Tales From PA 6

by Tom Flannery and Bret Alexander

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about

01 - I Ain't Gonna Grow Old In This Place Anymore (Flannery)
02 - Amantha Ray (Flannery)
03 - Rolling On (Flannery)
04 - Morning Eyes (Flannery)
05 - The Death of Joe Strummer (Flannery/Alexander)
06 - As Good a Choice as Anyone (Alexander)
07 - Stephen Foster's Ghost (Flannery)
08 - Twilight In the Shadowlands (Flannery/Alexander)
09 - County Line (Flannery)
10 - Shelby Cobra (Flannery)
11 - A Greater Generation (Flannery/Alexander)

copyright 2018 all rights reserved
recorded at Saturation Acres in Dupont, PA
produced by Bret Alexander

Tom Flannery – guitar, vocals
Bret Alexander – guitar, vocals, mandolin, piano, harmonica

credits

released June 21, 2018

“Their songwriting chops are touched by the gods on this 11 song set. I don’t think any other duo does it better right now”

— 88.5 WRKC radio

“‘Twilight In The Shadowlands’ is a haunting track….Alexander transfers this listener from the streets of north Belfast Ireland to the rugged and haunting mountains of Northeast Pennsylvania…..With its embattled stories of love, life and death ‘Tales From PA 6’ matches the intensity and standard of what the two men have done before. We can only hope that this isn’t the last collaboration between these 2 American gems”

— Seán Ó Sirideán
Belfast Poet, author of ‘The Ramblings of a Bessbrook Boy”

“Tom Flannery and Bret Alexander do it again. Two different voices, but one soul. And that soul shines within these new songs as it did on their 2016 release ‘Dupont Back Porches’.

Their latest release Tales from Route 6 is sharp, focused, and poignant. It’s filled with tales of America. Tales of all of us caught in the middle trying to make the best of thing…keeping our chin up…moving forward. Their style is in the vein of Springsteen, LaMontagne, and Drake. It’s Americana, it’s gritty, and it’s real. Alexander breathes into his harp and it wails in a Nebraska style. Many of these songs could easily fit nicely between “Mansion on the Hill” and “Used Cars”.

..even in the most melancholy or heartbroken lyrics there’s a sense of hope…Flannery and Alexander are two truly gifted individuals. Not sure if there’s anyone better locally to tell our stories.”

–Keith Perks – 1120 Studios / AntiHero Magazine

“Tom Flannery’s songwriting has always been distinctive for its defiant exuberance in the face of loss. In his latest, Tales from PA 6, with Bret Alexander, he takes it step further, claiming the mantle as coal country’s answer to James McMurtry. From the stunning, nuanced opening lines of “I Ain’t Gonna Grow Old in This Place Anymore,” into the evocative picaresque, “Stephen Foster’s Ghost,” all the way through the rocker “Shelby Cobra”, Flannery and Alexander catch the soul of a region – and a country – making damned sure if it’s bound for hell, it’s gonna squeeze every drop out of life before it goes.”

— Seamus McGraw – Author of ‘The End of Country: Dispatches from the Frack Zone’, ‘Betting The Farm On A Drought: Stories From The Front Line Of Climate Change’, and ‘A Thirsty Land The Making of an American Water Crisis’

“…Universal and articulate; powerful ruminations on life, family, love and death. An exception album of rock-driven acoustic story-telling…. the songs from Tales from PA 6 are thoughtful, mature and empathetic stories that have a familiarity that rings true no matter what road you are on.”

–Vinyl Voyage Radio

“Throughout its stirring 11 tracks, ‘Tales From PA 6’ takes you on an imaginative and highly descriptive creative journey. With each number, singer/songwriters Tom Flannery and Bret Alexander take you inside the lives of people that we’ve all seem to have known or encountered, and its done with a thoughtful sense of poignancy. It’s folk music at its best from two of the region’s finest songsmiths.”

—Alan K. Stout, music journalist and radio host, 105 The River

-- NOTES --

My favorite line from Tales Of PA 6 is this: “Resistance is futile saith the Lord/Especially when you’re 50 and bored”.

You have to be 50(or close to it) to feel that line. If you are half a century old AND a musician you feel it quite a bit more. The ghost of that line keeps showing up time and time again throughout the record. In character after character and in every story.

Tom and I discussed this record for the first time at a bar. We didn’t talk much about marketing it or doing shows to support it. We just talked about Pennsylvania. Love it or hate it, Northeastern PA is a unique place. It’s the kind of place that deserves a song or two written about it.

