East of Shirley

March 2006 - Boston and Ayer, Massachusetts

I’m east of Shirley, west of someone
Ridin hard on a two-day trip
I’ve been goin solo, drinkin too much coffee
Anticipating Shirley’s grip
Shirley’s grip, such a fine thing
Shirley’s grip’ll keep you up all night
And in the mornin, hey in the mornin
You’ll be missin your Shirley fix, hey hey

Now Shirley she’s just a force ‘a nature
Blowin hard down my mountainside
She’s my Chinook wind, my darlin Santa Ana
A gust ‘a dark energy deep inside
Deep inside, such a fine thing
Shirley’s whirlin like a hurricane
And when she’s finished, hey when she’s finished
You’ll be lookin’ for another ride, hey hey

Shirley’s gone out to the desert
She’s livin in a place we might never know
She’s chucked the east coast, she’s on her own now
Shirley likes to live out on the road
On the road, such a fine thing
Shirley needs a little room to roam
I see her movin, I think I feel her movin
Headin straight for my torrid zone, hey hey

Now I’m east of Shirley, west of someone, ridin hard on a two-day trip
I’ve been goin solo, drinkin too much coffee, anticipating Shirley’s grip

African Road

Fall 1996 - Groton, Massachusetts

I’m walkin down this African road
With an American name
I’m gonna walk all the way back to Monrovia
Find out who is to blame, who is to blame
I’m gonna throw myself in the deep blue deep
Wash away all the shame that’s livin with me

I’m runnin down this African road
Another boy of my age
I gotta gun, gotta knife, got a sack of grenades
I use ‘em every day, every day
I’m gonna throw myself in the deep blue deep
Wash away all the shame that’s livin with me

I read it in a book about long ago
With all those American names
And the old white men in a big white house
In a place called Charleston Bay
They said throw ‘em all back in the deep blue deep
Wash away all the shame that’s livin with me

I’m runnin from a village in the high country
It’s got an American name
Where my mama, my papa, my sister too
They’re lying in a common grave, a common grave
‘Cause the government boys well they came that day
And they cut and they shot and they slashed and I ran far away

I read it in a book about long ago
With all those American names
And the old white men in a big white house
In a place called Charleston Bay
They said just throw ‘em all back in the deep blue deep
Wash away all the shame that’s livin with me

Man Without Wings

Spring 2004 - Groton, Massachusetts

Sometimes it seems I’m a man without wings
A man who runs close to the ground
Lately it feels like I’m all held down
Shackled and chained
But when I break free you know I run to the place
To the hill and the valley below
And I wait for the wind to carry me from here
I’ll beat on, yes I’ll beat on

When I was 21, you know I took to the skies
I was bound and determined to fly
So I stepped to the wing, and I pushed myself free
The world froze while I sailed along
The wings of a young man, the wings strong and true
My wings were something to see
But the feathers they fade and the wind blows away
I’ll beat on, yes I’ll beat on

Now Mr. DaVinci knew just what to do when he made his wings to last
He took a strong wooden frame, a cloth stretched and made
More than a wing on a prayer
And when he stepped onto the north Tuscan plain
His arms outstretched to the world
No man could doubt, and no God could match
The things that good Leo could do, the things that Leo could do
He had the wings of an old man, the wings wise and true
His wings were something to see
But the feathers they fade and the wind blows away
And he beat on, beat on, he beat on

Now my little man I’ll keep your wings safe
Right here in the palm of my hand
We’ll put ‘em on straight, now go back to sleep
In the morning we’ll learn how to fly
When we awake we’ll know just where to go
To our hill and our valley below
Just a man and his boy with their heads in the clouds
And we’ll beat on, beat on, yes we’ll beat on

Prayer Flags

January 1994 - Newton, Massachusetts

Well you and I we kicked that town
That wretched, dismal, dying ground
We got out, we got away
We took a breath and we made our break
We drove ourselves onward, out of that place
Without a destination, we both knew the way

Each of us took his own road
Both transcending physical
You found your self in an Asian stream
I found mine in a poet’s dream
You went to the rooftop of your mortal world
I went to my window and watched our prayer flag unfurl

Travel with your brushes, I go with my pens
Trying to find a world that might make some sense
You stretch a canvas, I’ll stir the words
We will make a world and it might make some sense

Three months on a mountain top
The Buddhist priests, the chopping block
Seven years of history books
Earning every lesson took
You went to the rooftop of your mortal world
I went to my window and watched our prayer flag unfurl

