LYRIC SHEETS:
"Dramatics"
Album: Builds.with.Age
Track: 1
W.A. Fite
Courtesy James Villa Photography 2012
Showing posts with label lyrics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lyrics. Show all posts
Friday, August 24, 2012
Friday, February 18, 2011
Lyrics: Feet in the Water
Feet in the river, now calm the waters.
Dirty black toes and eyes that wander.
Clap on the lap and whistle nonsense, but please don't you shake the water...
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
Feet in the river, who's making breakfast?
We rose earlier than Mom should've let us.
Head full of hat, weary pant legs, snapping thumbs and whistle nonsense.
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
My hands go brown, the mind clears up and out the head...I hear no sound.
Feet in the river, who's gonna join me?
I'd ask Sister, but she called me ugly.
Called big Brother said, "Come sit beside me." But he's too busy with Neighbor Holly.
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
My hands go brown, the mind clears up and out the head...I hear no sound.
Dirty black toes and eyes that wander.
Clap on the lap and whistle nonsense, but please don't you shake the water...
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
Feet in the river, who's making breakfast?
We rose earlier than Mom should've let us.
Head full of hat, weary pant legs, snapping thumbs and whistle nonsense.
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
My hands go brown, the mind clears up and out the head...I hear no sound.
Feet in the river, who's gonna join me?
I'd ask Sister, but she called me ugly.
Called big Brother said, "Come sit beside me." But he's too busy with Neighbor Holly.
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
My hands go brown, the mind clears up and out the head...I hear no sound.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Lyrics: That Ain't The Way (To The Heart)
That ain't the way to the heart.
A doubled down face of liar.
It's best to get then go. Clean the pants and on with the show.
That ain't the way to the heart.
A bow. A gun. A dart.
A doubled down face of a liar, enough to catch a fire.
That ain't the way to get at me.
That act is not complete.
Them ankles look good, like them feet, so get them on the street.
That ain't the way to the heart.
A doubled down face of a liar...a liar.
A doubled down face of liar.
It's best to get then go. Clean the pants and on with the show.
That ain't the way to the heart.
A bow. A gun. A dart.
A doubled down face of a liar, enough to catch a fire.
That ain't the way to get at me.
That act is not complete.
Them ankles look good, like them feet, so get them on the street.
That ain't the way to the heart.
A doubled down face of a liar...a liar.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Lyrics: Jack
Waters mix with the paint and brush. An orange fleck stroke makes your Granpa's hand rush.
People who wait, are the ones who mind. They mind their Mothers. They mind their hairlines.
Will you be just like me?
Resigned to draw your walls in colored streaks?
Should we keep the house unlocked when we leave?
Your Mother preens and primps the house. She wipes the tables, wipes your mouth.
The clothes have grown big, with closets small. The pets go wild waiting in the cramped hall.
Will you be just like me?
Restless at the age where most find peace?
A cold day in December, one marked in ink.
Son you'll see...I'll give you words to see.
That only brave men dine in the Captain's seat.
Will you be just like me?
Slow to write your numbers, slow to speak?
Should your Mother and I wait up till you sleep?
Son you'll see...I'll give you words to see.
That we're all tied bound to the Family Tree.
People who wait, are the ones who mind. They mind their Mothers. They mind their hairlines.
Will you be just like me?
Resigned to draw your walls in colored streaks?
Should we keep the house unlocked when we leave?
Your Mother preens and primps the house. She wipes the tables, wipes your mouth.
The clothes have grown big, with closets small. The pets go wild waiting in the cramped hall.
Will you be just like me?
Restless at the age where most find peace?
A cold day in December, one marked in ink.
Son you'll see...I'll give you words to see.
That only brave men dine in the Captain's seat.
Will you be just like me?
Slow to write your numbers, slow to speak?
Should your Mother and I wait up till you sleep?
Son you'll see...I'll give you words to see.
