Rodney Jones left this town while he could still buy the gas
Told the factory boys out on the state route they could kiss his ass
Didn't know where he was going, but he was damn sure travelin’ fast
Figured out that stayin' here, there's no way he would last

Rodney had ambition, but not a lot of social grace
He could see the future clearly, but not the nose upon his face
Thought the only key to winning was just showin' for the race
Never thought of consequences, never thought of second place.

All he ever wanted was a straight road and the fuel
All he ever recognized was overheat and cool
All he ever studied was the way to break the rules
Rodney Jones, he never played the fool.

Rodney hit the circuit in his homemade muscle car
Talked his way onto the track by starting in the bar
Didn't know which road he'd taken, but he knew he'd traveled far
Figured it was gonna happen, he was gonna be a star.

Rodney lost a tire on the second straightaway
Lost control for the first time, and saw the wall give way
Says he don't remember much, but his eyes they seem to say
"Don't tell anyone I couldn't handle it that day."

All he ever wanted was a waving checkered flag
All he ever recognized was pressure and the drag
All he ever studied was the polish and the rag
Rodney Jones thought it was in the bag.

Rodney Jones came home today in a big motorcade
Everybody's talking about him, and the splash he made
Never knew the dice were loaded, or the game it was he played
Now he's lying 'neath a yellow flag and marble, in the shade.

All he ever wanted was an engine and the tools
All he ever recognized was gamblers and the mules
All he ever studied was the gauges and the fuel
Rodney Jones, he never played the fool.

Summer 1998

What's my name?
You may have seen it in the papers
Saw the lines 'round my face
and you read about my latest capers

What's my name?
It's on everybody's lips
Who's hip, who's tripped, who's slipped,
who's got a case of the vapors

What's my name?
It's on the cover of a magazine
And the headlines read "Is He Live or Dead?"
"Is it him you think you might have seen?"

What's my name?
Maybe you just can't remember
Because I'm not someone toting a gun,
or dating Miss September

It doesn't matter if you can't recall
Sometimes it's safer in a faceless crowd
When I think of all the stupid things we believe
We may be learning, but we're not too proud
To put it off until tomorrow.

What's my name?
You may have read it in the Bible
A fine line on the sign of the times
between obscenity and revival

What's my name?
It's on a billboard 'round the corner
A poster child for the wild and wooly side
against which parents try to warn you

What's my name?
Maybe I can't even tell you
Except as part of a slogan for some new product
I'm trying to sell you

It doesn't matter if you can't decide
Sometimes it's better if you just don't know
When I think of all the stupid things we believe
We might be better off digging a hole...
I guess I'll start that tomorrow.

Memphis, Summer 1992

Would that this night provide some small respite,
sweet sleep instead of wisps of restless dream;
but like a spring o'er-wound and pulled too tight,
my mind finds no repose. Each small sound seems

a thunderclap that echoes in the dark
and leaves behind a wake that does not fade,
while every thought like striking flint brings sparks
that catch in flame acts due from plans unmade.

In restless times as these, creative souls
are said to find stray inspiration loosed,
and in somnambulence descry the whole,
that waking, they may put to greater use;

but I find not epiphany, just ache
that grows with each new moment still awake.

27 JAN 2006

I don't even know your name;
it's not important you know mine.
But since you're sitting there alone,
I'd like a minute of your time.

It may seem forward, I'll admit;
I'll understand if you refuse.
But you look like you might agree,
so what have I got to lose?

It's only dancing, it won't do any harm;
two minutes and thirty three seconds pretending in each other arms.
It's no long term commitment to true love and romancing;
just a spin on the floor for a song, nothing more.
It's only dancing.

I don't know the latest moves,
but I've heard this old song before;
and every time it starts to play,
they seem to fill up the dance floor.

I may not be your type at all;
I'll understand if you say no.
But something in your eyes tonight
tells me you might just have a go.

