Up with the frost and out to the barn.
Sweet soft nicker is the day’s alarm
Time to saddle up and hit the trail.
Hey little maverick, back in the herd.
But she knows how he feels:
wants to see what’s our there in that big wide world.
Knows every word to every country song
But still it’s where she don’t belong.
Sure as the sun sinks in the West,
sure as the red dust swirls.
Deep in her heart she knows she’s a city girl.
Tractor drones in the noonday sun.
Hours to go before she’s done.
She’d like a break but it don’t look like rain.
Dreams of a man in a clean, white shirt,
away from all the heat and dirt
where a women don’t grow old before her time.
Loves the smell of the new mown hay
but figures she’ll be on her way
Sure as the sun sinks in the West, sure as the red dust swirls,
deep in her heart she knows she’s a city girl.
She’s a city girl, in a country world
where the wind blows wild and free and
the stars shine bright above.
She’ll rest tonight from the life she’ll leave
in the arms of the land she loves.
She’s leaving in the morning on a big jet plane –
just why, she can’t explain.
Her future’s out there waiting;
she has a destiny.
Cries at the sight of a newborn foal
but stills she knows she has to go.
Sure as the sun sinks in the West, sure as the red dust swirls,
deep in her heart she knows she’s a city girl.
She’s a city girl in a country world.
Listen to It Snow
Some folks lose their hearing as they age.
Some have never heard too well at all.
Me – I hear a pin drop from twenty yards away
and I can hear that fly light upon the wall.
So if I don’t hear you, maybe it’s because I don’t want to.
I don’t hear your criticism, your negativity.
I don’t hear the list of things you want me to be.
I don’t hear your definitions of what’s right and wrong,
I don’t hear you analyze The lyrics to my song.
I just sit here by my window in the fire’s glow
And I listen to it snow. I listen to it snow
I don’t hear the angry snarl of that traffic in the night.
I don’t hear the road rage quarrels. Don’t hear people fight.
I don’t hear the bombs crash on the distant foreign shore.
Any kind of anger. I don’t hear it anymore.
I just sit here by my window in the fire’s glow
And I listen to it snow. I listen to it snow
Snowflakes are like people. No two are alike
And there are those who’ll tell me they don’t make a sound
When they fall. I think they’re wrong.
If you put away your anger. If you brush away your fears,
If you listen with your heart and not your ears.
You’ll find every tiny crystal has a little tiny voice
And it makes a little, tiny sound when it falls on the ground.
I don’t hear the hypocrites as they change their minds again.
I don’t hear the fiery preacher telling me the world will end.
I don’t hear the pleas of heaven, I don’t hear the rage of hell,
I don’t hear my future beckon, at least not very well.
I just sit here by my window in the fire’s glow
And I listen to it snow. I listen to it snow
So don’t go one step further, don’t you walk out that door.
Unbutton that resentment, drop it right there on the floor
And walk back here to me.
I’ll teach you how to hear a snowflake symphony.
Come and sit here by my window in the fire’s glow
And we’ll listen to it snow.We’ll listen to it snow.
Can’t you hear it snow?
Time After Time
Time after time, I know I told you just how it feels to be caught in the rain in a ghostly old ramshackle barn that smells of wet hay. Time after time.
Time after time, I know you’ve listened to all of my stories of gold winter wheat.
Chewing on grass roots and thinking they taste very sweet. Time after time.
Patience my dear if what I remember seems old to your ear. It’s just that September speaks to me somehow, the long, long ago is blending like water and wine with the here and the now.Time after time, holding on tight as the past it unwinds into the soft, silver twilight
of my memories, how you please me.
Time after time.Time after time, you’ve seen me crying looking out to the West at a sun that lying in colors beautifully rare, like the rose-golden face of a child kneeling in prayer.
Patience my dear if what I remember seems old to your ear. It’s just that September speaks to me somehow, the long, long ago is blending like water and wine with the here and the now.
Time after time, I know you worry at how I must feel to be caught in the hurry and bustle of these city days. The clatter of pavement, the rustle of grey scattered ways.
Time after time.
Come to the doorway and look at the rainbow
that comes to the city as well as the farm.
I’m here on your arm and glad you are mine.
Time after time.
I’m so glad you’re mine, time after time.
Forbidden Fruit
You’ve all heard this story, since you were two or three,
of Eve and Adam and the fruit of their favorite tree.