That we're all tied bound to the Family Tree.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
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..."
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..."
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Lyrics: Crazy Horse
My life is emptying, as she lies on the corner of my bed.
My time is emptying, as it clicks the tick-tock it makes sense.
My love is silent she makes no waves, smiles as I rest.
We laid upon the rocks to see how hard that sleeping should have been.
I've gone to Crazy Horse to ask him for advice. He makes no sense.
Where has my woman gone?
She took the flashlight, when she took the tent.
Now I am huddled down, with no light, nothing but the wind.
Back out to Crazy Horse, asking please and thank you. Let me in.
Another turn away and I'd turn back, but this shit it don't make sense.
Wrapped in a safety bag, lying on the rocks the clock it ticks.
My life is emptying as I smell the wind turn cold as death.
My love is silent as she lies on the corner of my bed.
If I could sleep to dream; would she appear as she once did?
Curled down on my lap whispering sweet words that she'd never say...
My time is emptying, as it clicks the tick-tock it makes sense.
My love is silent she makes no waves, smiles as I rest.
We laid upon the rocks to see how hard that sleeping should have been.
I've gone to Crazy Horse to ask him for advice. He makes no sense.
Where has my woman gone?
She took the flashlight, when she took the tent.
Now I am huddled down, with no light, nothing but the wind.
Back out to Crazy Horse, asking please and thank you. Let me in.
Another turn away and I'd turn back, but this shit it don't make sense.
Wrapped in a safety bag, lying on the rocks the clock it ticks.
My life is emptying as I smell the wind turn cold as death.
My love is silent as she lies on the corner of my bed.
If I could sleep to dream; would she appear as she once did?
Curled down on my lap whispering sweet words that she'd never say...
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
My Hand The Handle
I was afraid to open the door. Afraid of the handle and of the turn.
I was afraid to open the door. Afraid of what I knew I would learn.
Looked at the handle, looked at my hand. Noticed it's paint chips, noticed it's slant.
I was afraid to open the door. Thinking it's stance was maligned, but true.
I was afraid to open the door. Thinking I'd stumble, slip right through.
Reached for the handle, gave it a turn.
It's bolt clicked at going and finally I knew...
As I stood looking through that open door, the nothing I saw was simply the floor.
I was afraid to open the door. Afraid of what I knew I would learn.
Looked at the handle, looked at my hand. Noticed it's paint chips, noticed it's slant.
I was afraid to open the door. Thinking it's stance was maligned, but true.
I was afraid to open the door. Thinking I'd stumble, slip right through.
Reached for the handle, gave it a turn.
It's bolt clicked at going and finally I knew...
As I stood looking through that open door, the nothing I saw was simply the floor.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Oil Machine
I am an oil machine of gears and clogs, parts that don't match. Gears that won't turn, clamps that won't latch. Grease and steam whistling.
Tired and alone. Made by steel, not stone.
I am a tattooed old piece with words that bend to odd to read. Cars that don't match. A crime at the scene. Grease and steam whistling.
Tired and alone. Made by steel, not stone.
No more lines. No sunsets behind. Just oil and rust. Tired and alone.
Tired and alone. Made by steel, not stone.
I am a tattooed old piece with words that bend to odd to read. Cars that don't match. A crime at the scene. Grease and steam whistling.
Tired and alone. Made by steel, not stone.
No more lines. No sunsets behind. Just oil and rust. Tired and alone.
Lyrics: Large Lights
The more I stay awake. The farther It gets away.
If I stay up too long, this memory will be gone.
It is dark when I wake. It is dark when I get home.
Big huge large lights, that say I've been lost.
That's a lie. I chose this spot. This spot is mine.
Where have you gone? I can't be left alone this long.
It is dark when I wake. It is dark when I get home.
If I stay up too long, this memory will be gone.
It is dark when I wake. It is dark when I get home.
Big huge large lights, that say I've been lost.