It's only dancing, doesn't need to lead somewhere;
two minutes thirty three seconds pretending the world isn't there.
It's no prelude to forever, or the start of romancing;
just some turns on the floor for a while, nothing more.
It's only dancing.

I don't want to lead you on;
I'm not expecting any action.
But we both came in here alone,
probably could use the distraction.

It may seem an odd request;
I'll understand if you decline.
But as long as we're both here,
we might as well have a good time.

It's only dancing, it's not anything wrong;
two minutes and thirty three seconds together enjoying this song.
It's no ever after, no foolish romancing;
just a spin on the floor for a spell, nothing more.
It's only dancing.

22 JAN 2006

Hello Mister America, you're just in time for tea
There's no Kennedys or Rockefellors, so I guess it's just you and me
I've got soda crackers instead of crumpets, but I think you'll agree
We've got to watch the deficit 'cause sugar sure ain't free

Sit down, Mister America, I heard you weren't feeling well
Your constitution's been weakening and your ratings have gone to hell
And that bill of rights you stand for, is it just a hollow shell?
Does it mean as much to you now that it really doesn't sell?

Well now, Mister America, how's God been treating you?
Do you feel closer to Him now that the Senate seats are pews?
Do you still serve the Catholics, Atheists, the Baptists and the Jews
By singing the un-separation of the church and statehouse blues?

Hey now, Mister America I have to tell the truth
I hardly recognized you from inside your voting booth
I realize that television can rob you of your youth
But substance outlives style, so I am sure that you'll recoup

OK, Mister America I have to say goodbye
Don't make me any promises, 'cause I know you hate to lie
Just help me get a loan so I can keep my powder dry
'Cause my enemies aren't overseas, they're right before my eyes

So long, Mister America, I won't tell them you got lost
And I'll be steady, strong and true in summer and in frost
Just do your part and keep the constitution reinforced
'Cause if you forget your principles, then who could count the cost?

Mister America, I think you knew my dad
He worked your land, he fought your wars
He taught me good from bad
Mister America, do you know who I am?
I'm your younger generation you think doesn't give a damn.

1990

On the south side of the road going nowhere
Winter wind letting the chill into my bones
Standing tall, as if I don't care,
Acting like I'm supposed to be there
As if lost highways had a need to be somebody's home

Nothing much out there for miles, only horizon
And power lines above that stretch on out of sight
Standing still, as if my motion
Would hurt the sky with its commotion
As if I could change the world but didn't have the right

If you wonder if I'm leaving
How you'll know when I am gone
Look for the ripple left behind me
on the surface of the pond

If you want to know the reason
Why nothing golden seems to last
Know that each thing has its season
And fades away when its time is passed.

On the south side of a road leading nowhere
Winter sun setting slowly over a hill
Standing here, as if I'm growing
Acting like there's no place else to be going
As if I could stop the world just by being stiil

Nothing out there for miles in all directions
Just the echo from an airplane high overhead
Standing still, as its reflection
Fades slowly beyond all detection
As if the last word in a book no longer read.

If you wonder if I'm leaving
How you'll know when I am gone
Look for the ripple left behind me
on the surface of the pond

If you want to know the reason
Why nothing golden seems to last
Know that each thing has its season
And fades away when its time is passed.

18 JAN 2006

A note to whom it may concern:
fortunes may change, and tables turn,
adversity may try and get you down.
The world is often hard and cruel,
it makes the wisest men just fools,
and fashions from its gold a thorny crown.

The more you try to get ahead
The more you find yourself misled
by summer confidants and so-called friends;
and when your health and money's gone,
the bread and circuses move on.
There's only one thing on which to depend:

Build your house on a firm foundation,
look for rock buried under the sand,
find a place for your roots right beneath your old boots,
and connect to the place where you stand.
It will improve your whole situation
though in ways you might not understand;
'cause the universe works in mysterious ways
and fate laughs at those who make big plans.
Let your word be the code that you live by,
let your hand lend itself where there's need;
and despite of the strife that comes throughout this life
You'll have true happiness guaranteed.