Travel with your brushes, I go with my pens
Trying to find a world that might make some sense
You stretch a canvas, I’ll stir the words
We will make a world and it might make some sense

You and I we kicked that town
That wretched, dismal, dying ground
We got out, we got away
We took a breath and we made our break

Rain

November 15, 2006 - Ayer, Massachusetts

Rain
You know it’s coming down, like it always does
So get your coffee cup, come and sit with me now, breathe in the rain
Sit with me now, here it comes, sit with me now, breathe in the rain

Stay
For just a little while, I want to talk with you
I want to breathe you in, I want to drink you in with all this rain
Sit with me now, here it comes, sit with me now, breathe in the rain

Seven days and seven nights, fetched up on this shore, it’s like
We’re camped out on a raft of trees, sheltered from some stormy sea
Battoned down and holding on, turning in and looking through
Windows opened to the breeze, all is rhythm in the trees, and the rain

Rain
It’s still coming down, like it always does
Here’s a week of it and still we’re sittin, breathing all this rain
We’re reading books and turning gears, it’s time at last to go out in the rain

White Man’s Throne

March 1995 - Groton, Massachusetts

It’s a white man sitting upon his throne
It’s not Johannesburg now it’s Washington
He’s sitting there looking like the judgment day
Has come and it’s gone and he’s had his way

It’s a white man standing on a foreign shore
Bringing five hundred years of death and war
Load ‘em up real quick for the new found land
Pack ‘em in real tight, feel the money in your hand

You know you put 10 million people upon a wave
Made the centuries of blood their fate
A nation stolen, a people lost, this never-ending holocaust
Goes on now in words that lie and hate

It’s a white man standing at the classroom door
Saying you can’t come in here no more
No it’s back to the fields, to the mule and the plow
That’s all you were any good for anyhow

You know you put 10 million people upon a wave
Made the centuries of blood their fate
A nation stolen, a people lost, this never-ending holocaust
Goes on now in words that lie and hate

Plans of His Own

February 1994 - Newton, Massachusetts

My grandfather left home 19 hundred 18
He was barely as old as the century
His family waved goodbye as the train pulled out of Flushing
Thinking, oh, what a fine college man he would be

But he stayed on the train, he missed all his connections,
He missed his destination, the farmers’ school upstate
He took his college money and he spent it on a ticket
That would take him across the country out to the western plains

Because that boy had plans of his own
He had a plan that would take him to the open skies
Into the painted canyons he had read of late at night
And through a world of heroes, just like make-believe he would ride
Oh, he would ride

Now he ran out of rail in Prescott, Arizona,
So he traded in his city shoes for a pair of boots and spurs
He learned to rope and ride, he spent eight years in the basins
The company of wranglers, banditos, and steers

He was living those plans of his own
He was living, and sleeping under open skies
And to the painted canyons he had read of late at night
And through a world of heroes, just like make-believe he would ride
Oh, he would ride

But somewhere in those nights
He tired of bunks and broncs
The rhythms of his days hung like lassoes around his soul
So he turned himself back east
He bought a suit, he found a job
Still he kept his edges rough
Drank for years like some old outlaw

By the time I came along
His cowboy days they were long gone
He was older, by far, than the century
He would rock me on his knees, we would rock on down the train tracks
Back to the mystic canyons where he kept his cowboy dreams

He’d been the boy with a plan of his own
He’d been a boy, sleeping under open skies
To the painted canyons he had read of late at night
And through a world of heroes just like make-believe he would ride
Oh, we would ride

The Plains of Abraham

Winter-Spring 1995 - Groton, Massachusetts
French lyrics by Michel Marchildon, Montreal, Quebec (August 2007)

It was 17 and 59, we landed on that bloody shore
Backed up to the frozen mother river, and facing the cliffs of evermore
So quick throw up a grappling hook, and scramble to the top
We’ll be standing there on that summit in the mist, we will break the Frenchman’s back
And the colors ran so red...et les rouges se repandront
On the Plains of Abraham...sur les Plaines d’Abraham
The battle archetypal engaged
Two people lusting, with imperial desire, to hold the other in his sway
Out of the darkness with our muskets and our bayonets, we took the contest straight to the throat
And when the smoke had cleared that field of littered crimson would make an English king gloat
Now it’s two hundred years of wielding the power in this way
Building a nation on a forced accommodation, can you blame them when they say
That the colors will run red ...