That's a lie. I chose this spot. This spot is mine.
Where have you gone? I can't be left alone this long.
It is dark when I wake. It is dark when I get home.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Lyrics: The Piddler
Why did you let me down, standing out at the Fairfield Line?
I've tried to rest in this deafening sound, the sky meets the ground.
Slow, slow, so slow.
Did the clock wind out as the room went cold?
My suit has torn a hole.
And your dress has split where it can't be sewed.
Why did you have me wait? My feet went push till the floor went split.
I stared through the screen and latch, and through the roof peering near the thatch.
Slow, slow, so slow.
Did the clock wind out as the room went cold?
My suit has torn a hole.
And your dress has split where it can't be sewed.
Why did it take so long for you to say, "Hey, I've met someone"?
I sure as hell would've left this town and it's sparse lit clouds.
I've tried to rest in this deafening sound, the sky meets the ground.
Slow, slow, so slow.
Did the clock wind out as the room went cold?
My suit has torn a hole.
And your dress has split where it can't be sewed.
Why did you have me wait? My feet went push till the floor went split.
I stared through the screen and latch, and through the roof peering near the thatch.
Slow, slow, so slow.
Did the clock wind out as the room went cold?
My suit has torn a hole.
And your dress has split where it can't be sewed.
Why did it take so long for you to say, "Hey, I've met someone"?
I sure as hell would've left this town and it's sparse lit clouds.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Lyrics: A Work In Progress
All my people think I'm simple.
Drink the coffee, read the paper.
Hear the band, the tunes they're flailing.
Sit for hours, just to play it out.
Who's in? Who's next?
A Work In Progress.
Will the waitress wave to greet me,
Or the doctor nod to see me?
Will my parent's come to meet me?
Drive four hours, just to call me son.
You've been a selfish child.
A Man In Progress.
The role is call. The bell's been ringing.
Kids at tables, blinking, dreaming...
Eyes adrift, with mouth's wide open.
Wait for hours, just to go outside.
To scream and skip.
The Boys in Collared Blue.
Inflamed, in bloom.
Their mind's consumed,
With frogs and glue.
The music's blaring. The women staring.
Nice to see you, how entertaining,
Of a notion that I am pleasing.
Conversations with no meaning...clung.
To youth and guile.
A Work In Progress.
Drink the coffee, read the paper.
Hear the band, the tunes they're flailing.
Sit for hours, just to play it out.
Who's in? Who's next?
A Work In Progress.
Will the waitress wave to greet me,
Or the doctor nod to see me?
Will my parent's come to meet me?
Drive four hours, just to call me son.
You've been a selfish child.
A Man In Progress.
The role is call. The bell's been ringing.
Kids at tables, blinking, dreaming...
Eyes adrift, with mouth's wide open.
Wait for hours, just to go outside.
To scream and skip.
The Boys in Collared Blue.
Inflamed, in bloom.
Their mind's consumed,
With frogs and glue.
The music's blaring. The women staring.
Nice to see you, how entertaining,
Of a notion that I am pleasing.
Conversations with no meaning...clung.
To youth and guile.
A Work In Progress.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Lyrics: Breathing At The Door
Breathing at the door. When will you let me out? I've scratched and I have kicked, and I've quieted my mouth.
Breathing at the door. What a selfish place to stay. Locked in one place, god these people have no taste.
You're awake! I hear it. You're awake! I know it.
I hear you tossing. I feel you turning. Creep your feet out, put them right down, let me out now, open up the door.
Breathing at the door. Why must I beg to move? I've took all I should, give me another room.
Breathing at the door. When will you let me out? I've scratched and I've kicked, and I've quieted my mouth.
Breathing at the door. What a selfish place to stay. Locked in one place, god these people have no taste.
You're awake! I hear it. You're awake! I know it.
I hear you tossing. I feel you turning. Creep your feet out, put them right down, let me out now, open up the door.
