Lyrics

from Where Are You Now? (LP, 2011)

One Step Further Than You Have Ever Dared To Go

[Amsterdam, Cork; June 2009]

 Every burning night

Every buried light

Could be your home

Every open door

Every broken morning

Could be home

 

You know you should learn to set it still

But youíre so used to letting go

And staying put is always one step further than youíve ever dared to go

 

Every burning night

Every buried light

Could be your home

Every open door

Every broken morning

Could be home

 

Maybe you could learn to love the warm

But you already know the cold

And staying put is always one step further than youíve ever dared to go

 

Maybe you could learn to love her room

But you already know the road

And staying put is always one step further than you ever dared to go

Staying put is always one step further than youíve ever dared to go

 

Light as a Feather

The sky was above

The earth was below

We and the morning had nowhere to go

The earth was below

The sky was above

And I could still believe in love

 

We gathered heather

Light as a feather

And dark as the face of the sea

And a bed beneath the trees

 

You headed east

The sun fell west

And only I knew why you left

The sun fell west

And you headed east

And I learned how the love can leave

 

I gathered heather

Wondering whether

Weíd see it to light any more

And I laid it at your door

 

All the leaves were gold

When you came back

Soft over in pine to a town dressed black

When you came back

All the leaves were gold

So does all love die before it grows old

 

I gathered heather

Heavy as leather

And light as the mouth of a cave

And I laid it on your grave

 

Where Are You Now?

[Berlin, 2001]

We were young and full of heat and off the beaten track

We got so far from home that night I never made it back

 

Where are you now?

When the wind is crying all around

When everything that I put up comes down

Where are you now?

 

We used to fear the devil, now weíve got him in the trunk

With tire irons and tires and what used to make us punk

 

Where are you now?

When the wind is crying all around

When everything that I put up comes down

Where are you now?

 

Round the street in the home stretch thereís a light on in the corner store

This morning I stopped smoking cigarettes, but the night always finds just one more

 

I took on a shooting star, and I said, ďDo your worstĒ

You will fall and fast and far, but Iíll hit the ground first

 

Where are you now?

When the wind is crying all around

When everything that I put up comes down

Where are you now?

When the wind is crying all around

When everything Iíve ever doneís come down

Where are you now?

 

On Barbwire Fences in Kansas

[Kansas, L.A., February 2005]

 

Blue scarf tied to a barbwire fence, what do you mark the place of?

Before they hung you high and dry, who did you hide the face of?

Is there something buried in the ground below?

Will anybody ever know?

 

Tumbleweed stuck on a barbwire fence, your wandering days are over

Now youíve come to end and rest, where you used to run from cover

Is it sweet memories when the dry winds blow?

Or just the bitter call of where youíll never go?

 

Three white crosses in the dirt at the side of the road, what time are you the sign of?

Before I passed by, before the soft shoulder, what love were you the design of?

Do you mark a miracle that the world needs to know?

Or just an accident of long ago?

 

Cali Before Itís Gone

[New Jersey/Chico, December 2009/January 2010]

 

When you close your eyes in Jersey, winter brings you thingsó

Whispers off the Turnpike, rumors off of Route 18ó

Spoiling every memory of spring.

 

The hardest thing I ever tried to teach myself was not to care,

But once youíre all in, once youíre calling,

Thereís no hiding, anywhere.

 

Itís warmer way out west,

And Iím waiting on your call.

With evening breathing winter storms,

I just want to hear from somewhere warm.

 

On the 80, westbound, chasing things I whispered in your earÖ 

After all my warnings about leaving California,

I cannot get gone as long as youíre here.

 

Running from every rising sun, driving all day long:

Salt Flats in the morning, Sierras in the evening,

Trying to get to Cali before itís gone.

 

Iíll be coming on like roses,

Hoping you will be there still,

But even if youíre not,

I have always got

One day left to believe that you will.

 

 

Girl From Kinnelon

[NJ, CA]

 

There was nothing sane and sound

About the night we closed the Idiot down

With boys from all the boroughs playing grab-ass between each round

But when weíre bridge and tunnel, what do we do?

We stood on 14th St. and watched the sky get blue

And a Morris County girl told the story of her rose tattoo

 

Already wide awake

Already fighting sleep

Thirty blocks thinking about this girl from Kinnelon

All the way to Chambers St.

