1. |
Corner Store
04:33
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When I was a young man, about 23, I went down to the corner store
Me and my brother, and a couple of friends, gathered like always before
When the cops showed up they were looking for trouble and they knew that we would oblige
Somebody reached for a tire iron, I was the only one who left there alive
We grew up about an hour from here, just a mile from the county line
The living was easy, but the work was bad if there was ever even work to find
You know dead end job after dead end job can only leave a man wanting more
Or burned out drinking in a parking lot, down at the corner store
My brother James was the brightest kid in his class of seventeen
Everybody said he would make it far if he could just keep his record clean
When he married Jenny on the Fourth of July the whole town was overjoyed
But Jenny died, and James sank into the ranks of the underemployed
I ran with a rougher crowd, but we kept ourselves to ourselves
And when James was looking for a little relief, we helped him recover his health
I won’t say we were all innocent, but that sheriff was out of control
The night he shot James for loitering, down at the corner store
Well launched an investigation of course, and I slipped into the night
The district attorney and the local press each picked their side in the fight
The parents and public were looking for answers, but there were none that could satisfy
They buried James and the deputy was cleared of any crime
Now I’m running a pawn shop out of state, I’m keeping a low profile
I’m usually grateful I escaped with my life, but I get vengeful once in a while
Those gunshots used to shatter my dreams, but I don’t sleep anymore
Sometimes I feel like a wanna go home, just to burn down that corner store
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2. |
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I opened the door and he was standing there
Skinny jeans and slicked-back hair
Practitioner of an ancient racket, a drunken poet in a bombers jacket
He struck me with his gaze
And said prepare to be amazed
As I spin a tale of derring-do, betrayal, and breathless fear
The prophet and the bombardier
See the bombardier floating on the mountain breezes
See the prophet below and the souls he eases
Into the soil and the afterlife, wielding Ockham's razor like a butcher's knife
The prophet lived only on raven’s food
Adopted son of that wandering brood
Spinning conspiracies of unkindness, seeding treachery in the halls of highness
Are they good or are they evil
Or just ordinary people
Who manipulate the amygdala like a puppeteer
The prophet and the bombardier
The prophet paces lands that are not his own
Revelations evade those who wait patiently at home
Precipitating bread, like pennies from heaven, his presence as welcome as a great depression
The bombardier rained great balls of fire
Napalm matches to a funeral pyre
The hills were dry as the devil's wit although few were left to acknowledge it
Are they good or are they evil
Or just ordinary people
Who will save a soul just to display it like a souvenir
The prophet and the bombardier
They met at last on the mountains high
Neither one was afraid to die
The prophet called lighting from the sky but oh how that bombardier he could fly
The bombardier rolled through thunder crashes
Sailing over the mountain passes
Climbing high and diving fast
Trying to outlast that prophet’s blasts
Bobbing and weaving in the stormy evening
Singing to himself don’t stop believing
But the prophet possessed the greater gift
And the bombardier slammed into the precipice
A gleaming Cadillac came screaming from the sky
A ‘62 Coupe de Ville with flames painted on the side
Carried the poet into the air as the birds descended on the bombardier
Are they good or are they evil
Are they good or are they evil
What is good?
