Out in the Fields Distant guns of thunder The wall cloud closes in A young child clings to her mother Such an angry wind Way out in the fields A lonely sod buster jumps from his John Deere If he stays down by the creek He can’t run for cover Time only to pray for his family The old farmhouse starts to shudder A screen door is pulled from its hinge Must be a mile-wide Prairie Cutter That’s come bearing down on them Horses crazed, break through the fence escaping The wrath of God The fury of Mother Nature A hell-bound train, shattering window pains Young mother cradles her baby and prays Way out in the fields a lonely sod buster sees the funnel appear and he prays down on his knees “Lord, blow me asunder Dear God, please spare my family” Way out in the fields what once was a tractor now just pieces of steel and way out in the fields a lonely sod buster races to find his family Beneath the blessed skies of azure lies a twisted weather vane on a small family farm in Nebraska that God has spared today

At the Dairy Queen one summer in a far West Texas town, the girl was all of sixteen, but she was woman pound for pound. Slippin’ dollars in the jukebox, playing ZZ Top and Merle, sippin’ lemon Dr. Peppers with my sweet West Texas girl. We’d step out into the desert sun and curse where we came from then we’d ride to the Rio Grande and try our hands at love. The more I think about it, the less I understand. Grab a hold of something good, it’ll slip right through your hands. Will you catch me if I fall? Or will you sit and watch me crawl through fire and the burning sand all the way to Monahans? Them rich boys from the Westside drive their brand new shiny cars, I can’t blame them sons-of-bitches, they was raised to make life hard on us sons of honest working-men, the one’s that grease the wheels. She hitched a ride to the cheatin’ side on a brokered sweetheart deal. I saw her cruisin’ down at the crossroads, she was laughing as she waved. I went down to the Rio Grande with a six-pack and my twelve gauge. The more I think about it, the less I understand. Grab a hold of something good and it’ll slip right through your hands. Will you catch me if I fall? Or will you sit and watch me crawl through fire and the burning sand all the way to Monahans? It’s the same old scene at the Dairy Queen in a far West Texas town. There’s a girl all of eighteen, but you could tell she’d been around. She was huggin’ on her boyfriend while she was giving me the eye, then she slid past my table, said, “Honey, I can make you smile.” Her boyfriend pulled a knife on me, said, “Don’t go messin’ with my girl.” I said, “You tend to your own business, son, I’m listening to Merle.” The less I think about it, the more I understand. Grab a hold of something good, it’ll slip right through your hands Who will catch me if I fall? Who will sit and watch me crawl through fire and the burning sand all the way to Monahans? Throw your heart into a black sedan and drive it all the way to Monahans. Onto Midland… and Big Spring… Abilene… Weatherford… all the way to Fort Worth.

Preacher in a Cadillac, fresh new coat of wax grinning like a Cheshire cat Ranchers brandishing black hats, rifles in gun racks politely slow to let us pass Stake-beds carry Mexicans to where the crop is coming in homesick eyes peer out past weathered skin Meanwhile down at Ray’s Garage, my brother hardens up his heart and welds it to his muscle car Dad’s just staring straight ahead we haven’t talked in God-knows-when I guess we’ve learned to keep from butting heads But, in this silence I have found the very nature of this town “get out, get right, or just get on with it.” This is my home, this is my place These are my people, despite what we say These are the thoughts I’ll carry with me as I’m running away Store fronts that we used to frequent, now for sale or lease and patronized by tumbleweeds Every make and model car is parked outside the bar misery loves company Dad mutters something ‘neath his breath, he just might drink himself to death then he shoots a sideways glance at me And as I watch my world roll by I can’t help but wonder why what does all this have to do with me? This is my home, this is my place These are my people descending from grace We keep a safe distance, keep our heads high This is West Texas, make do or die trying This is my home, this is my place These are the pieces, these aggregates These are the thoughts I’ll carry with me as I’m running away This is my home, this is my place These are my people Despite what they say…

I always did like the way the afternoon light played in this room where homemade gingham curtains danced on breezy afternoons. I can still see her in her favorite chair, lost in poetry, lazy Sundays spent with Ella, Edna and Emily. The bookcases are empty now, the Greats condemned to boxes, taped and marked for storage on a moving van to Lostville. Always… seems such a long time Always… everything good has to end A fool invests in happiness Seems like only yesterday, it feels like only yesterday, this was our home. The freshly painted walls where family pictures used to hang, glossed over all our memories, it’s as if we never came. Hollow footsteps echo from the ceiling to the floor, these hardwoods were great for dancing, we had some good times, that’s for sure. Now the ghosts of fate and holidays will linger in this room where homemade gingham curtains danced on breezy afternoons. Always… seems such a long time Always… seems like a dream to me now As our home becomes a house It seems like only yesterday, feels like only yesterday this was our home. You kill the roots, you kill the tree, we scatter off like the falling leaves. There ain’t much left much to say now, it all seems such a waste, our names will be forgotten, sure as the locks will get replaced. The roses in her garden will miss her come the spring, the birds will come to visit, we won’t be here to hear them sing. And I’ll never see the afternoon light quite the same from any room as I slowly close the curtains on the life that we once knew. Always.