A note to whom it may affect:
misfortune comes, and through neglect
the strongest love may turn to bitter hate.
The world is strange and can be wild,
it turns a man into a child
who doesn't grow up until it's too late.

The more you try to find your way
The more you're tempted, led astray
by soft illusions that too soon are gone,
and then your life has come and went.
Be sure your time is more well spent;
invest in something you can depend on:

Build your house on a firm foundation,
look for rock buried under the sand,
find a place for your roots right beneath your old boots,
and connect to the place where you stand.
It will improve your whole situation
though in ways you might not understand;
'cause the universe works in mysterious ways
and fate laughs at those who make big plans.
Let your word be the code that you live by,
let your hand lend itself where there's need;
and despite of the strife that comes throughout this life
you'll have true happiness guaranteed.

16 JAN 2006

It doesn't matter anymore
Who's right or wrong, who's keeping score.
Whatever we were looking for,
you're set on walking out the door

It doesn't matter what I say
You wouldn't listen anyway
It's black and white, no shades of gray,
So you've decided not to stay

What good we had has come and gone;
It makes no sense to linger on
the hurt we both have deep inside
and all the lonely tears we've cried.

It doesn't matter who's to blame;
two hearts are breaking, just the same.
There's nothing left to lean upon;
it doesn't matter, 'cause it's gone.

It doesn't matter, not at all,
who slipped, who was the first to fall;
The writing's clear upon the wall:
it's really anybody's call.

It doesn't matter, in the end;
there's no use trying to pretend
that what we had we could defend;
it's broken now, it wouldn't bend.

What good we had has come and gone;
It makes no sense to linger on
the hurt we both held deep inside
and all the lonely tears we've cried.

It doesn't matter who's to blame;
two hearts are breaking, just the same.
There's nothing left to lean upon;
it doesn't matter, 'cause it's gone.

16 JAN 2006

I've been listening today to a lot of early Merle Haggard. He's always been one of my biggest influences, particularly as a songwriter --- although as a singer, particularly his work in the sixties, there was NOBODY as fluid or versatile, not even Elvis, as far as I'm concerned, and for me that's saying a lot. Anyway, drawing water from the Merle well is always inspirational, and to drink such early vintage is heady stuff, which inspired me to write another drinking song.

Yes, my body wears the scars
from long nights spent at the bar;
I've grown old before my time
Become vintage, like this wine.

In my younger, bolder days
I followed wild and dangerous ways;
Now I'm tired and worn clear through
by those things I used to do.

If I could go back, try to undo
the ways I tried to get over you,
instead of drinking, try something new,
what would that get me, what would that prove?

There's too much sorrow, too much pain;
don't want to live through it all again.
I'd rather wear out before my time
than relive remembering when you were mine.

I've poured fortunes down the drain,
spent nights standing out in the rain,
grown sick and tired, and aged 10 years,
much like the whiskey I've got right here.

You should have seen me in my prime:
I was so reckless, it was sublime;
Now I'm just waiting around to see
how long it takes to lose all of me.

If I could go back, try to undo
the ways I tried to get over you,
instead of drinking, try something new,
what would that get me, what would that prove?

There's too much sorrow, too much pain;
don't want to live through it all again.
I'd rather wear out before my time
than relive remembering when you were mine.

16 JAN 2006

for Merle Haggard

I'm an easy-going guy as far as that's concerned
I tend to only simmer where another fellow burns
Let live and go on living is the lesson that I've learned
I only ask for the same in return

Some fellows look for reasons to get into fights
They claim its just protection of their natural rights
But that's no call to start a brawl near every night
When I'm trying to relax and just get tight

You're free to exercise your right to party
You're free to get real loud and cause a scene
You're free to get attention by stating your intention
To go through life big, ugly, dumb and mean

This country was built in the name of freedom
and to protect it, I will come to blows
Your rights mean something to me,
but don't bring 'em too close to me, 'cause
your right to swing your fist ends at my nose.