I wanted to do a collection of tunes about the people and places along Rt 6. I have spent a lot of time on that highway, and I thought there were treasure troves of stories on the side of that road. Tom had half the lyrics written before I decided whether I really liked the idea or not. That’s the way it is with him. We are a good combination, no doubt.

When I was in middle school my favorite short story was “A Piece Of Steak” by Jack London. It was a tale about an old prize fighter trying to win a match against a young man. The one fought for his family and the rent, the other for glory. Experience lost, youth won.

Years later, my favorite movie was “Cinderella Man”. A similar story but with a happy ending.

I don’t know what it is about fighters that I love so much. And if they know they are fighting a losing battle, I’m totally smitten. Resistance is futile, indeed.

As Rocky famously put it “It’s not about hitting hard. It’s about getting hit.”

That’s what I get out of these tunes. Everybody is out there, still in the game. Maybe they win, maybe they are still waiting to win. Sure, things didn’t go according to plan. That was years ago. But, like The Winter Warlock, they still have a couple magic beans….. and goddammit it’s time to use them. Probably they are fighting a losing battle, they know that. But there they are anyway.

Any 50 year old can relate to that.

— Bret Alexander

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

So we were sitting in this bar….

It was last summer. Bret and I decided to meet over drinks and discuss working together again. So we found a joint halfway between his place and mine, and started in on the whiskey and lager.

Our first effort was a record called “Dupont Back Porches” which we released in 2016. We met and wrote and recorded it in a sort of creative blur, skipping the parts where you’re supposed to rehearse, and going right to the parts where you hit the “record” button and hope you remember the bridge that you just finished writing 30 second ago. Somehow we pulled it off, and became good friends in the process. Music does that.

When we get together to talk new music we usually spend a few hours talking about everything else first. Our kids (we both have 2 daughters, around the same ages), our shared love of Levon Helm, the books on our respective nightstands, the current state of our nation. There’s no fixed starting point, and no roadmap. It’s a whirlpool of laughing and head shaking and sometimes astonishment that we’ve managed to make it this far without committing a felony. We kept the bartender busy, needless to say.

But back to the music. We discussed writing and recording an entire record in a single day. Neither one of us thinks the idea is insane….which should tell you all you need to know about who you’re dealing with. Anyway, someday we’re gonna do that. But we were looking for something else on this night.

Bret had this idea of getting in his car and following route 6 and the river, writing songs about what he encountered along the way. He also started to get really technical and talked about building an app for your phone that would pinpoint your location on route 6 and cue up the appropriate track…..like having a tour guide in the passenger seat who played guitar. I loved the concept but my non-technical eyes glazed over at the thought of downloading something from the app store…..and right around this moment somebody came into the bar and played The Beatles “Revolution 9” from the White Album on the jukebox.

I cannot convey to you just how weird of a moment this was.

You know the tune, right? Eight minutes of some guy chanting “number 9 number 9” over noises that sound like a barnyard being strafed by fighter jets. It’s how you spend your time when Yoko takes over, and the drugs run out of ideas. Why in the world anybody would play this song on a public jukebox is best left to deeper thinkers than I.

Bret and I both kind of looked at each other. Initially I thought maybe a herd of cats were fighting in the street, but no, it really was Revolution 9 on the jukebox. The volume was, it should be noted, at a level akin to a Motorhead concert.

A guy teetering on the edge of sobriety walked over to the (digital) jukebox. He assumed there was a record inside and that it was skipping. He was beating on it like the Fonz in a frenzy...to no avail. “Number 9 Number 9 Number 9….” continued unabated. He couldn’t take it anymore. Things were getting surreal.

We suddenly had the bar very much to ourselves. Everybody in the place had disappeared like they were raptured. The faces on potential patrons walking in was one of horror. What is that screeching sound? What kind of place was this?

And then, it was finally over. I think the next song was some vintage Chuck Berry, so at least the culprit had a wicked sense of humor. The bar re-filled and everybody pretended that what just happened didn’t really happen. And me and Bret emptied our glasses and silently decided that we’d do a sort-of concept album about a mythic road trip filled with rogues and tramps and saints and sinners and gamblers and thieves, all searching for redemption and little slices of dignity, and all not worrying about the sins of Saturday night until Sunday morning rolls in. We’d write songs about guys who might play “Revolution 9” on a jukebox in an Old Forge bar, in other words.