Well, Eve discovered new taste sensation and passed it on down to civilization:
Forbidden fruit, that’s what we call it now.
Forbidden fruit. Just one taste, ooh what a waste.
Something in the corner I happen to see and it says,
“hands off” well that’s for me.
I think about it every day and night.
Think I’ll die if I can’t have a bite of that
Forbidden fruit, that’s what we call it now.
Forbidden fruit. Just one taste, ooh what a waste.
We love it anyway you chop, shred or dice it.
Take it any way you happen to slice it
You can serve it hot or you can ice it. Forbidden fruit.
Something on the shelf catches my eye and it looks so good as I pass by.
Devil on my shoulder says “Go, go, go.”
Ange l on my shoulder says, “No, no , no
Cause that’s forbidden fruit. Don’t you touch it now.
Forbidden fruit.
Just one taste, ooh what waste.
Eve was a good girl all her life. Never did nothin’ wrong.
Was a good little mother, was a good little wife.
Kept the garden lovely, always got along;
Along come a snake in the grass, winked his eye and he made a pass.
Eve was a girl who could be tempted, too bad it wasn’t tax exempted.
Forbidden fruit, she’s in trouble now. Forbidden fruit.
Just one taste, ooh what a waste.
We love it anyway you chop, shred or dice it.
Take it any way you happen to slice it
You can serve it hot or you can ice it. Forbidden fruit.
Well, that same snake’s still around today
and every once in awhile he looks my way.
Devil on my shoulder says “Go, go, go.”
Angel on my shoulder says, “No, no , no
Cause that’s forbidden fruit. Don’t you touch it now.
Forbidden fruit.
Just one taste, ooh what waste.
Just one taste, ooh what waste.
Just one taste, ooh what waste.
Just one bite?
Hiss.
He Deserves the Hat
I saw a cowby hat today on a celebrity.
She was looking cute and perky on the front of her CD
And I wondered if she’d ever fixed a fence out in the rain
Or kept a heifer company through her birthin’ pain.
Cause folks, if she ain’t done that
She don’t deserve the hat.
A banker in a cowboy bar in NYC. In his Stetson and his bolo tie
Was as cute as he could be,
And I wondered if he’d ever spent twelve hours at a time
Eatin’ trail dust, swattin’ flies, covered in grime.
Cause folks, if he ain’t done that, he don’t deserve the hat.
A cowboy hat’s the symbol of the ones who tamed the West.
It sheltered them from wind and sun and snow
and made a handy pillow when it cam time to rest.
He wore it for utility and not for show.
Now my daddy is a cowboy who’s paid his dues.
He has earned his spurs, his belt buckle, his jeans of blue.
With his barbed-wire scarred hands, his perpetual tan
and eyes that stay squinted when the sun has gone to bed,
Somehow I know he’s earned the hat he wears on his head.
I don’t know much, but I know that he deserves the hat.
Now cowboy gear is all the rage today, I realize.
For most folks it’s simply just how they accessorize.
I don’t mind that. Go out and have your fun.
But someday when you’re all alone and the partying is done
Take off that hat, put it over your heart, look up the heavens and say,
“I don’t know much but I know that I don’t deserve the hat.”
Now my daddy is a cowboy who’s paid his dues.
He has earned his spurs, his belt buckle, he jeans of blue.
With his barb-wire scarred hands, his perpetual tan
And eyes that stay squinted when the sun has gone to bed,
Somehow I know he’s earned the hat he wears on his head.
I don’t know much but I know that he deserves the hat.
I don’t know much, but I know that.
His Face (Psyche’s Lament)
He came to me just like the wind on the night that we were wed
and wrapped his love like a soft cocoon around our marriage bed.
He left before the rosy brush of dawn could paint the sky
saying, “Mark my words my own true love, and do not ask me why.
“I will pour my songs of love so gently in your ear.
My scent it will caress your skin as you walk the day my dear.
And you may touch, and you may taste,
but you may never, ever see my face.”
For many months our hearts were one, our souls like limbs entwined,
our passion brighter than the sun, and older than mankind.
Before the day came knocking on our shutters as we slept,
he whispered to me softly as from my arms he crept.
“I will pour my songs of love so gently in your ear.
My scent it will caress your skin as you walk the day my dear.
And you may touch, and you may taste,
but you may never, ever see my face.”
*But nagging doubt as old as sin it would not let me be.
