Stones

Stones

Folk

Miss the high tide Miss the low light The simple things that hide I saw that couple from the plane At the baggage reclaim They said they had a nice life Living down by the coastline She told me when I wake up in the morning Iv already done enough to make her proud Darling thats the most at peace Iv ever felt Run your circles around me Cast your stones over me I miss December Miss her The simple things that hide What time you closing mate That machines just stole my note Can I stay with you Till my twitch stops Is that back door locked We could sleep in the back In the morning we’ll drive Out of this headspace Broken teeth and late night crashes Hoarse voice and a broken bandage She told me when I wake up in the morning Iv already done enough to make her proud Darling thats the most at peace Iv ever felt Run your circles around me Cast your stones over me Already done enough to make me proud.

 

 

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Doc Holliday Lyrics

Doc Holliday Lyrics

Folk rock

Doc Holliday Lyrics and Authors Notes

The more reckless I face death,
the more lucky I become;
there is something wrong-headed
in this kind of luck – it’s just dumb –
as if the only time you’ll die
is when death’s not playing with you,
and your luck runs dry . . .
it runs completely dry.

Diagnosed with tuberculosis,
and given just six short months to live;
I heard the news, then needed to throw this
damn fate in the creek – more than I can give.

Went to Arizona where air is a dry thing,
a dentist gunslinger carrying a lie,
the untruth being I wanted to lose at anything
as long as bed was not a place to die.

The more reckless I face death,
the more lucky I become;
there is something wrong-headed
in this kind of luck – it’s just dumb –
as if the only time you’ll die
is when death’s not playing with you,
and your luck runs dry . . .
it runs completely dry.

The best thing about playing poker is the chance
to pick a fight, a chance to accuse
someone of cheating, and take the stance
that guns are the only proper way to choose.

Who knew I’d be so damn good at the draw?
Every fight I’d hope would be my last,
a quick death, but like a constant gnaw,
I would win, and the opportunity passed.

Thirty-odd gunfights, who ever figured
Lord, I’d win them all? I’d look at the dust,
wanting to see myself disfigured,
but here I stood, here I stood instead.

Life is a lust your body wants to play out,
even while your mind it shouts out
to pull the gun more slowly,
as if a sinner can now be holy.

Fourteen years after my move
that old TB finally got me;
and dying in bed should only prove
there’s just no damn symmetry
in trying to avoid what Fate planned,
for my death was certainly classic;
I switched course in my final stand.

I got baptized in that hard, dying bed,
for my death was certainly classic;
I went out a Catholic.

The more reckless I face death,
the more lucky I become;
there is something wrong-headed
in this kind of luck – it’s just dumb –
as if the only time you’ll die
is when death’s not playing with you,
and your luck runs dry . . .
it runs completely dry.

Artist’s note:
John Henry Holliday (1851-1887), known throughout the West as Doc Holliday ,was born in Georgia and educated as a dentist in Pennsylvania. Diagnosed with tuberculosis in 1873 and given only a half-year to live, he moved west, hoping to extend his life a few months in the dry climate. Already condemned to a slow, painful death, Holliday knew no fear in dangerous situations, and his fame grew; he teamed up with the Earp brothers during the gunfight at the O.K. Corral, and many historians place the amount of men he killed in the 30s. The only fellow Georgian Holliday continued to contact after he went west was his cousin, Mattie Holliday. Shortly after Doc contracted tuberculosis and left Georgia, Mattie too left their childhood world to become a Sister of Charity, entering an Atlanta convent. No correspondence between the two has survived, but it’s safe to say she had a profound impact on Doc, in that even though he had been raised a Presbyterian, it was revealed after his death at Glenwood Springs, Colorado, that he had recently been baptized in the Catholic faith.

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About Matt Groves & Rich Jane Song and Lyrics

About Matt Groves & Rich Jane Song and Lyrics

Folk

Matt and Jane engage in a fateful tryst. We borrowed the plot of this song from Fairport Convention’s “Mattie Groves” who, in turn, borrowed their plot from an old English folk song. The idea was to produce a modern version of Mattie’s fate.

Matt Groves & Rich Jane

Matt Groves walked in the bar, and saw
Rich Jane, sitting with her friends.
He told the bartender to draw
him a draft, and his nerves felt raw.
He saw Jane was up to bad ends.