I'm patriotic, and I'll wave the flag now and again
My country's enemies are mine, and its friends are my friends
But there's a way that breaks, and one that merely bends,
and it looks like you've confused them once again.

You're free to exercise your right to party
You're free to get real loud and cause a scene
You're free to get attention by stating your intention
To go through life big, ugly, dumb and mean

This country was built in the name of freedom
and to protect it, I will come to blows
Your rights mean something to me,
but don't bring 'em too close to me, 'cause
your right to swing your fist ends at my nose.

16 JAN 2006

You won't ever hear this song
It won't be finished 'til you're long gone
and you never liked country radio.
It doesn't matter, then, I guess,
if what I say is more or less
an echo of unspoken "told you so's."

You told me that I'd never make it
Until I learned how not to fake it
and tried to be much kinder than I am.
Looks you're right, I'm at rock bottom;
I'd call on friends, but I ain't got 'em,
and if I did they wouldn't give a damn.

You were right, and I was wrong
I was weak, and you were strong;
I didn't trust my heart, just my fool head.
I was wrong, and you were right,
and so I'm here alone tonight
I don't have you; I've got this song instead.

You won't ever hear this song
so you'll not get to sing along
and find you have the words all down by heart.
It doesn't matter much, I guess,
that doesn't make me miss you less,
or shorten this sad time we've been apart.

You told me that I'd lost all feeling
and tried too hard to stop revealing
the bitter man behind the plastic smile.
Looks like you're right, I'm down to nothing;
might act real tough, but I'd be bluffing,
just trying not to break down all the while.

You were right, and I was wrong
I was weak, and you were strong;
I didn't trust my heart, just my fool head.
I was wrong, and you were right,
and so I'm here alone tonight
I don't have you; I've got this song instead.

It's not likely you'll hear this song
It won't be finished 'til you're gone
and you won't buy my records anymore.
It doesn't matter, then, I guess,
but still I'll say it, more or less,
because that chance is all I'm living for.

15 JAN 2006

My pet peeve of the day:

What does Alabama, or Lynryd Skynyrd for that matter, have to do with fried chicken? In particular, what does "Sweet Home Alabama" have to do with Kentucky Fried Chicken?

Perhaps my geography is a little bit rusty, but Kentucky is nestled between Ohio, Tennessee and West Virginia (ok, some other states too), but is NOWHERE near Alabama. Colonel Harlan Sanders was a hillbilly who DRESSED like a southern cracker, and more closely resembled Burl Ives than anyone else. Seems to me that most of the chicken in the United States is not produced in Alabama, either. Most likely the chicken is from Arkansas --- which to my recollection doesn't border Alabama OR Kentucky (but that's another issue).

So why does the KFC campaign for Chicken Capital USA (which I can only assume is bluegrass country and not swamp rock country, being somewhere south of Cincinnati and north of Nashville) have as its theme song Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama"? Is it because nobody gets all goofy-eyed and thinks of fried chicken when they hear musicians from Kentucky --- like Bill Monroe, Merle Travis, John Prine, the Everly Brothers, Dwight Yoakum? Hell, Johnny Depp would be a better fit. The Kentucky Headhunters' "Walk Softly On This Heart of Mine" would be far more appropriate.

Is it because in this country the intellectual capability of the average American is, as they say, going South?

Or is it because those folks who now own KFC (the same people that own Pepsi and Taco Bell, I think) couldn't think of a better representation of fly-over country than Skynyrd?

Don't get me wrong. I love Lynryd Skynyrd. And I think all of 'em that are still alive deserve all the royalties they can get. But I've got relatives in Kentucky, I've got relatives from Kentucky that work for KFC and knew the Colonel while he was alive, and I've even EATEN KFC in Kentucky --- where, I might add, it is better than anywhere else in the country. "Sweet Home Alabama" as the theme song for something that is in NO WAY associated with, or from, Alabama is a little insulting to me. It's just wrong.

