1. |
For the Tree Buds
01:45
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The baby tree buds pushing leaf,
like something almost being said,
it's time, my friend, to take the hint, to look ahead,
but greenness brings a kind of grief-
and so to that end a reverie
for what's soon to be
put to bed.
And is it that they're born again?
No, friend, April's blossoms they die too,
oh, and just like you, their yearly trick of looking new
will someday be, by nature's pen,
written deep in rings of grain,
that tell what came
and what's through.
But just to watch these castles thresh,
their thickness growing day by day,
it's as if they say last year is dead, but come what may,
the season's ripe to start afresh,
so close your eyes and make a wish,
then let the rest
have its way.
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2. |
Cat Dalton
04:07
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The coach, it pulled into the town, it opened up its door,
a lady with an eyepatch stepped down, black the cloak she wore,
a bona-fide cold-blooded killer, weathered by the war,
she still stood just to settle one last score-
So she rolled on into Tucson, .45 hung at her hip
with a golden 'D' for Dalton, man, and if you gave her lip,
she'd tie your tongue, cut you down, then on your corpse she'd spit-
oh that gal, sure had a certain kind of pride..
Now Cat Dalton, she was one of seven sisters born out west
to a good man, oh their padre tilled the land and tried his best,
but on from the day some desperados shot him through the head,
those young Dalton daughters grew up seeing red-
Now it's thirty-some-odd years gone spent hunting for those men,
but by God, when they find them, oh they'll reconcile those sins,
and without a shiver, send those bandits to their bloody end,
spell of powder smoke choking out their cries..
'cause there's no burn half as strong as that of sweet revenge upon
the hellhounds who done slashed down your own kind-
and upon the path to healing,
through the teardrops flowing by,
may the fire of retribution spur the ride.
But now the barren desert grapevines, they don't often bare much fruit,
and it's been many a tombstone-gambler died there searching for a clue,
but although the odds Cat Dalton played were one-in-Timbuktu,
down near San Antone, 1862,
there, tucked away in south Bejar County, in some old broke-down opium shack,
Cat, she overheard a highwayman who'd been to hell and back,
and he swore upon his soul those outlaws who killed the Dalton man,
they were cooking plans for trouble on that Tucson stage coach line-
'cause there was untold loads of Greyback gold set to be heading out on a trek,
and those bloodhound dogs thought they'd have a time;
so with the west wind toward her shoulder, Cat rode through day and night,
and when she found her sisters, she told them black-and-white
that the time was nigh for one last final fight.
So on the mountain path to Tucson there's a gap called Apache Pass,
and those Daltons knew those outlaws knew that point was made to clash,
and so when that wagon train rolled up, just sitting ducks with cash,
and the outlaws swept down on them, guns aflash-
Along the bluffs, the Dalton sisters saw the wagons start to stall,
so with rifles trained upon their foes, they picked a couple off,
then they stormed down on that valley with all the vengeance of their Pa
and lit those scallywags up like a funeral pyre.
And with the battle won, Cat's deed was done, when then she glimpsed a pony limping away
with two riders, one so minuscule as a child,
and as Cat galloped toward that horse and raised her gun to fire,
there sat a scared young cowgirl, her father at her side,
begging 'Please, Ma'am, won't you spare my daddy's life?'
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3. |
Bayonets and Banners
03:46
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I got me a cattle ranch,
back in '51,
started up a family there,
with three girls and a son,
but when the war spread out west,
and my brothers joined with Johnny Reb,
I followed suit,
and off we rode;
And midst that pomp and circumstance,
it seemed so clear back then,
the land we loved and grew upon
belonged in our own hands-
but now we're seven hundred miles from Missouri,
and it's been seven lonely months on the road,
so won't you pass me over some of that bourbon,
and let's make a toast:
to when the bayonets and banners lie buried,
and we go home.
Now Wilson's Creek we hit 'em good,
and damn those Yankees run,
but little did we know it then,
the hell that was to come-
when on the front lines at Elkhorn Tavern,
how the northern shells and bullets rained,
and when the smoke cleared,
of my brothers, only I remained.