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3. |
Laramie Range
05:37
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These mountains are rough
They'll freeze a man out
No matter how tough
No matter how stout
The Laramie Range
Is without a doubt
A mistress strange
She calls me out
And I must go there
To the desert high peaks
Breathe in the air
And see what she keeps
The Lodgepole pine
The scraggly sage
Smell so fine
In this Clorox age
The spirits are here
Of hardened men
Whispers I hear
They call me their kin
And I must go there
To the desert high peaks
Breathe in the air
And see what she keeps
I'll see what she keeps
Hidden within
Her granite steep
Where no man has been
Someday she'll take,
Me into her breast
Her thirst to slake
A hardened man's rest
And I must go there
To the desert high peaks
Breathe in the air
And see what she keeps
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4. |
Tumble Down
04:25
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There’s something that lies in the valley’s and fields of the heartland
A life more abundantly towering over us all
The kingdom of heaven impatiently waiting behind it
For the faithful to shoulder the burdens of all those who fall
Tumble down, tumble down
The wind in the woods masks the sound of the wild dogs calling
But when will the woods still and quiet a questioning soul
Listen intently, the leaves of the grasses are falling
And only in falling can they ever hope to be whole
Tumble down, tumble down, tumble down, tumble down
The lines on the highway unceasingly point to the future
And nothing can keep them from reaching their point in the end
If only the righteous can strap on their swords and do battle
Then what are the chances the battle will even begin
Tumble down, tumble down, tumble down, tumble down
The sun in the valley, the storms on the hills in Dakota
Nothing can stand before time and his sister, the world
The darkest of corners will answer for all it has hidden
The kingdom will open its doors,
The walls will all fall to the floor,
The roof will give shelter no more
Tumble down
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5. |
East Lake Rye
04:14
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My name is Johnny and I come from the Dismal
Been amongst the cyprus ever since I could crawl
My daddy was from East Lake momma from Sound side
Daddy went to the swamp and made that good old East Lake Rye
Tried my luck in Timber, chopping down those big pines
Hard work and low pay, so I went north to the coal mines
Breathing death and fire, never seeing a blue sky
I'm going back to the swamp to make that good old East Lake Rye
Me and my baby, living up on Sound Side
Fancy folk in New York, go to work in bowlers and bow ties
When they come home or go out to a speakeasy
They know what they want, they want that good old East Lake Rye
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6. |
The Show
04:10
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The desert sand blows ferocious.
The blackened streets catch my feet
A call comes down I look up and send reply
I turn out my pockets, she turns and rolls her eyes
Is there credit up there?
It’s feeling kinda slow.
The lovely waves me up
To the second story show
Oh it’s everything you want
Til the wind kicks up
When it hammers on the walls
The show don’t stop
Bring her to me I ask in a drawl
I just want to talk, she emerges from the hall
I paid with a smile you’re everything and more
She let out a sigh, her clothing dressed the floor
Oh it’s everything you want
Til the wind kicks up
When it hammers on the wall
The show don’t stop
The desert sand blows ferocious.
The blackened streets catch my feet
A call comes down, I look up and send reply
I turn out my pockets, she turns and rolls her eyes.
Oh it's everything you want
Til the wind kicks up
When it hammers on the wall
The show don’t stop
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7. |
Man from Powder River
06:36
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The lightning flashed, the thunder slammed
Sam was born in a whiteout van
He was raised on Wonder Bread and Kool-Aid ham
Mama’s little boy but a Powder River Man
Now the Poison Spider Boys never held back a punch
They beat him to the gravel they took all his lunch
But Sam made a plan with a Louisville bat
Sam made a plan with a Louisville bat
They called him mama’s boy, Little Sammy slugger
Never turn your back on a man from Powder River
Never turn your back on a man from Powder River
Sam had hair like snakes dipped in tar
Late one night he was tending bar
At the Tumble Inn, they served beer and poker bluffs
When a Utah biker tried to cut his hair off
Well, the biker drew back his hand with incisor marks
They both drew their knives and like shopping carts
They wheeled and rattled onto highway 10
Wheeled and rattled onto highway 10
They called him Hippy Hair Sam, the Tumble Inn Cutter
Never turn your back on a man from Powder River
Never turn your back on a man from Powder River
There was the black-haired gypsy and the Sheepherders wife
A 308 casing with a message tucked inside
Affair of Hell’s Half-acre, the Castle Garden fight
The scene with the banker and the black bowie knife
Casper men coming in the dead of night
Knew his reputation as a hell of a fight
So they killed their engines quiet at the edge of town
Then they went and they grabbed him and dragged him through the dust with a thorny crown
Now they beat him in the dirt within an inch of his life
He raised his hand with something bleached white
And he beat them all dead with an antelope jaw
Beat them all dead with an antelope jaw
They called him Prairie Goat Sam, the Antelope Slaughter
Never turn your back on a man from Powder River
Never turn your back on a man from Powder River
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Bonamo Cheyenne, Wyoming
Soaked in whiskey and fermented in the primordial soup of American popular music from Jimmie Rodgers to the Talking Heads,
Bonamo's songs incisively chronicle life in the modern west with an exhilarating blend of old and new. Like strapping a jet engine to a Model T, it may not get you where you want to go, but you are in for a hell of a ride.
Bonamo is: Kevin Ramler-Joe Evans-Steve Scott
... more
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