knew him from there. Jaime used to say that he "taught John the ropes", but I like to think that even then John knew inspiration when he met it.

John watches better than anyone I have ever known. It's what makes the songs, I think.

Jaime had a music store in Lancaster and John would stop by occasionally to visit, sometimes on the way to and from gigs.

In those days Jaime was still a regular at many of the folk festivals and, along with my friend Karl Conrad, I was privileged to serve as "roadie". I got to spend a bit of time with John when Jaime opened for him at various gigs and festivals.

Great days.

Through Jaime I met a lot of people that a small town mid-western boy would never have had a chance to meet.

And the boy who ran down the roads in a souped-up Torino, listening to Rush, now has Chris Smither, Bruce Cockburn, Paul Thorn, Todd Snider and the like in his cd player.

Never would have known good music but for Jaime and John.

Talk about Salvation.



-jackscrow

House Concerts vs. The Evil Zoning Board

House Concerts Vs. Zoning Board -- Ref.: http://livingroommusic.blogspot.com/


House Concerts are now a Federal case.



My comments....


Individual right continues to be trampled under the guise of "greater good".

If the government can't make money from it, then it sure as heck can't be allowed.

It is "OK" when it's cameras at stoplights or "Sobriety Checkpoints", or the Prez listening in on Grandma from Italy and the Justice Department checking out your hard-drive. It is "OK" when it's Aunt Judy and Uncle Joe’s depression era house on the newly busy street corner, taxed well beyond it's worth and then taken for a CVS or even the new Library or grade school. It is "OK" when Constitutional guarantees are sacrificed on the altar of “public safety”, so that "The Police can protect us now...". And, it is "OK" anytime it doesn't impact me, and it's for the "social good".

You say: "Come on, it's just a house concert, not storm troopers in the living room."

Give me a reason why you think the intrusion is going to stop here. And please make it more than your trust in a government that has "my welfare" at heart.

Democrats and Republicans who for years have been ceding their rights and extending the Government’s power by voting with their hearts and not their heads – partly thru altruism, but mostly by laziness -- are both to blame for this. The more power you give government, the more it uses that power to limit your choices AND limit the amount of good either an individual or non-government group can do.

Government as a whole exists not to serve the people but to promote the continued existence and dominance of government.

You’ve been calling us “Fringe Wackos” for years.

Libertarians say: “Welcome to our nightmare.”

It will get worse.


-jackscrow