From the tracks down to the river, that’s the stomping ground for the Levee Boys. Armed with slingshots and transistors, we ran our turf with reckless joy. Me and Jim we were the oldest, we were strong as we were fast. In the salt cedar bosky we built a fortress, where the boys would meet and plan their next attack. We never hurt nobody, Broke some windows, bent some laws. Barefoot warriors, slingshots hanging from our tattered overalls, “All for one and one for all!” I never will forget that fateful summer, that couple from Albuquerque moved next door. They yelled a lot and used a lot of cuss words, while their long-faced kids sat out on the porch. Well, that curly-headed boy, he was something… two left feet, big mouth, and a busted tooth. He followed us around ’til we relented, we were the Levee Boys, “Defenders of the Youth!” We never hurt nobody, ‘cept rattlesnakes and vermin, that was our pledge. How were we to know we were growing up through this experience? We were just kids. One Friday we was pitching rocks along the ditch bank, when Curly showed up all bruises, blood and tears. Jim said, “Men, our mission here is apparent… no parent has the right to rob us of these years.” So we took the kid to our fort out in the bosky, stocked him up with white bread and pork and beans. His Dad knew that we knew, but we weren’t talking, Jim said, “That bastard better never lay a hand on me.” By Sunday night the law came asking questions and we was raised to always tell the truth. Me and Jim led the cops down to the levee, to that curly-headed kid with the busted tooth. You see, the law didn’t take to the problem lightly and things got strangely quiet in the neighborhood. That family moved away under the cover of the night, I still don’t know if what we did, did any good. I still don’t know if what we did, did any good. We never hurt nobody, ‘cept rattlesnakes and vermin, that was our pledge. How were we to know that we’d grow up with all these lessons that we’d lived? We were just kids. Across the tracks down to the river, we ran our turf with reckless joy. In the spirit of Huckleberry and Jim Hawkins, “Once upon a Time”, (the Levee Boys). “Defenders of our Youth”, (the Levee Boys).

Don’t look now, but here comes Johnny Raincloud cutting in on your little slice of sky. Girl, you’d think by now that noise would die down, even now that distant thunder’s weighing heavy on your mind. And I know you feel like running, you want to go and find your smile… In Carefree, Arizona…Live Easy, Pennsylvania, and change your state of mind. Opportunity, Nebraska or Allgood, Alabama, let’s leave this all behind and find your shine. Last night you cried and said you missed your Grandpa, all the lessons that were given out of love. Comes a time we learn to cut our losses, he always said to measure twice, then just cut once. Nothing ever lasts forever, ‘cept for the everlasting life. We’ll go to Paradise, Kansas…or Comfort, Texas, to change your state of mind. Thankful, North Carolina or Little Heaven, Delaware, we’ll leave this all behind and find your shine. With every silver lining comes a little chance for rain. Don’t look now, (you’ve got your head in the clouds). Have faith and be aware… the sun is always shining somewhere! In Sunlight, Montana…Pleasant, Indiana, Sunshine, Maryland. Delightful, Ohio…Hope, New Mexico, Dreamland, Michigan. Okay, Oklahoma…Freedom, Wyoming, Allright, Illinois. Good Intent, New Jersey…Good Luck, Mississippi, What Cheer, Iowa. Happy Camp, California…Benevolence, Georgia, Welcome, Minnesota…Friendly, West Virginia, Wynot, Nebraska?

Each of us a single thread wove into the fine fabric of the Grand Design. She smiles and says the “stars look right tonight.” All we are is All That Is. There are no two moments quite like this. All that matters now as we rise above the clouds is to see the Light. Her eyes meet with mine, we collide in a brilliant fire. Our souls intertwine, We are one, We are one desire, We were meant to be… Together for Infinity. She says, “This is a relatively simple thing, I move you, baby, you move me.” Love is so enchanting while slow dancing to the Music of the Spheres. Her heart beats with mine, we combine, keep perfect time. Our souls harmonize, We are One Voice in a great big choir where everybody sings “Together for Infinity.” We create what we believe. We can live in fear or we can go in peace. We can give it up to God or always be at odds with our mortality. Her eyes meet with mine, we collide in a brilliant fire. The flame never dies, We are one, We are one desire, We were meant to be… Together for Infinity.

