This life is filled with wonder. This life is full of days not spent. I cannot help but ponder. Just what relevance that lends. . But everything is comin' up roses.
Drops in the faucet like a nervous heart. Beat on my porcelain sink a rhythm avant-garde. I page through the phone book, reach for my fountain pen. Is he comin' in for the holidays to haunt me again?.
Sister had a crystal voice. She played a Silvertone from Montgomery Ward. Baez songs in Monroe hair. She sure could turn the boys' heads to stare. Swim wear saunter, tan and haunt them.
And she has a dress of laces. It's worn in many places. And the shoulder hangs upon her by a thread. And she has a need for sharin'. For someone warm and carin'.
(Nanci Griffith). . I once was a lot like you. We share a dream. I couldn't make come true. I was a child who wrote my name. Across a frosted window pane.
I once was a lot like you. We share a dream, I couldn't make come true. I was a child who wrote my name. Across a frosted window pane. And there are jobs that I might hold.
I can't be your weather. 'Cuz if it rains then it rains. I can't be your lover. 'Cuz the feelings would change. . I can't be the wind. 'Cuz the wind blows too free.
Ronnie stood beneath the movie marquee. His memories all curled up inside. He was trying to remember. Was it August or September. He'd seen her for the last time.
Well, thousands of folks back East they say. Are leavin' home most everyday. They're beatin' the hot oled dusty way. To the California line. Across the desert sands they roll.
(Guy Clark). . And I'd play the red river valley. And he'd sit in the kitchen and he'd cry. And run his fingers. Through seventy years of living. And wonder, Lord, has every well I've drilled gone dry.
I'd play the Red River Valley. And he'd sit out in the kitchen and cry. And run his fingers through seventy years of livin'. And wonder, "Lord, has ever' well I've drilled run dry?".
(Woody Guthrie - Martin Hoffman). . The crops are all in. And the peaches are rotting. The oranges are stacked. In their Creosote dumps. They're flying them back.
(Tom Campbell - Steve Gillette). . Where the Walker runs down into the Carson Valley plain. There lived a young maiden Darcy Farrow was her name. The daughter of old Dundee and a fair one was she.
Oh, I used to wish I was a hard line taker. They'd say, six to one a half dozen'll break her. Till I fell in love with a young man who sang the blues.
Oh, my family grew cotton and cotton was all we knew. Butter came from butter beans and it all went in a stew. We lived off our victory garden and the neighbors did so too.
Flipped into the wind. Like the ashes of her cigarette. He got scattered thrown on the breeze. As he tried to forget. He lost all his heat. And his heart never will be the same.
My bags are waiting in a cab downstairs. I've got a ticket in my pocket says I'll make it out of here. And I came by here just to tell you good-by. I can see it in your face, you don't want to know why.
I am a clock without hands. I'm walking through the midnights. Counting all the moments of the loves I've left behind. Crying on the shoulders of the days, I've not forgotten now.
In the hills of Montana. There's a timber wolf howlin'. The Rangers are prowlin'. For a woman alone. She'd run away. From an Indian lover. He'll never recover.
He is from the work of a Southern writer. Where every man's a fighter. Where the strong survive. And the weak move north to rest. . And he had lines of silver.