 

When sheís on a 19-gram weekend

When youíre 19 everything still makes sense

And a pretty girl is never long and hard on making carrying friends

But when youíre out and on, what can I do?

I lie awake all night and watch the sky get blue

And clouds as soft as cotton or the skin under your rose tattoo

 

Wired sick with worry

Wired sick with want

Up the street and back thinking about this girl from Kinnelon

And wondering where sheís breaking dawn

 

But when my headís still ringing from you,

What can I do?

When you donít call when you say you mean to?

When Iím back in California writing songs about your rose tattoo?

 

Wired all the way to north Jersey

Wired all the way from L.A.

Hit the interstate thinking about this girl from Kinnelon

And hoping everything is okay

 

Not to Worry (Even Jesus)

[Berlin, 2001]

 

You and I threw shadows on the moon

And even Jesus wonít forgive us for letting you off so soon

What stays behind is the day-to-day

And even Jesus canít be trusted to take that away

 

Light that I caught beating on my window

Was you and telling me to move along

You were saying not to worry

What has been can never be gone

Not to cling so fiercely to the earth

When I donít know what anything is worth

 

A crescent moonís got something to hide

And even Jesus cannot suss whatís being said between the light

Born with wings and a fear of heights

And even Jesus canít be trusted to put that right

 

The Middle of Nebraska

 

Clouds like covered wagons and each one heading west

In the middle of Nebraska, the wind blows down the left

The trees all lean the same way, wearing the same old load

And the dust already knows

The dust already knows

The dust already knows its destined road

 

Gone awayís the day youíd say we had a heart a gold

In the middle of Nebraska, back when we felt old

And now that weíre all young again, we donít know alone
And weíve got a heart of sand

Weíve got a heart of sand

Weíve got a heart of sand and a soul of stone

 

Iíve seen storms that lit the sky

And chased the needles on the wind

Iíve seen storms just pass me by

And I know one more will do me in

 

I rolled in at the wheel of a Buick. They rode me out in a tumbleweed

In the middle of Nebraska, in 1993

I was shooting for salvation. I ended up with light

And knew it would never break

And knew it would never break

And knew it would never break through the night

 

 

All the Same

[NYC, 2004]

 

If itís all the same to you, Iíll go quietly

Thereís no need to dwell on what we know already

 

If itís been all the same to you since the beginning

Then why the sudden need to wait for ending?

 

On a sidewalk in block-caps chalk: ďGod sees everythingĒ

But what we donít say is gonna do us in

 

If itís all the same to you, just go quietly

Iíd do the same for you, no need to worry

 

 

In the First Week of April

 

In the first week of April 2001

A man on the corner was calling me son

Weíll pay for your college, youíre set when youíre done

Because thereís always a job for an army of one

 

In the first week of April 2002

I caught a bullet outside of Kabul

They fished it out, sewed me up, just like brand new

And sent me back out there for round number 2

 

In the first week of April 2003

I was rolling through sandstorms and no one could see

In the back of a Bradley, at the front of a breeze

That blew into Baghdad and canít seem to leave

 

In the first week of April 2004

They say itís all over, but it still looks like war

You canít tell whoís friendly and you canít know the score

When youíre fighting the ones that you came to fight for

 

In the first week of April 2005

Priority One is just staying alive

They shoot from the shadows, they hit you and hide

For each one we take down now thereís two more arrive

 

In the first week of April 2009

We rotated home for the very last time

But sweet home isnít home, in my dreams, in my mind

Iím still back in Iraq, Iím still walking the line

 

Continental Drift

 

No good can come of this

Let the words fall where they will

A frosted window and a plastic sill

No good can come of this

 

No good can come of this

Turn to words to fix

A continental rift

No good can come of this

 

No good can come of this

 

Lucky number thirteen

Leaning over the wing

Stripped of anything known for beating

Lucky number thirteen

Lucky busting to being

 

No good can come of this

Let the words fall where they will

What remains of initial thrills

No good can come of this

 

No good can come of this

From wondering what we missed

From continental drift

No good can come of this

 

Lucky number thirteen

Leaning over the wing

Stripped of anything known for beating

Lucky number thirteen

Lucky busting to being

 

When I Was Young I Never Wanted the Sun

[Chico, April 07]