And then I went home that night and wrote the lyrics to “Twilight In the Shadowlands” and soon after Bret had the tune and we were off and running. We encountered Stephen Foster and Sid Vicious and Joe Strummer in our travels, discovered a man paralyzed by blind faith, waiting for his Amantha Ray. Men and women were scattering in all directions, running both towards and away from each other, numbed by religion or pills or booze or one-night-stands. Or just plain old 9-5 alienation. Three and four minute movies is what I discovered we were making. And we were pooling our voices together….showing solidarity with each other and the folks we were writing and singing about.

And just when we felt bereft of happy endings, kids the age of our own daughters stood up and said “no more”. Those long moments of silence from Emma Gonzalez at the March for Our Lives in DC were the first cracks under the feet of the casually cruel white men who stopped caring about us and the people we write about a long time ago.

The times seem to be a-changin. A greater generation indeed…..and so that seemed a good place to stop until the next time.

We hope you dig it.

In a bit…

--tf

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Tom Flannery Scranton, Pennsylvania

"One of the most gifted songwriters to emerge at the turn of the century"
-- The All Music Guide

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Track Name: I Ain't Gonna Grow Old In This Place Anymore
I Ain't Gonna Grow Old In This Place Anymore

You reach a certain point when things fit through your head
that are better off where they were...better left unsaid
You cry for the wrong reasons you drink to get away
you find a little hiding place to get through the day
Graveyard burstin' at the seams with the junkies and the whores
well I ain't gonna grow old in this place anymore

Spin the bottle..wiffle ball...catching fireflies
while Daddy takes a powder and never says goodbye
Ten jobs in 4 years and the bank closing in
just a picture in a scrap-book now...a casualty of sin
My mother working double shifts out at the Wal-Mart store
well I ain't gonna grow old in this place anymore

Dreams come true on movie screens and inside battered veins
the rest make do with Friday Nights and watching passing trains
fools wave the stars and bars singing country songs
6 packs of Natty Ice searching for what’s wrong
you digest everything and then realize you're bored
well I ain't gonna grow old in this place anymore

When you ain't got heart to break
when the pain becomes a ache
stop looking for something new
and run out of things to do
destined to sweep the floor
no more...no more...

Minds about as closed as the factory downtown
the weeds have taken over and the cops don't come around
gang graffiti on the loading docks..peace signs in the can
broken glass to navigate just where I am
School spirit and football games...cheerleaders by the score
well I ain't gonna grow old in this place anymore
Graveyard burstin' at the seams with the junkies and the whores
well I ain't gonna grow old in this place anymore
Track Name: Amantha Ray
Amantha Ray

Bottles lined up across the TV / You binge watch your dreams like you’re on a crime spree
You hear the cars on the gravel outside your door / And you’re ready to leave but you don’t know what for
Mountains they block the horizon round here / So it’s down to the quick stop for some imported beer
That yearbook is tempting….but she ain’t aged well / Too many nights giving you hell
Don’t feel much like moving so you might as well stay / Someday she’ll come back...your Amantha Ray

Got some shifts at the big box out on 29 / Long as you don’t get sick you’ll get along fine
Never needed much sleep them pills help out some / But that ain’t much of nothing where we come from
One and a half years at college...and them loans are like ghosts / Chipping away at the interest at most
You see all these kids out late at the bars / Too dumb to realize how smart they are
A hangover tomorrow...but that don’t stop the day / Someday she’ll come back...your Amantha Ray

Bridge
Head in the sky / feet on the ground / Never suspecting a thing
But if she only knew / what you had in mind / She might never have never hocked that ring

Got as far as Boulder…..before she stopped and looked back / With a kid half her age to pick up the slack
Took your mother’s suitcase and your GPS / said she’s looking for something and ain’t found it yet
This town gets in the blood then it boils / We spread out like dry leaves and leave all the spoils
But the stars...they ain’t got the time / To give a damn for what’s yours and what’s mine
Crows-feet and the ones made of clay / Someday she’ll come back...your Amantha Ray

Bridge

Maybe we run out of things to say / It stands to reason that things might happen that way
When the stories grow stale like bread in the drawer / And you can’t find nothing there’s always the door
Resistance is futile sayeth the Lord / Especially when you’re 50 and bored
When the things you wanted are already gone / Hit the highway….and stifle a yawn
What the hell does it matter / you’re already grey / Someday she’ll come back...your Amantha Ray
Track Name: Rolling On
Rolling On

