I cried all the way
from Los Lunas to Santa Fe
and on to Raton.

Neither one of us
wanted things to end this way,
but one of us had to be wrong.

Should’ve moved to Pasadena
when we had the chance,
sold the mule and left the farm—
gone to the dance.

I can fix anything
except for me.
It’s easy.

I cried all the way
from Los Lunas to Santa Fe
and on to Raton.

Neither one of us
wanted things to end this way,
but one of us had to be strong.

Tried to rope the moon
and drag it across your skin,
grazed the sky with dreams so bright,
till the rain set in.

I can fix anything
except for you.
You don’t need me to.
You wanted a lover.

I needed a friend.
I cried all the way
from Los Lunas to Santa Fe
and on to Raton.

Neither one of us
wanted things to end this way,
but one of us had to be gone.

There’s a wall on the corner of Given Road.
It’s long and it’s curved and stone and old.
Keeps out the sun, keeps in the cold,
and I just miss the one that loved me.

Like the holes bored into the old ash tree,
I’m not really sure what’s eating me.
I compare myself
to the shagbark hickory, but I just miss the one that loved me.

I miss the one… I miss someone.

I miss the weight of you
and the pain we used to move through
till the clouds of our afflictions
would break and clear.

I miss what I’m forgetting,

I try not to, but I’m letting go of every shred
of anything
that held you here. I miss someone.

Given time they say I’ll find
a way to ease my troubled mind,
when all that lies in front of me
are miles and miles and miles... of Given Road.

I don’t want to let you down,
be the one who waits to come around, till after everything feels lost,
so lost it never can be found.

I don’t want to see you fall.
Don’t believe the writing on the wall. You can bet I’ll stick around,
‘cause I don’t want to let you down.

Don’t know if we
can roll away this stone, but either way,
you’re not alone.

And if a song
is worth a thousand prayers,
we’ll sing till angels come carry you and all your cares.

I don’t want to let you go.
That’s the one thing for sure I know. You can bet I’ll stick around,
‘cause I don’t want to let you down.

If grief is love without a place to go,
well then I’ve been there, you’re not alone.
And if a song
is worth a thousand prayers,
we’ll sing till angels come carry you and all your cares.

I don’t want to let you go.
That’s the one thing for sure I know. You can bet I’ll stick around,
‘cause I don’t want to let you down.

I want to take a break from heartache, drive away from all the tears I’ve cried. I’m a wasteland down inside.

In the crawlspace under heaven,
in the landscape of a wounded heart, I don’t know where to start.

But the wild geese of Mary pierce the darkness with a song
and a light that I’ve been running from and running for so long.

As their feathers spin their stories I can still cling to my fears,
or I can run, but they come along and we both disappear
just like all…

All these broken angels, all these tattered wings, all these things
come alive in me.

An empty frame against the madness, like the fence line holds the fog at bay, it’s gonna roll in anyway.

Draw the curtain across heaven,
cut the sky, a cold coyote moon kills the season off too soon.

Are they sparks or are they embers, fireflies or falling stars?
Are they fireworks that backfired? Will they leave a scar?

Are they evening murmurations that make me wish that I could fly,
or are they just trespassing satellites intersecting my night sky
just like all…

All these broken angels, all these tattered wings, all these things
come alive in me. All these broken…
All these broken angels, all these scary things, all these dreams
are alive in me.

Ecstatic in the poison,
a baby with a toy gun,
someone take my hand,
I’m a lover in a band.
Just a loner on this highway,
alone and going my way,
but something’s going wrong,
and it’s worthy of a song
that sings of…

Love & revelation,
baby, that is you and me
and inspiration.

Love & revelation,
baby, that is you and me
and inspiration.

Can’t wake up from this bad dream,
baby, it’s a scream,
a semi-automatic heart
is a dead weight from the start.
Stop confiscating Jesus,
Jesus, who believes this?
They‘d arm him to the teeth,
but that’s not my belief
I believe in…

Love & revelation,
baby, that is you and me
and inspiration.

Love & revelation,
baby, that is you and me
and inspiration.

Baby, it can’t wait.
Make a little space,
pay a little time,
baby, just be kind.
Make a stronger case,
extend a little grace,
return, delete, backspace,
do it face to face
and call it…

Love & revelation,
baby, that is you and me
and all creation.

