Archive for February, 2011

And the Horse You Rode In On

Sunday, February 27th, 2011

Now we’ve had cars, trucks, trains, and now a horse. That’s what they call progress.

Up There:

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this is the part that you do not eat

Nobody Here is From Here

Sunday, February 27th, 2011

This one dude drove by so fast all I saw was mud flying up.

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local boy

i dont want to be a local boy
i dont want to be that dude
i dont want to be a local boy
i dont wanna be like you

im heading home
my wheels are four by four down on the road
im living life
between the lines
to the sound of my radio

i dont want to be a local boy
i dont want to be that dude
i dont want to be a local boy
i dont wanna be like you

the years roll by
I’m drinking every night until the well runs dry
I’ll stay down here
one more year
laying low and gettng high

i dont want to be a local boy
i dont want to be that dude
i dont want to be a local boy
i dont wanna be like you

so just one more
because i cant find my keys or find the door
im hungry now
but I dont know how
and i dont know what for

Gotta get out get out get out get out get out
Put my wheel against a wall
Get out get out get out get out get out
I’ll run my tank on alcohol!

My daddy drank away his legs
A local boy until he hit the dregs
I’m not going out that way
Gotta get out get out get out get out get out
Get out

i dont want to be a local boy
i dont want to be that dude
i dont want to be a local boy
i dont wanna be like you

The Last Train

Wednesday, February 23rd, 2011

A rush of air. the smell of diesel – a mad eye winking to sleep and a steel dream, the last mile of the last train on the last straight track, and the last free man smiles.

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all that's left is the track he was on

Scattered Leaves

Monday, February 21st, 2011

death train

baby ill use these hands for work
baby i will work your love
but i wont fold them up to pray
i aint going down that way

you say I’m running on the railway to hell
But I cant hear the whistle howl
or the ringing of the bell

i’m sleeping good on a death train
if you live like a dog, you’ll die on a chain
sleeping good on a death train
rolling on

look at the powdered preacher man
finger pointing right at me
sweatin and stooping in his suit
he just wants to be the one
sleeping next to you

sleeping good on a death train
if you live like a dog, you’ll die on a chain
sleeping good on a death train
rolling on

i’m sleeping good on a death train
if i cant stand tall ill be running in the rain
sleeping good on a death train
rolling on and on again

and i think im going home
and i wonder what its like
and im not crying in this cattle car
just got some smoke in my eyes

you say I’m running on the railway to hell
But I cant hear the whistle howl
or the ringing of the bell

i’m sleeping good on a death train
if you live like a dog, you’ll die on a chain
sleeping good on a death train
rolling on

i’m sleeping good on a death train
if i cant stand tall ill be running in the rain
sleeping good on a death train
rolling on and on again

up there

if you get up there
in the saddle
grab the reins and dont let go
if you get up there
just keep riding
ride until your thrown

if you believe
if you want to be free
if you get up there
you will be

past the treeline
up the hillside
ride until youre gone
just a hoof beat
just a heart beat
and there is no voice but your own

if you believe
if you want to be free
if you get up there
you will be

no more green pasture, there’s only sky
theres only hills to climb

just a hoof beat
just a heart beat
and there is no voice but your own
until there is no voice left but your own

if you believe
if you want to be free
if you get up there
you will be
you will be
you will

Sweet

Sunday, February 20th, 2011

Sweet water dripping from a vine on one day of thaw. I see my reflection in an icy pool and have to wonder, if there were anyone here at all, what they would see.

The heavy tires throw up frost and slush. The light is on in the window, the sign says open.

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sweet on me

she’s sweet on me
like honey on bread
she’s sweet on me
sweet in my head

sweet like the sugar
that takes the edge off black coffee
at two in the morning
with the breakfast she brings me

she’s sweet on me
like honey on my bread
she’s sweet on me
sweet in my head

sweet like the syrup
on the edge of my table knife
we’re all alone in the diner
she’s quick and she’s quiet

and I’m just rolling through
I leave it all on the check for you
theres rain on my window
there’s a tape in the deck
the sweetest songs are the best

she’s sweet on me
like honey on my bread
she’s sweet on me
sweet in my head