Wickedjohnandthedevil

When the sun sets over high mountains it doesn’t get dark When the valley cools in in the evening the crinoline bark Strike a match on the stone hearth flickering light for the fire I watch the blue ridge violet hue ridge fade in the night…

Bait on the hook A curse on the town We laugh like coyotes And cry just like clowns It scrubs off of our fingers A little elbow grease and there it goes Bones in the garden Pitchfork in the hay Mice in the cupboard It’s written all…

last one of an epic 31 days. whew. this is a remake of july 11, shortened considerably, with lyrics added to the second half.

well, this didn't turn out like i expected.

Tell 'em that we went out with a bang Please tell 'em that we went out with a bang Smiled and waved at everyone we met Shook hands with the utmost respect Came up with a cure for loneliness Ended all the west coast homelessness Sent another…

I’ll hit the road Tonight I suppose My eyes do a roll When you make your joke (why are you gonna hit the road? Are you mad at it?) I wanted to Be of some use Words in my mouth Cut my tongue out It’s not so bad This foreign land…

When I was young I tiptoed the garden And then I salted all that I could see The summer sun it seemed a yoke upon me But no so much for the open-hearted leaves August came around while I was sleeping September grasses bent under my feet…

Seventh Heaven baseball cards No slip-n-slides once it gets dark The moneys in the coffee can Out there you’ll find the promised land I know it I rolled the pennies, swept the floor Put folded shirts in dresser drawers Lit the candle…

Everyone is writing songs inside their heads Waking up from sleeping in their unmade beds I cleared out space in springtime to make room for the fall I wrote you words of kindness, but I won’t speak them at all The kudzu choked the hillside…

Sunday morning, no such luck My head is dizzy, it’s bright as fuck I’m dying I make my way to south French broad Lumbering wondering where she’s gone or something I see Sam he’s in the same shape as me Bundled in funneling misery by the…

Spinning like the wheel Painted on the temple Does the wheel turn slowly Or is it me that moves? I can count the hours And I can name the prophets Kept like silver spoons Struck like wooden matches Should I call it sleep or divine…

I was in deep at second, my heels in the outfield - full count No one left out on the bases, familiar faces, the heat breaks a cloud Hands red from the clay dirt as I held up my glove to my faaaaaaace It smells just the way I remember, the…

Everyone is writing songs inside their heads Waking up from sleeping in their unmade beds I cleared out space in springtime to make room for the fall I wrote you words of kindness, but I won’t speak them at all The kudzu choked the hillside…