What kind of monster is this man that he won’t let me see?
I bought a lamp, filled it with oil, the flame it lit the room,
and I gazed upon the sleeping face of my beloved groom.
His form so noble and so rare. I turned my head and cried
to think that such an angel had lain there by my side.
Stabbed by guilt and flushed with shame, I quickly turned away,
but truth will out, and one small drop of oil did me betray.
With a cry of sharp alarm he wakened with a start
and in his eyes I saw the wound it reached down to his heart.
And there before my faithless eyes I watched him disappear
and what he’d said came back to me, “Please mark these words, my dear:
“I will pour my songs of love so gently in your ear.
My scent it will caress your skin as you walk the day my dear.
And you may touch, and you may taste,
but you may never, ever see my face.”
I sit here in this cold, dark wood, to my sad fate resigned.
What had brought me only bliss no longer would be mine.
For it was not enough for me that I could touch and taste,
No, I could not be content ‘til I had seen his face.
The Right Road
I met him on the beach on a summer vacation
– long time ago.
The kind of guy that makes every daddy nervous, makes all the girls say “Oh.”
Had a little edge, little body heat,
Kind of frightening, but kind of sweet
And he held my hand and looked my way and said,
“Don’t be scared of me, ‘cause
I’m lookin’ for the right road.
I’m searchin’ for the right way to go.
People like me have a hard time findin’ the right road.
Daddy is a junky – needs to score. Lives from hit to hit.
Mama doesn’t know what the daytime’s for,
she’s dying bit by bit.
Got a little girl, four years old, I see from time to time.
Says daddy won’t you buy us a house, I said, “Honey,
I got one in mind. It’s there on the right road.
I’m lookin’ for the right road.
I’m searchin’ for the right way to go.
People like me have a hard time findin’ the right road
Averil is my best friend. Likes to steal.
Set up a convenience store.
Said he’d cut me in on the deal.
Said I don’t need that stuff no more.
Got me a job, pushin’ broom down at local school.
It don’t pay much and it ain’t too fun; it sure ain’t cool,
But it’s there on the right road
.Looked at me with those sexy eyes
and sized me up with a glance.
Nice girl like you should be wearin’ a flower and down at some high school dance.
Instead you’re sittin’ here by me and it makes me wanna cry.
I feel five years older and innocent like maybe I could fly down that right road.
The
Right Road (continued)
People like
me have a hard time findin’ the right road
Held me in his arms and kissed me once.
Made my virtue wince.
Hadn’t been kissed like that before. Maybe not since.
Said when you grow up you’re gonna
make some man a pretty happy guy
And I hope someone like you is there for me
On the right road.
I’m lookin’ for the right road
. I’m searchin’ for the right way to go.
People like me have a hard time findin’ the right road
Some people just have a hard time findin’ that right road.
If It Mattered To Me
I guess that I could if so inclined
pick up the pieces of my piece of mind
and sweep up the crumbs that you left behind
if it mattered to me.
And I guess if I tried maybe I could
understand what was misunderstood
and sort out the bad that came from the good
if it mattered to me,
And I won, yes, I won, yes I won, yes I wonder
what matters to you now that we’re through
what’s your priority now that your free?
Does it matter to you that you matter to me?
And I guess that I could give it a try
and look my yesterday straight in the eye
to discover why nothing hurts more than a lie
if I mattered to me.
And I guess that I will eventually
spend hours and hours in therapy
to discover why you and I weren’t meant to be
if it mattered to me.
And I won . . . .
Does it matter to you that you matter to me?
And I guess that I could find some other guy
lean on his shoulder and cry in his tie
and kiss all the pain adios and goodbye
if it mattered to me.
And I guess that I could binge out on desert
roam around town and learn how to flirt
in high heeled shoes and a short leather skirt.
If it mattered to me
Oh what is the matter with me that it matters so much
and my heart is in tatters at the thought of your touch
and my whole world it shatters when matters as such as this matter to
me.
And I won . . .
Does it matter to you that you matter to me?
Does it matter to you that you still matter to me?
Lover's Hell
Darby was a great big man, his heart was like a child’s
He loved a lass, she was scornful,
she was wanton, she was wild.
She squeezed him like a serpent on a vine,
she crushed his soul, but he loved her so
And he could never, ever let her go.
There will always be a sun to rule the day.
There will always be a moon to walk the night.