Then Jane appeared by his side, on an old bar stool,
saying she loved him since they were in school,
“You’re a good man, I’ll confide,
when you left here, I nearly died.
To deny me now would be so cruel.”

“I loved you too, he said, but now you’ve married,”
and I’ve been gone, been gone too long.
Your man runs a gang, head-strong,
bound to take poorly to such a wrong.
You know his shotgun keeps folks worried.”

“It’s true, he’s a very tough man,
but now he’s gone, for a week, he went out of state,
just one night is something we can
pull off, with no one knowing our fate.
I can promise you, Matt, I’ll make you great.”

The barkeep pretended not to hear,
but when Matt and Jane left the bar,
he called Jane’s man, about Jane dear.
They thought he was away too far,
and they could love all night without any fear.

Come morn, her man stood at the foot of the bed,
“How do you like my lady, Matt?” was all he said.
“I like her fine, like none instead.”
Wrong answer, laying in his bed,
the shotgun roared, shot poor Matt dead.

“Now I caused you and Matt to part,
my love, so can we end this quarrel?”
Jane’s eyes said Matt cannot depart,
she pulled the shotgun to her heart,
squeezed off that other barrel.

He had people clean up the room,
and remove the remains;
he didn’t explain the whole blowup,
down at the water, with the chains,
he placed Jane on top, with such great pains,

because love is all that remains.

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Chant #68 Added to For The Love of Bands Playlist

Chant #68 Added to For The Love of Bands Playlist

Alternative rock

Chant #68 on New Music May 2019//For The Love of Bands//Fresh Finds//Indie Radar

Discover new music on Spotify. The best new Rock, Indie, Folk, Punk, Singer-Songwriter, Pop, Alternative, Grunge, Ska, Reggae and everything in between. No Hip Hop, Rap or House. Playlist updated daily with fresh emerging & independent finds plus some established artists we think are awesome. Tracks on this playlist have been released less than 3 months ago so you’re sure to discover something new every day and introduce new finds to your friends!

 

“Physics, Not Metaphysics” added to Smooth & Laid-Back Indie Rock on Spotify

“Physics, Not Metaphysics” added to Smooth & Laid-Back Indie Rock on Spotify

Indie Music

Physics, Not Metaphysics
By Entering Another
From the album Physics, Not Metaphysics
Listen on Spotify

Physics, Not Metaphysics Lyrics

Verse 1

Gods, gods, and more gods,

Plentiful as a field of clods,

Neanderthals had thunder gods,

Egyptians liked two thousand gods,

Faith is the only thing,

I said, faith is the only thing,

To narrow down the odds.

I said, to narrow down the odds.


Chorus

Knowing the Afterlife has always been the goal;

We simply don’t have microscopes,

And we don’t have telescopes,

To truly detect the human soul.

May take centuries

to get the specifics,

‘Cause I’m sure it’s Physics,

not Metaphysics.


Short Instrumental


Verse 2

Gods, gods, and more gods,

Are many of them only frauds?

Moses had the one true God,

Hindus still have a million gods.

Faith is the only thing,

I said, faith is the only thing,

To narrow down the odds.

I said, to narrow down the odds.

Instrumental — guitar


Chorus

Knowing the Afterlife has always been the goal;

We simply don’t have microscopes,

And we don’t have telescopes,

To truly detect the human soul.

May take centuries

to get the specifics,

‘Cause I’m sure it’s Physics,

not Metaphysics.


Instrumental — guitar


Bridge

Oh, oh, what you going to do?

Oh, oh, what you going to do?

Gods, gods, all over the place,

None of them much fun.

Gods, gods, all over the place,

Every generation

Figures out

How to shock

The prior one.

 

Oh, oh, what you going to do?

Oh, oh, what you going to do?

Gods, gods, all over the place,

None of them much fun.

Gods, gods, all over the place,

Every generation

Figures out

How to shock

The prior one.

Oh, oh, what you going to do?

Oh, oh, what you going to do?

Oh, oh, what you going to do?

Oh, oh, what you going to do?

Oh, oh, what you going to do?

Oh, oh, what you going to do?

Physics, Not Metaphysics has been added to Smooth & Laid-Back Indie Rock playlist.

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