Lyrics: Carney's Lake

Fishing with the fiddle at the old man's place.
Hooking big and little out at Carney's Lake.
The White Rock Flood hadn't hit us yet.
Big John's stroke hadn't took his legs.

Whistle overhead...the rockets shake...exploding greens and reds in soft cascades.

Fussing with the signal on my grandpa's set.
Indians and armies flicker while we rest.
The Main Street bust hadn't hit us yet.
Pa's poor heart hadn't quit just yet.

The trees bend deep to the woods.
The wild eyed boy found his soul.
Soil ain't dirty when it's mixed with work.

Soul ain't worth a penny when it's got no hope.
Wishing, praying, dreaming that our bellies grow.
Edmund Junior's Grocery hadn't been closed yet.
The Town Hall scandal hadn't been broke yet.

The wind blows soft in the house where I was raised lost it's walls.
The smell of spring fills the halls; halls I remember at Carney's Lake.

Fishing with the fiddle at the old man's place.
Waiting for a smile from the old man's face.
The love of another hadn't took him yet.
The scent of his wife hadn't left him yet.

Whistle overhead...the rockets shake...exploding greens and reds in soft cascades.

Halls that I remember out at Carney's Lake...hooking big and little out at old man's place. The White Rock Flood hadn't hit us yet. Pa's poor heart hadn't quit just yet.

Whistle overhead...the rockets shake...exploding greens and reds in soft cascades.

Lyrics: Western In A

The ground came rushing up, with the night in swing.
A wine red cup, a moon for a king.

What for? What for?

I grabbed what I could as I went for that door.
But there she stood, her hands in the sink.

What for? What for?

I winced as she spoke, saying, "Love, where will you go?"
"Thought the concrete is warm, those boots aren't soled."

What for? What for?

"Sure, my pockets are holed. Yes, my money it won't fold."
"But I got my youth. I don't need your home."

What for? What for?

The ground came rushing up with the morning in swing.
An open guitar case. A curb for a king.

What for? What for?

So, I slipped as I crept up to the door, but there you were alive with bloom.
And you said, "Babe you're going just a little too soon...that this house is a home, not a tomb."
Now that perfume that's swirling off your bed, brings my thoughts to the phrase that once you said...
Said, "A life...a life that has no love, is the one that you won't want etched in stone..."