There’ll be lots of things we’re sure of – death and
taxes
And the lure of power and might –
And there will always be a place in lover’s hell for those that
love not wisely but too well.
Lila was a matron born to high society
And she loved a charming scoundrel
from the wrong side of town.
He drank away her fortune, her friends
said he’ll bring you down
But she loved him so and she could never, ever let him go.
Every heart that’s bled, lovers everywhere know it’s true,
You can’t tell a heart where to love or what to do,
Or what to do.
Johnny had six children. He raised them on his own.
His wife had died when they were small
and left him all alone.
He did all he could for them, much more than
what was good for them
And when he died not even one
came round to watch him go.
Until the day he died he loved them all with all his heart;
but you know it wasn’t wise, and it may not have been smart
to love them so, because he could never, ever tell them no.
There will always be a sun to rule the day.
There will always be a moon to walk the night.
There’ll be lots of things we’re sure of – death and
taxes
And the lure of power and might –
And there will always be a place in lover’s hell for those that
love not wisely but too well.
Whichever Way The Wind Blows
Whichever way the wind blows
you can be certain that he goes.
Never makes up his mind he’s not the thinkin’ kind
goes wherever the wind blows.
She was a cute, little flower. She had a sweet scented power
and wherever she went yeah he followed her scent to some rose-covered
bower.
But the flower must have wilted or else the fellow got jilted
and now my baby’s back and starting to unpack
I don’t know what to do.
‘Cause wherever the wind blows . . .
She was a hard-headed dame. Business card with her name.
With her no-nonsense face and her leather brief case
she took deadly aim. Ah, that was a fine mess.
She really gave him the business.
And now my baby’s back and starting to unpack
I don’t know what to do.
‘Cause wherever the wind blows . . .
She was a delicate lily – a fine and high-steppin’ filly
so he rented a tux, did it up real deluxe,
yeah he knocked himself silly.
But that affair didn’t last. I guess the track was too fast
and now my baby’s back and starting to unpack
I don’t know what to do.
‘Cause wherever the wind blows . . .
Well I woke up one morning, didn’t give any warning.
I took a new tack and I started to pack cause I knew what to do.
If some guy tries to take ya, ain’t no way he can make ya,
so I sold all the stocks and I changed all the locks
now I’m off to Jamaica.
‘Cause wherever the wind blows . . .
Yeah wherever the wind blows, yeah wherever the wind blows.
Somewhere West
Touched down at the airport, never dreamed I’d come so far.
Cruised the Snake River in my new, rented car.
It’s been so long since I have seen the town and the valley
Where I’m always seventeen.
And I don’t know who I’ll see and I don’t know what
I’ll say.
Seems so strange to go, but it’d be much worse to stay.
Rekindling the fires of
yesterday’s desires.
Goin’ home. Somewhere west of Boise, Idaho.
Guess I’d forgotten how big these highways are.
Crowded New England seems so very far
and I’m stuck here in between
The life that I’m living and my life at seventeen.
All of my thoughts then, all of my dreams
Live among your mountaintops and float along your streams.
It’s all so evergreen, the lessons that I learned when I was only
seventeen.
And I don’t know who I’ll see and I don’t know what
I’ll say.
Seems so strange to go, but it’d be much worse to stay.
Rekindling the fires of yesterday’s desires.
Goin’ home. Somewhere west of Boise, Idaho
They’re calling it a city now. Maybe it’s grown.
But in my mind it always is the town that I have known.
Still, all things must change.
That’s why I feel somewhat familiar
but still feel a little strange.
I’m remembering the faces now
and scan the ones who came.
Despite the passing of the years,
somehow we’re still the same,
I think they’ll know just what I mean
When I say that when we meet we are forever seventeen.
And I don’t know who I’ll see and I don’t know what
I’ll say.
Seems so strange to go, but it’d be much worse to stay.
Rekindling the fires of yesterday’s desires.
Goin’ home. Somewhere west of Boise,
somewhere west of Boise, somewhere west of Boise, Idaho.
Bugs for Breakfast
Bugs for breakfast in my scramble eggs, I like bugs for breakfast in my
coffee dregs.
People as me how I stay so lean and mean.
I start every morning with arthropodan cuisine cause that means bugs.
Bugs, bugs, bugs, bugs, bugs.