Breathing at the door. Why must I beg to move? I've took all I should, give me another room.
Breathing at the door. When will you let me out? I've scratched and I've kicked, and I've quieted my mouth.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Lyrics: Billy's Cane
Hands bound with this rusty lock. How I cannot twist it off?
Mya does not understand; she's a girl, I am a man.
The chain is wrapped around the log with my head wracked in a fog.
Such a blow I did receive, it was one I could not see.
Mya's standing over me. My hand's gone blue, but legs are free.
What's she holding by her side? A club, a cane, a wiffled slide?
She speaks in coiled rhymes of verbs. A curse with every other word.
"Mya please..." I sputter forth, through weakened tongue as if rehearsed.
Mya does not understand; she's a girl, I am a man.
The chain is wrapped around the log with my head wracked in a fog.
Such a blow I did receive, it was one I could not see.
Mya's standing over me. My hand's gone blue, but legs are free.
What's she holding by her side? A club, a cane, a wiffled slide?
She speaks in coiled rhymes of verbs. A curse with every other word.
"Mya please..." I sputter forth, through weakened tongue as if rehearsed.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Lyrics: Beating Thomas Best
The Heat ride the streets in varying degrees. Some are extreme, you close your mouth when they speak. Thomas skipped a beat and wore that hooded jean, a black cat hat, and a real smart tone with his speech.
Beating Thomas Best.
The Heat told you once, don't make them repeat. "Boy don't you lie", that's a flipback grip to the thigh. Thomas raised his hands, but was slow to drop the knee. Pace comes at a price, he lost his hearing and an eye.
Beating Thomas Best.
He was the fastest in the neighborhood. It was the damndest sight we'd ever seen. A white tshirt was all we'd glean, as he rounded the corner of 5th and Betton Street. As he'd call up high unto his Maw, who was staring through that dirty yellowed window shawl, saying "I'm the boy who can't be beat! I'm the King of 5th and Betton Street!"
Beating Thomas Best.
Beating Thomas Best.
The Heat told you once, don't make them repeat. "Boy don't you lie", that's a flipback grip to the thigh. Thomas raised his hands, but was slow to drop the knee. Pace comes at a price, he lost his hearing and an eye.
Beating Thomas Best.
He was the fastest in the neighborhood. It was the damndest sight we'd ever seen. A white tshirt was all we'd glean, as he rounded the corner of 5th and Betton Street. As he'd call up high unto his Maw, who was staring through that dirty yellowed window shawl, saying "I'm the boy who can't be beat! I'm the King of 5th and Betton Street!"
Beating Thomas Best.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Lyrics: The Valley
I saw them kissing down in The Valley. Her Valley was spread out wide.
I opened closed, then shut my eyes to forget about the Fire.
I saw them groping down dear old Molly, her sweat a dripping sign that we was done, I'd just become a widower of my bride.
I came a coming with my Fire, to burn all of them inside. It looked as if my torch would take their voices and their pride.
Then I saw my dear old Molly her face a ghost of pale. My heart went quick, but not my hand so I knew right then and there.
That the Fire burning in the Valley would take my home as well. It ate my woods and coffined up Molly, Paul and Dale.
Nary couldn't of done much better, you see the heat it hides the smell, of them who burned for doing me wrong. I put them straight to Hell.
I opened closed, then shut my eyes to forget about the Fire.
I saw them groping down dear old Molly, her sweat a dripping sign that we was done, I'd just become a widower of my bride.
I came a coming with my Fire, to burn all of them inside. It looked as if my torch would take their voices and their pride.
Then I saw my dear old Molly her face a ghost of pale. My heart went quick, but not my hand so I knew right then and there.
That the Fire burning in the Valley would take my home as well. It ate my woods and coffined up Molly, Paul and Dale.
Nary couldn't of done much better, you see the heat it hides the smell, of them who burned for doing me wrong. I put them straight to Hell.
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