And so i ask you how much killing
will it take 'til this war is finally over,
and if heaven abide,
I might just someday get to see my baby
nestled up by my side?
Oh 'cause the death here and the dying,
man, the screaming and blood,
it's a nightmare with no ending in sight,
but to the beating of the cannon
still we fly our battle-torn flag high;
oh and i guess we'll just keep right on flying it
for who knows why.
So through the days and sleepless nights,
I shudder at the loss,
and what a farce to think this fight
could justify the cost;
so now comrades, if you make it,
and I should fall upon these hills,
would you take my spirit back to my kinfolk,
and help my wife and kids;
'cause now i'm seven hundred miles from Missouri,
and it's been seven lonely months on the road,
so won't you pass me over some of that bourbon,
and let's make a toast:
to when the bayonets and banners lie buried,
and we go home.
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4. |
An Echo
03:00
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Seven long years since that sawdusty floor
stamped with those footstomps that pounded the score,
and we was grinning like daydreams,
a half-tank of gas from L.A.,
Where the desert winds whipped up, but inside the room,
fiddles and mandolins called out the tunes-
it was old country music, with a young Townes crowing his blues
like a night-time, Lone-Pine Brandy swigging fool,
But as his laughing eyes hypnotized, all that there stood
between me and my lady was a bucket of could the night
turn into daisies, like a fancy romance novel would?
and on that line, that fine evening, she made good..
Oh, and she danced like the flame on a kerosene ribbon,
just flashing her youth as she twirled,
and when in the morning her kisses adoringly woke me,
we uncurled-
But now that lady's long gone, and that old saloon
stands far from these steel frames and big-city fumes,
well the life here ain't gravy,
but a beggar can't pick what he chews,
And then flipping through pages on a magazine rack,
I saw that come Tuesday, not far from these tracks,
that lonesome-pine cowboy who had lit my life seven years back,
he'd be crying love, so I lined up for that act-
Oh and I came with a damsel so fair, and she fancifully
granted one fine dance or two,
but the room there was colder, the cowboy was older, and sober
through and through;
and upon the next morning, snowflakes a-falling, I smiled at the frost-bitten truth,
that a story, once closed, it can be juxtaposed, but an echo can't ring like it's new.
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5. |
Stay a While
02:42
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I went out to the green sunlit hills to melt the freeze crawling through my chest,
and there amidst a sunlit green apple grove, a robin's birdsong drew me toward a nest,
and when, by the trance of the crickets' evening chants, i approached it in my simple stride,
'could you stay a while?' the robin whispered through its eyes.
And then as a half-moon rose on the pristine summer sky, a shooting star streaked with a gleam,
and with a shifting in the shadows in the apple grove below, the spell of magic swelled, and as if a dream,
the robin- it transfigured into a glowing human form- a woman's face, dazzling ear to ear-
'could you stay a while?' i said, but in thin air she disappeared.
And so as the tick of time grates through heavy days, and hollow seasons turn to hollow years,
if someday i should cross her path, up wandering through the hills, or singing peacefully on a sunlit field,
with scarlet joy i'd take her hands and dance and sing and laugh, and sailing high on a summer breeze, cool and clear,
'could you stay a while?' she'd whisper in my ear.
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6. |
This Time with You
02:59
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Big old city, Berlin town,
mellow river, melt this frown,
disappointment, open doors,
inspiration, smoke one more,
it's a balmy night to feel some kind of blue,
and all the same, i wish i had this time with you.
Quiet corner, riverside,
lights reflecting, red and white,
running water, blur the lines,
candy colors, ease my mind,
it's a balmy night to feel some kind of blue,
and all the same, i wish i had this time with you.
Make a bed beneath the sky,
ground is hard, but stars are bright,
fish are jumping through the night,
oh you'd like it here mighty fine.