 

Youíre still the only mistake I will ever cop to

Not the in the beginning but the way I lost you

The only mistake that comes back to haunt me

When Iím weak and dreaming that you might still want me

 

When I was young I never wanted the sun

But now Iím 30 some

And had enough of eastern winters

And I know I wonít be warm again

Until I get to California again

Until I get to California again

Until I get to California again

 

Time for one last look around

Winter streets and people I let down

And whatís left of everything you wanted

Everybody goes home disappointed



from Adding Up the Everything We Lost (EP, 2008)

 

Indiana

[I-70 east of Columbus, OHósummer, 2001]

 

In an hour Iíll be in Indiana

And you wonít have to look at me no more

And I wonít have to think about the beating

Iíll be far enough away from New York

 

In an hour Iíll let it sink in deeper

Iím going back the way I came

There used to be a beauty in the leaving

But Iím too old now to feel that way

 

You were on my mind through Pennsylvania

And I got feeling hemmed in by the trees

And other things that never will contain you:

Sheets of paper, sheets of cotton, and memories

 

I used to think that thereíd be time

For us somewhere down the line

 

In an hour Iíll be in Indiana

And you wonít ever see my face again

Cause nothing in the cards has got the answer

Iím laying down my losing hand

 

I used to think that thereíd be time

For us somewhere down the line

 

 

Hope is Not a Compass, Itís a Cloud

[L.A., 2005]

 

I once knew a girl who couldnít kill a song

Weíd have to sit out the Beatles in her El Camino

Waiting for the end to come along

She left me for the Dead because I wouldnít wait

On every single break that Uncle Jerry would take

At some point it just gets late

 

But I guess thatís what you get when youíre too pretty too young

And every bruiser on the block will buck and break into a run

Just to put a tab on your tongue

They told you there was hope in a song

 

I woke up next to you the morning your divorce came through

Backseat in a Little Rock parking lot

With a head too hurt to be true

You prayed for love sweet love but baby Iím all they sent

Not much to look at or shake a book at

But good for half the rent

 

But I guess thatís what we get for being high and too wide

Now everybody on the block is trying to talk you back to Christ

Just to put a turn in your tide

Theyíre telling you thereís hope in a guide

 

At the end you used to say we were like quotation marks

Words got between us not worth repeating

And kept us hard apart

Better on the move is better on your own

Hell even I can see what everybody calls freedom

Is nothing but being alone

 

But I guess thatís what we get for being fast and too free

Now everybody on the block knew you were better than me

And talk of other fish in the sea

Made you hope for things you canít see

 

Hope is not a compass, itís a cloud and one of the brightest

It proves thereís light but will not let you get

To where the light is

Hope is not a compass, itís a cloud and one of the brightest

It knows thereís light but will not let you get

To know what light is

 

 

Gaslight (Oh Tomorrow)

[Berlin/NJ, Nov/Dec 04]

 

Youíre the one who lights every candle in the place

Under the sign they couldnít keep in í68

With voices from the corner knocking down heavenís door

Tomorrowís getting off the floor

 

Iíll be sitting over there by last weekís magazines

Waiting all night for your minutes in between

But when I step to stretch I catch your eyes and hedge my bets

Tomorrowís all Iíve got left

 

I only wanted to come here for the dark

And cause Dylan on the wall

Is still wearing his question mark

 

If you get this call Iíve gone back to Los Angeles

I used to live for hope but now I know I canít handle it

Where streets are only named after men who made the earth move

Tomorrowís all Iíve got to lose

 

 

None of This Is Real

Waterford, April 2006

 

We fell asleep with Astral Weeks on repeat, on repeat.

We awoke, the morning choked on all the things that young lovers do.

 

None of this is real but the way the morning feels:

The blush of light that dulls the night,

The rush of early risers in their wingtips and half-heels.

None of this is real.

 

We fell asleep with Astral Weeks on repeat, on repeat.

Was I gone for you? Were you gone for me? Gone for you, gone for me,

 

None of this is real but the way a morning feels:

The rush of light that stuns the night,

The crush of early risers in their wingtips and sawed-off heels.

None of this is real.

 

 

Dolorosa

 

The midnight summer sky just started crying like a child

And Iím not superstitious, but the rain donít ever take my side

You wore sun from yesterday like b