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1. |
Ragged
04:57
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I’m the brimstone preacher
unsure how things are.
I’m the AA leader
in the back of the bar.
I don’t make perfect sense;
my life is no clean edge.
I’m the bluegrass picker
on electric guitar.
That’s how it is ... ragged.
I’m the one who’s crying
at the comedy.
I’m the coffee addict
at a British tea.
Sometimes I hum along,
but I don’t know the song.
I’m the baffled driver
up a one-way street.
Things just aren’t what they seem.
It’s not all about me.
I’m not trying to be lonely.
That’s how it is ... ragged
I’m the clown who’s smiling
but I’m acting a frown.
I’m the backstreet dealer
whose uppers let me down.
Sometimes I’m mystified;
I’m nowhere, though I’ve tried.
I’m the distance runner
already wearing out.
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2. |
Les Mis
04:03
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None for me, none for you, none for everyone;
Some for me, some for you, some for everyone.
There was nothing in my pocket,
just my papers and no plan.
I stumbled to a door I'd heard would let me in,
where in the dark my only option was to sin.
Two candlesticks, unstolen gifts;
red-handed robbery dismissed.
The old man whispered low, “Today I bought your soul.”
My hate was banished; living grace became my goal.
Deep inside I kept the score:
Justice a “fierce and frenzied ... roar.”
I prayed to God I’d never crumble or back down.
The guilty man would pay his dues when he was found.
A waiver written down in silver—
That criminal will meet his end.
One chance to give after another—
Only death can make amends.
Jean Valjean, mercy will meet you.
Javert, you chose a bitter end.
Your chance to live is now forever.
What less did you comprehend?
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3. |
Eighteen Wheels
03:41
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Eighteen wheels, that’s all that’s between the road and me,
driving this big old rig from sea to shining sea,
Willie Nelson on the radio
singing about blue eyes in the rain.
It’s just me and Willie
and my thoughts to keep us company.
Riding on the road, my good friend,
doesn’t mean you’re independent or free.
The radio, the truck stop signs,
another county passed—
It’s still just me and Willie
and my thoughts to keep us company.
I miss my mom, I miss my dad,
I miss my dog, I miss my cat.
I chose the road; now I’m not sure why.
So I’m stuck out here on 81; I’m getting to drive.
When I get back home, I don’t know—
maybe I’ll miss the road.
The highway’s flying by; it’s calling my name.
The folks I’m passing, they must think that I’m insane.
My exit’s just ahead; I’ve got to slow down—
and my friend Willie’s still the only friend around.
It’s still just me and Willie
and my thoughts to keep us company.
It’s still just me and Willie
and my thoughts to keep me company.
It’s still just me and the radio
and my thoughts to keep me company.
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4. |
Rain
03:39
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I was one of the kind,
one of the type that tries and tries
to be larger than life, all the time.
My light was on; I shined it bright,
torching up the Book of Life,
dazzled everyone; yeah, I was wise.
I was drawing another line,
finger in the sand, saying who was right
and who was wrong, but those lines are gone
in the rain.
I had stripes and banners to fly,
hot fire engine ax to grind,
little smokescreen shadows in my mind.
But it got loud inside my head,
ashes on my daily bread,
when black and white both fell apart to gray.
Sinking in the guilty pleasure
of my ready pointing fingers.
Mirror, mirror, playing double,
rain and sand: so good, such trouble.
I was pumped, but things turned around,
stones destined to throw, back on the ground.
I had my case sewn up and watertight,
but the sand shifted in the rain.
I was drawing another line,
finger in the sand, saying who was right
and who was wrong, but those lines are gone
in the rain.
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5. |
Grab a Suitcase
05:13
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Clouds blow southward, then they turn north.
Round and round its circuits goes the wind.
Same old logic, lessons that I thought I'd learned,
one more sin of knowing anything.
So many babies are born
and even a heartbeat for me.
Grab a suitcase; pack it lightly.
We’re heading for the hills,
for tomorrow isn’t waiting for today.
Flaming bridges, clouds of ashes,
demons left behind in burning sand.
All the rivers stream to oceans,
to the seas that never will be filled.
Punch the time clock or put the boss out.
This race is for both the swift and the slow.
I’ve got my portion, I’ve got my notions,
and just one chance to free my soul.
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6. |
Promised Land
04:36
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No need to be uptight about anything tonight;
there’s time tomorrow.
Forget today, over and said,
too begged and borrowed.
No more counting feathers;
all the hairs on my head are numbered.
So I set limits for my daily grind;
the rat race gets no overtime.
Ocean spray across my face,
footsteps gone without a trace,
flip flops hanging in my hand:
Dreaming of a promised land.
My life is no box office hit,
exotic set, eloquent script,
and I’m okay with how things go.
I’ll just cook the supper;
I’ll just bring the money home.
I’ll just weed the garden;
I’ll just mow the lawn.
I’ll read to the children;
I’ll tuck them into bed.
I’ll pop some popcorn
and fill the wine glass in your hand.
The cool of autumn in my face,
moonlit meadow grass like lace,
grape clusters in my hand:
Living in the promised land.
No need to be uptight about anything tonight;
there’s time tomorrow.
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7. |
Permission
03:43
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I don’t know when I’m going to die—
in fifty years, maybe tonight—
leave my fears and worries far behind.
So what if I live without holding back,
if I cut myself some slack,
if I just be myself, give up the act?
I forgive me in a thousand different ways,
many times every single day,
For things I said out loud,
or thought but didn’t do,
times I acted smart
and felt like a fool.
Yes, I forgive me today.
I wear my feelings on my sleeve,
all my insecurities,
the misery of trying hard to please.
What if I don’t care so much,
if I act ridiculous?
If I feel out of place, well it’s just me.
I forgive you for the time
you sweetly smiled and cut in line,
and talked me into saying “I don’t mind.”
But when it comes to little me,
living in obscurity,
well, it’s not so easy to shake free.
No more shrinking, playing small,
too afraid of being strong;
I needed my permission all along.
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8. |
Any More Than Already
04:59
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If any more than already is what you want, all you want,
if one hundred percent of what I've got is not enough,
if every morning kiss must call down fire from above,
and every move an earthquake, from a new kind of champion….
If looking through your glasses proves no refuge from mistrust,
if every breath requires more than air to feed your blood,
if in your private melody you hear an orchestra,
and in your every heartbeat is a new kind of champion…
I’m not a champion…
Oh no, I’m not the champion for you.
No preacher’s telling you that you should say “I do.”
Nobody’s asking you to be anyone but you.
Why shift your weight from side to side and look away?
If I’m not your champion—better luck another day.
If any more than already is what you want, all you want,
if in your every heartbeat is a new kind of champion….
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The Clymer Kurtz Band Harrisonburg, Virginia
Grounded in the rural, small-town urban, and global mosaic of Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, the Clymer Kurtz Band’s songs express fun and intensity, routine and whimsy, challenge and satisfaction – and a smattering of hopeful detours. The Clymer Kurtzes’ songwriting “has a high level of originality: lyrically, melodically and emotionally,” writes former music radio host Mel Lee. ... more
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