Now it’s 19 and it’s 95, we’re standing still upon this bloody shore
Backed up to the wall of our intransigence and shouting all these threats of war
And it’s two hundred years of wielding the power in this way
The myth of our legendary tolerance it crumbles while we say

That the colors will run red...que les sang se repandra
On the Plains of Abraham...sur les Plaines d’Abraham
The battle archetypal engaged...une guerre sans pitie
Two people lusting...cette soif du pouvoir...with imperial desire, to hold the other in his sway
Cette soif du pouvoir, desirer vaincre...in his sway...tenir l’autre a sa merci
Vaincre a tout prix, sur les Plaines d’Abraham...les Plaines d’Abraham...d’Abraham

A Thousand Sarajevos

Winter-Spring 1995 and February 2007 - Ayer, Massachusetts

There are guns above the town
In the hills ‘round Sarajevo
Raining murder down
On all our little children
If you make a sound
They will surely find you
Guns up in the hills around the town of Sarajevo

All along these roads
This genocidal journey
Jackboots pounding down
Echoing the thirties
Driving a bloody sword
Tanks and mortars screaming
Blackshirts on the march again in a thousand Sarajevos

Now Europe gazes on
Incredulous yet passive
Complacent in their frowns
These bureaucratic asses
A whiff of Nazidom
Rises from the ashes
Old men sigh, and children die, in a thousand Sarajevos

Out on the plains of Africa
The villages lie empty
Tribal terror reigns
A pillaging of families
Sudan’s horsemen ride
Raping a whole country
The whole world sighs, while children die, in a thousand Sarajevos

Now this is ages old
The hatred of our fathers
The story has been told
In pages red and tattered
But I will not be sold
On the lies of God and country
For God and country stand for murder in a thousand Sarajevos

Both Eyes Open

April 30, 2006 - Ayer, Massachusetts

I was born with both eyes open, in a screamin ragin wail
Just suckin at the wind and rain, slidin through a veil
I was born in a fire and fury, both eyes fixed upon the world
I was born to tell a story; I will live to tell this tale, I was born...

I was born in the age of Elvis, a throbbin pulsin whine
Heartbreak Hotel shakin; white folks grabbin for the vine
My mama she was just twenty, just tryin to get away
From that house of pain on a marriage train, with a guy who said he’d play, I was born...

I was born to duck and cover, under fallout shelter signs
In the shadow of the mushroom, in the presence of the lie
In a vernal, toxic silent spring, cigarette paradise
Napalm bombs exploding around Walter Cronkite’s face, I was born...

I have learned a thousand lessons, I will learn a thousand more
You turned Vietnam into a parking lot, but it’s all Jane Fonda’s fault
And the things that really matter, as we gather at the trough
Are the sizes of our tv’s, refrigerators, SUV’s, I was born...

I will die with both eyes open in a screamin ragin wail
Just suckin at the wind and rain, slidin through a veil
I will take the fire and fury, both eyes fixed upon the world
I will go down with my story, and the tale will live unfurled, I was born...

Harmony Guitar

Christmas Eve, 1993 - North Windham, Maine

They always said I looked a lot like him
Same old eyes, same old foolish grin
It’s the kind of thing that families say
If it doesn’t mean much, it sure seems that way
But did they know that what we shared was more than a look, more than a stare
Did they know about the rage in our souls and the years that would take to console

They always said I talked a lot just like him
Used a lot of big words on the jungle gym
I didn’t always know what those words meant
I sure loved how they felt rolling through my head
He loved baseball, I loved books, taught me how to swing a bat but I wasn’t any good
What he did best was give the time, he’d even pay the library fines

And of all the memories I hold
There’s some that never get too old
It’s you and me standing in that music store
You helped me buy the Harmony guitar

Then came the years when you went away
Years of running with your pain
Years when I thought we’d lost you
There wasn’t anything that we could do
It was no more baseball, no more time, no one paying the library fines
When you got back everything had changed, none of us could ever look the same

And of all the memories I hold
There’s some that never get too old
It’s you and me standing in that music store
You helped me buy the Harmony guitar

So now I’m more than forty years
I see you every time I look in the mirror
I see you in these eyes that are crying out
I see you in a nose that’s sagging to the south
And like Mark Twain I’m surprised to see
You’re a whole lot smarter now than you used to be
Said a lot of things that we regret
Spent a lot of time learning to forgive if not forget

And of all the memories I hold
There’s some that never get too old
It’s you and me standing in that music store
You helped me buy the Harmony guitar