Watershed

Idle here in the watershed
Watching them all go by
River sat down across from me
To tell me a piece of his life
He said, “the good things come
Once in a while,
But the bad things seem to always stay in this town”

I heard an ancient language on a radar phone that said radio radio
I heard an ancient language on a radar phone that said radio home

Still sitting here with river hearing stories about the lord
Half of what he tells me should change my life
But little more

He said, “the good things come
Once in a while,
But the bad things seem to always stay in this town”

Are you still hooked on leaving this place as fast as you can?
Go on get up get out of my way
You’re dead and gone to your family.

No Como Los (Bottom Feeders)

No como los commodores inferiors

Swimming in the water with electric eels again
Broken banks and water tidal with Piscean wares to vend

Climb on up, you’ll be alright.
I think you’ll clear from here.
It’s high I know, you’ll be alright.
Get up before night falls on us.

There’s a hole in the wall where the weather comes through
You’ll see her before daylight
There’s a hole in the wall where the weather comes through
You’ll see her when she comes for you.

No como los commodores inferiors.

There’s a heavy old river with a wrinkled face.
Life is in the small…
A heavy old river with a wrinkled face,
life is in the small places you go.

She will be there for you.

He will be there for you.

For you and who you are.

Milo

Milo, hey Milo, I remember you so well.
You’ve been gone for thirteen years.
You used to tell me of a strange astronomy
Unseen by all the northern folks.

You were lost under Capricorn aboard a barge load of bird shit
One foggy night off the limestone coasts of Chile.

Where souls commence to the sea’s salt brine.
Where souls commence to the sea’s clemency.

Milo, hey Milo I remember you so well.
Now you’re swimming and fading in the middle of the cold dark sea.

Under the waves, where it is still at night.

Dead Air (Sirens of Titan)

Mean old city covered with ice.
The rust of your work cements my bones
To sidewalks
And their stories
And the rust that is in your heart.

Shall we break some rules? Why compromise?
What if all the boys and girls could get out now
And come back home

A midnight DJ plays a song from her favorite unknown band
It wakes you up from your winter dream and brings the dead air
Back to life

It’s so quiet at night, you can hear the spheres ringing in your head.

Canvas Bag

Moths are in your violins
And there are birds in my guitars
In the sound proof closet
Better turn out the light
So they don’t know that you’re awake
In the night

A mobile radio is coming to your town
We’ve got to keep on moving
Before the man finds out and takes away all the songs

Ten watts of power in a canvas bag
Bringing you a waltz
Like a lifeline rope a rope a lifeline
a song to bring you back home

hide out in your head
hide out with your best heart
hide out when you’re underground
but when your feet are on the ground, run.

Set them free, set.
Rally around the fire in the summertime.
Come on boys let’s fire up the band.

Amateur Radio Operator

Lighting is controlled by magnetic fields
The pull of the moon is in your eyes
A dust cloud has blown up on Jupiter’s blind side
The lighting struck here twice last summer

I’m an amateur radio operator, I tell you stories through the wires.

The full moon is rising, I see it in your stance,
you’ll be down before it sets.
Your box head is full, it spills like a dam,
lightning water is all across the kitchen floor.

I’m an amateur radio operator, I tell you stories through the wires.
But when the antenna is down, and the signal is gone,
the radio is out there’s no life.

The signal travels, electrons collide.
Like the waves make their way through the sea.

That signal travels, anonymously.
From them, to you, and back to me.

That signal travels silently,
visit tonight in a dream.

Bottle Trees

A shell of a water tank with clay dust in your eyes
A fiddle song, a modern dance, and the vocals return,
To you.

You found all my boats in your creeks when they ran dry
The bottle trees are for the homeless
Ghosts in your home

If you see one on your path don’t bring it home.
If you see one on your path, leave it alone.

Send a message, send it in a rhyme.

I heard it on the wind the answer to your plight.
You search the land for the last standing honest man.
Well, if you see us on your path, leave us alone.

All songs copyright 2007 Amateur Radio Operator.