Nothing like eggs benedict laced with lady bugs. Nothing like an omelet
stirred up with slurpy, slimy slugs. I heard about some movie that called
Mosquito Coast
well I done them one better. I made mosquito toast.
Yeah I like Bugs for Breakfast . . .
People say how can you eat those creepy, crawly things.
Sometimes they don’t creep and crawl.
Sometimes they got wings
I hear you like to put a little honey on your bread I simply skip the
middle man eat the honey bee instead cause I like bugs. Bugs, bugs, bugs,
I like bugs.
Did you know that insects are an aphrodisiac?
Buy your love a spider pie and you’ll get something back.
Yeah, drive your honey buggy and he’ll get all cute and huggy
and you just might end up his second snack.
Bugs for breakfast . . .
Now the next time your down in Kallispell Montana ,I want you to go 16
and 1⁄2 miles directly southwest
until you come to the Bug Stop Diner.
Now I want you to go into the Bug Stop Diner
and I want ou to ask for Marla,
Now Marla she’s the one with the
cute little antennae and 8 legs.
Oh, yeah, they’re real.
No Marla she’s gonna say, “Now honey, would you like a little
bit of beetle juice syrup on those red ant pancakes, and you’re
gonna say, Oh yeah Marla.
And Marla’s gonaa say, “Now honey, would you like some freshly
ground caterpillar on that dragon fly hash, “ and you’re gonna
say, “Oh yeah, Marla.”
The cockroach timable’s gonna make you say “By golly!”
and the grasshoppe bread’s gonna make you gyratre. The deep-fried
larvae fritters well they’re so finger lickin’ you’re
gonna tell me the taste just like chicken and
you’re gonna wanna lick your plate.
Now they’re so full of protein Dr. Atkins would approve. Try a handful
raw – they’ll really make you move. Shoppin’ for ems
easy cause they’re right beneath your feet,
a dust pan and a broom gives you a tasty treat. And even more important,
at leas it is for me they’re easy on the budget cause they’re
absolutely free.
Bugs for breakfast in my scrambled eggs, I like bugs for breakfas in my
coffee dregs.
Before you put me down, take a look at you:
that lobster that you’re eatin’ – that’s an insect
too.
You like bugs.Bugs, bugs, bugs, you like bugs.
Take it Bing: Boo, boo, boo boo, Yeah!
New Hampshire Valley Girl
When it’s hot outside I like to hop into my little car
turn the AC up full blast, down the steaming asphalt fly
to the food court at the mall, eat sizzling fajitas and hot coffee
not noticing it’s hot outside at all.
That’s the vision from my hill, bending nature to my, bending nature
to my will.
When it’s cold I should stay put
like nature’s wisest creatures do
but I know that the big, strong truck
will push the ice and snow away
so I can go to some small, chic café, sip my iced espresso, nibble
on biscotti
until winter goes away.
That’s the vision from my hill, bending nature to my will, bending
nature to my will.
Yes, I like my fruits and veggies,
especially when they’re free from flaws,
uniform in size and color through the use of chemicals.
Lawns should all be carpet like even where it never rains
and we should have Scots 4-step plan
in our groundwater and drains.
That’s the vision from my hill, bending nature to my will, bending
nature to my will.
People were not meant to fly or we
would have been born with wings
but still I like to cross the ocean and
have croissant on the Seine
and buy a lot of duty free and fly right home again.
Mangoes and Papayas are not native to New England,
neither is Guava fruit, but I like it anyway
and grapes from Chile in December,
strawberries from California in May.
That’s the vision from my hill, bending nature to my will, bending
nature to my will.
When I was a young girl I desired big,
fat hair that I did not have
so I gave myself a headache half the size of Cleveland
sleeping in those great, big, pink sponge rollers over night.
Now that I am older if I see a line or furrow I do not like
can simply Botox it away, and
spend a minor fortune that could
feed a family of four in China for three weeks
and take a bath in Oil of Olay.
That’s the vision from my hill, bending nature to my will, bending
nature to my will.
But of course I know that youth
won’t last despite what Cher and Suzanne Sommers
tell me in their infomercials on late night TV and I know I should leave
this earth in used by good condition as a legacy.
But what can one small person do?
I know what—I’ll leave it up to you.
Bending nature has a risk, but it’s one that I will take.
When you bend a thing too much,
there’s a chance tha
t it will break.
But that’s a risk that I will take,
And that’s the vision from my hill.