Love & revelation,
baby, that is you and me
and inspiration.

I took a photograph,
I’m making pictures in my head. I took a photograph,
I’m making pictures in my head.

Don’t want no one to see, these things were haunting me,
darkroom failures bound by the silence. I took a holy vow,
but if someone could hold me now, I’d rediscover all that I am.

I took a photograph,
I’m making pictures in my head. I took a photograph,
I’m making pictures in my head.

Don’t want to make a scene, but the distance in between
holy madness and blind inspiration, take shelter in the dark,
like Muybridge throwing sparks to rediscover all that I am.

You took a photograph,
I’m making pictures in my head. You took a photograph,
I’m making pictures in my head.
What’s to be left of me, a Kodak memory?
The kids will donate my lens to science. But nothing goes unseen,
the distance in between where shadows lengthen all that I was
and all that I am.

Another golden evening is dying on the vine,
a rehearsal for the final act, when the light that’s lost is mine.
All this blinding beauty has left me no excuse.
I know the sun is setting,
who knows where it’s heading, I’m still betting—
betting on the muse.

My courage often staggers, but still we climb the stairs. I lie awake and wonder,
Are they songs or are they prayers? This beautiful delusion—
if it’s all a ruse,
it’s such a lovely setting
for my snakeskin to keep shedding, I’m still betting—
betting on the muse.

You’ve got to die inside so many times, while you’re trying to learn to live.
You’ve got to get taken for everything to have anything to give.
Your signal is receiving.
Some days it’s called breathing.
I’m remembering your kisses, our lips raw with love.
But the fact that you still make me laugh is what I’m most proud of.
You learn to be astonished— that’s how you pay your dues. What am I
forgetting?
Nothing I’m regretting, I’m still betting— betting on the muse.

What am I forgetting? Nothing I’m regretting,
I’m letting go
what I’m not getting, I’m still betting— betting on the muse.

I don’t like
these leavin’ days.
Might be too late
to change my ways. My body leaves;
my soul, it stays.
I don’t like
these leavin’ days.

I can’t fight
these leavin’days.
Might be too late
to change my ways. My body grieves; my soul it craves.
I can’t fight
these leavin’ days.

I’ll take my leave in the morning before the light breaks the day. Before the dawn wakes up a warning,
I’ll drive the deep blues away.

If I don’t take these leavin days, I miss the road and all her ways.
She frees my mind.
We roll and sway.
God I need
these leavin’ days.

To rage, rage against the dying. Roll baby roll, rag mama rag.
Like every bird we fly the same crosswinds: gravity,
lift
and drag.

So I don’t mind these leavin’ days.
Might be too late
to change my ways. My body breathes the long refrain.
I don’t mind
these leavin’ days.
I can’t fight
these leavin’ days.
God I need
these leavin’ days.

Hey, hey rocking chair,
here in the middle of nowhere. I can’t take you anywhere.
You just wanna rock in your rocking chair.

Hey, hey rocking chair,
got any room for me over there? In various states of disrepair
I just wanna rock
in your rocking chair.

Hey, hey rocking chair, a stack of old records and your record player, rocking back and forth
between hope and despair— heavy lifting
in a rocking chair.

Hey, hey rocking chair,
Look at the sun, you know
it’s really laying low out there. I could hold you anywhere, but there’s so much music
in your rocking chair.

Goodbye rocking chair. The long road beckons,
and you’ll find us out there.
Lookin’ for the song in a traveler’s prayer:
Who’ll watch over our rocking chair?

Hey, hey rocking chair,
stuck in the middle of nowhere. I can’t take you anywhere.
You just wanna rock in your rocking chair.

With the darkness surely falling, may I propose a toast?
Is it sacrilegious dancing
in the light of all we’ve lost? Open and woundable,
Good evening, I’m your host.
May God love you
like you’ve never been loved.

Is your heart beating sadness, the longest goodbye yet?
Share your bruises on my body, that’s as close as we can get.
I’ll never say I’m sorry for offering respect.
May God love you
like you’ve never been loved.

There is no land of promise here, there’s only wilderness.
You may not recognize this place, you live here nonetheless.

There are no wise men traveling. There is no gift to bring.
But if you welcome home a child, you’ve thrown your hat into the ring. We’re not curable, but we’re treatable,
and that’s why I still sing.
May God love you
like you’ve never been loved.