And by the morning light we'd up and ride off toward the sun,
but i guess i'll cross that eastern border now on my own.
So big old city, thanks a lot,
for giving me this peaceful spot,
and dear companion, far away,
i'll see you pretty soon anyway,
but it's a balmy night to feel some kind of blue,
and all the same, i wish i had this time with you.
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7. |
Bag Salad
02:43
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Well.. ohh...
Dang it, gosh darn, it's gonna be a bag salad,
American, United, and that Delta flight from Siam,
they're mixing 'em like veggies since they finished up a-flying,
and if my bag it pops out like a
ripe to-
mater... how i'll hail him there with weary hungered eyes,
just waiting, salivating for the juice he's got inside,
then i'll pluck my plump red little bump
right off that moving vine,
and i'll plop him down into my luggage cart..
But the lady here beside me wants a cucumber, she says,
some kind of oblong rounded thing that's green instead of red,
and she's praying and she's hoping that it hasn't pickled yet,
'cause she relishes her suitcase when it's fresh-
and.. dang it, gosh darn, it's gonna be a bag salad,
American, United, and that Delta flight from Siam,
they're mixing 'em like veggies since they finished up a-flying,
and if my second bag it pops out like a
turnip.. i'll await him there with whetted appetite,
to find out if his turned up nose has made it through the flight,
then i'll grab him by the sprout and maybe take a little bite,
then i'll plop him down right to my to-ma-to-
(or as they say in England to-mah-to)...
But i'm wondering where's the lettuce now, the thought creeps in my mind,
the king of all the leafy greens, his nutrients divine,
then i see a flat and ruffled green bag coming down the line,
but then an army man says 'no sir, that one's mine!'
So i argue for a minute, saying 'listen, if you will,
we're trying to make a salad here and need the lettuce still,'
but then he tells me 'i'm a real man, boy, i eat steak from the grill,
and this here bag's to feed a cow before i kill.. him...
ohh, but.. dang it, gosh darn, it's gonna be a bag salad,
American, United, and that Delta flight from Siam,
they're mixing 'em like veggies since they finished up a-flying,
and if there ain't no lettuce, guess i'll settle.. for some...
cabbage, 'cause goddammit must be someone to convince
to give this salad what it needs, a cruciferous prince,
then i see a purple head of baggage, all but set to rinse,
and so i beg its owner 'please don't be a grinch'...
but this guy's a long haired hippie with his ball of blanket wraps,
and i can tell he digs his veggies, sure as maple trees give sap,
and he says 'why not, man, i love salad as a post-flight snack,
and if you like i've even got some sugar snap peas...
then as we're setting off to go and toss the salad,
mr. customs agent steps in with a grin,
saying 'here's a ticket now to where the best tomatoes grow,
repack those bags- you're going to Guantanomo.'
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8. |
Mr. Please!
03:18
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In the cities and the counties of this land abound with plenty, far away from home,
the old men take their suppers in the bar rooms and the buffets, their pipe dreams gone,
sitting at the half-washed tables, flirting with the half-cute waitress with the tattooed arms,
it's nine o'clock, and just an hour to knock off till the music brings it on-
Mr. Please!
Play that good time country song, and let me tap my foot along
to your singing and your sanity,
let your rhythm numb my brain, and your lyrics ease the pain
that slithers sad and slow and rots the soul inside me.
Now John, he's down from Dallas, where he left amidst the malice of some years behind,
He was drilling oil to feed his boys, and bring his darling roses every Friday night,
but when his lovely Josie started cozying up with Ed Posey, John took flight,
now he's playing cards in Austin, hoping that some guy named Watson blows his mind-
Mr. Please!
On a lonesome Texas highway, driven by a heartache mighty as the midday sun,
there ain't no consolation for the empty desolation of a love undone,
but when those scattered pieces whisper ghostly secrets, bleeding on that little,
little bit of piece you've won,
that fm station best not play no declaration aimed at Washington-
Mr. Please!
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9. |
Frank and Joan
04:29
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