Afternoon gold, molten roads, and monochrome daydreams. Vagabond songs get tossed out like lukewarm empties. If the sun cuts out early, it won’t be too soon, there’s a spoonful of moonlight coming on. I’m just hanging on. Somewhere there’s a town where the sun’s going down delicately. Where shadows dissolve in the evening’s resolve and she gets me, she lets me. For every soft contour, a thousand love songs I have written and delivered them all. I’m just hanging on. Hanging on to something, something that wants to let go. Stuck in the middle of nowhere feeling half the way home. The high tension lines go on for miles… …and miles and miles, to the incandescent glow from her bedroom window, guiding me on through the night. The radio’s playing one of her songs, then it crackles…fades…and it’s gone. I’m just hanging on.

It was the top of the ninth, the kid ran out to left field, it was the last game of the season for the champions of the little league, Coach had kept him on the bench all summer. Ah, the splendor of the grass, his new leather mitt, the bleachers filled with everybody’s parents but his… so, he never truly felt the joy of winning, and he only got to play half an inning, He kept it all in, he was the Kickaround Kid. They sent the kid off to his Grandmother’s farm, he spent hours and hours bouncing a ball off the back of the barn wishing he was Nolan Ryan. The old woman would take him by the hand, they’d walk the green fields He’d asked her, “Grandma, how long will I feel this pain that I feel?” She said, “God only deals us that which we can handle and nobody ever won a custody battle.” Keep a stiff upper lip…that’s the Kickaround Kid. Momma’s in her Sunday shoes, Daddy’s wearing steel-toed boots, the boy’s got his head hanging down. Sometimes he can walk the walk, sometimes he just limps along waiting for the other foot to fall. Lace up your “Chuck Taylor’s” and run, run like the wind. But, he can’t outrun the shadow… …the shadow of the Kickaround Kid. The kid started thinking maybe he wasn’t right for this world, he couldn’t relate to alpha males, he had trust issues with girls, the doctor said he was just awkward. But, he found solace in melody, in meter, in rhyme, the emotional introspection of what is and what he’s hoping to find. He’s hoping to find the meaning of it all, still bouncing his emotions off the ramshackle walls of a broken home that never got fixed, with a broken heart learning to forgive, And a stiff upper lip…that’s the Kickaround Kid. Momma’s in her walking shoes, Daddy’s wearing steel-toed boots, the boy’s got his head hanging down. Sometimes he can walk the walk, sometimes he still limps along waiting for the other foot to fall. “Pick up the guitar and sing us a happy song.” If you listen real close you’ll hear that little kid singing along. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…”

Life and limbo in a motel lobby, Call it a career or call it a hobby, Grab your free cup of coffee and a muffin and the road goes on. Ask a good question get a sorry excuse, you wonder what the weather’s like in Baton Rouge, (got you thinking ’bout them FEMA trailers rotting out in Arkansas). Sometimes you think about spinning the truth in government-issue bullet-proof shoes. Dropping names, dropping calls, dropping pills, drop the CD off with A&R in Nashville, with a five dollar Scratcher so the bastard might remember your name. You carry a tune in your wallet everybody likes to hear, it’s gotten frayed around the edges from sitting on your rear, driving place to place, play it over and over and over again. Do you know that song spent a month on the charts? Sorry, I don’t, can you hum a few bars? When your pen’s out of ink and the wells run dry, and you ain’t felt a good hard rain in a while, maybe it’s time to chill out someplace… maybe Southern Nevada. You got your truck stops, honky tonks, and taco stands, another lone starving artist looking for a good band, but that’s more mouths to feed, and you’re one taco short of a combo platter. Champagne taste on a Lone Star budget… got room for one more and that about does it. Just another song about another songwriter, may you never cross the center divider. Another tumbleweed caught on a fence, another used car with some whiskey dents, another bottle rocket with a really short fuse, another business card you won’t ever use. Another lost soul sharing her bed, another open wound, another tourniquet, another two cents in the old tip jar, and another and another and another and another Lone Star. Another drunk with an irritating laugh, that’s another four minutes that you’ll never get back. Another bounced check, another Freudian slip, another good intention, another bad trip. Another talent booker, another half-empty room, another janitor leaning on a push broom, another suicide string on an out-of-tune guitar, and another and another and another and another Lone Star. Another wrong turn down a dead end street, another wolf dressing up to look like a sheep, another five hundred miles without stoppin’, another bent nail in a second hand coffin. Another hobo song about riding the rails, another freeloader riding on your coat tails, another purist claiming that you’re going too far, and another and another and another and another Lone Star. Another simile, another metaphor, another chance meeting with the same three chords. Another blind-folded stab at the truth, another river boat gambler with a knife in his boot. Another self-absorbing media sponge, another boot-licker clinging to the bottom rung, another tattoo, another emotional scar, and another and another and another and another Lone Star. I’ve got another verse, if you’ve got another minute, let’s have another round, we haven’t had our limit. They’ll be another Sunday Morning Comin’ Down hard and another and another and another and another Lone Star.