And by the way, considering the number of Puerto Ricans, Gautemalans, Costa Ricans, Mexicans and Latinos and Hispanics of almost every variety living in New York City, how is it that they know so much less there about salsa than folks in San Antonio?

When I was a kid, I had a record (yeah, a plastic disk that spun around and was activated by an actual needle, producing sound waves that were amplified as electric signals through hot glass tubes and pushed out into the atmosphere through big ol' speakers, not headphones) that included Guy Lombardo's "Enjoy Yourself (It's Later Than You Think)". I always liked the song and what it seemed to suggest ... for those who think that Tim McGraw's song "Live Like You Were Dying" represents some new breakthrough in psychology, I would suggest checking it out. Anyway, I was sitting here watching a family of cardinals dining at the bird feeder in the backyard and enjoying the sunshine, and came up with the line "there's no use in complaining, son, when life throws you a curve / we each get what we ask for, or at least, what we deserve." And the rest of the song sprung (as in "spring has sprung / fall has fell / winter's here / and it's colder than ... usual) from that.

Now, I suppose each of us chose
where we were born and raised,
just like we pick which songs to play
and what work fills our days.
I know it's true that fortune moves
in strange and wondrous ways;
the lessons we require are given
'til the learning stays.

Good times and bad both come and go,
one day leads to the next;
you never know what's coming
or just what you can expect.
There's no use in complaining, though,
when life throws you a curve;
we each get what we asked for,
or at least what we deserve.

Life is what you make it
Don't waste time knocking around
Don't let your dreams split at the seams
Don't let those teardrops drown
The sun that keeps on shining
Every morning until night
It may not be a perfect day
But it will be all right.

Geography and circumstance
are not just random luck;
and it's no accident you drive
a Beamer or a truck.
Blue collar or accountant,
each has their own row to hoe,
and either fights the current
or learns to go with the flow.

There's not much point in judging, then,
how the world has passed you by;
we each serve our own sentence,
a life's span, and then we die.
So live like you want life to be,
and dance to your own drum;
who knows? tomorrow you might find
your lucky number's come.

Life is what you make it
Don't waste time spinning around
Don't let love bloom around you
Without chasing a bit down
The sun will keep on shining
Every morning until night
It may not be a perfect day
But it will be all right.

10 JAN 2006

I know you want me to say
I love you in some tired cliche:
forever in a bright pink bow
with Hallmark lines I ought to know;
and when I speak, some hidden strings
should start to play. It should be Spring;
then as the moonlight filters through
the clouds, you'll know that I love you.

Well, our life isn't like TV,
and that Prince Charming isn't me:
a handsome, careless perfect fool
who's crown is missing just your jewel,
and when I speak, the words I choose
may be too rough, and be misused;
but when you hear, you'll understand
that I deserve to be your man.

That's all that I have, not anything more
If that's not enough, I'll walk out that door
'cause if me pretending is what you long for
it's not me you're after; and all that's in store
is no happy ending, no fairy tale glow,
just holding to dreams, when we ought to let go.

I know you want me to be
more like your girlhood fantasy:
forever on a big white horse
prepared to face some dragon's force;
and when I come back from the wars
your love alone will soothe my sores;
then we will break the magic spell
that made the past a living hell.

Well, our life's not a storybook;
no golden apples can be shook
from that old tree in our front yard,
the future's certain to be hard.
But this I promise you, my dear:
It's not loneliness you should fear;
'Cause I'll be here to see it through:
to me, that's saying I love you.

That's all that I have, not anything more
If that's not enough, I'll walk out that door
'cause if me pretending is what you long for
it's not me you're after; and all that's in store
is no happy ending, no fairy tale glow,
just holding to dreams, when we ought to let go.

03 JAN 2005