Took the car your daddy bought you / after your time away
just what set it all in motion / no one would ever say
headed down the turnpike / to anyplace south
searching for a feeling / like a taste in your mouth
Running from Jesus / in a black oldsmobile
She shimmies over 60 / but he got it for a steal
your sister she’s re-born again / said she's glad your gone
moved into your bedroom / with another ex-con
But you’re rolling on...rolling in / Chasing away the childhood sin
Growing up growing old / Tired of doing what you’re told

Your brother went to grad-school / for the lack of a plan
And to avoid coming back here / for as long as he can
There’s been whispering about your mother / and the preacher for a while
Guess figuring if she gets there / best do it in style
Daddy holding court down at Paulie’s bar
When he runs out of excuses starts blaming FDR
Enough meat in the freezer / to outlast them all
got the Ten Commandments mounted on the wall
But you’re rolling on...rolling in / Chasing away the childhood sin
Growing up growing old / Tired of doing what you’re told

Find a bridge and peer on over
Clutching a roadside 4-leaf clover
Just another irish rover
Just another irish rover

Every other Christmas / you try to make it home
Trying to recognize the faces / that they send you on their phones
Heads hung heavy / in the morning light
The same empty bottles / and the same old fight
Uber to the airport / and you fall into the bar
Wondering how you managed / to even get this far
All their eyes like slits / only open on a dare
Looking for their love / not their thoughts and prayers
But you’re rolling on...rolling in / Chasing away the childhood sin
Growing up growing old / Tired of doing what you’re told
Track Name: Morning Eyes
Morning Eyes

Phone buzzing by the night light/ she still don't understand
the morning commute for some / is 4am in Disneyland
trying to break this thing wide open / get while the gettin's good
today for what we can do / tomorrow for what we should

I stole you from your Daddy / when he was at the bar
when he'd drag himself back home / he could never see very far
So we'd hide out in backseats / and motels with neon lights
rooms rates by the hour / and a clerk too tired to fight

chorus
When dreams ain't enough / to keep it all tied down
Will we be together / will we still be around
wanna see those morning eyes / but there's nothing in my head
no more morning eyes / sleeping in my bed

Post-it notes and postcards crossing in the mail
all the memories sold...at another fire-sale
doctor's on speed dial...the mills all know my name
just one more hit of Oxy...might make me feel the same / get me back in the game

chorus

Maybe I should have stayed and you should have flown
it's always the stranger who ends up alone
tonight I'm sitting in this roadhouse / as they sweep under my chair
ain't no last call here / you just feel it in the air / best clear out of here

When the head says run and the heart says stay
it's time to find a bottle and look the other way
Gotta burn it down to save it….toss the embers in the air
Act like all this is normal….and like we do not care

chorus
Track Name: The Death of Joe Strummer
The Death of Joe Strummer

What happens when the heart is too big for the chest
and it just can't keep up with all the rest
what happens when it takes you on
and wears you down until you're gone
what do we take from that Joe?
what do we take from that Joe?
now that you're gone

I got these sounds in my head
they make no sense so we're stuck instead
with recycled trash and computer chips
rock and roll for food and tips
what do we take from that Joe?
what do we take from that Joe?
now that you're gone

You were Woody Guthrie with a mowhawk
and a scratching loud guitar
a ravaged voice from screaming
telling us where we are
now you're knocking at the backstage door
trying to get in
panhandling on the boardwalk
wondering what might have been

It still don't feel right that you're gone
without the blaze of glory of a deathbed song
so used to watching 'em waste away
eaten to the bone by a brand new day
what do we take from that Joe?
what do we take from that Joe?
now that you're gone
Track Name: As Good a Choice As Anyone
As Good a Choice as Anyone

When you’ve used up all your second chances
And you curse your set of circumstances
And you’re turning into a ghost that haunts
A house he really didn’t want

You want to scream but it doesn’t make sense
To waste your words in your own defense
And you’re told to embrace the thing you hate
Because good things come to those who wait

Don’t give up
A change is gonna come
Don’t give up
I can feel it rustling in the wind
Take my hand
We’ll go wandering through the dark
We’re as good a choice as anyone
To find the light again

When all your plans go up in smoke
And turn into a running joke
And the people living in the past
Say they knew it wouldn’t last

Don’t give up
A change is gonna come
Don’t give up
I can hear it singing in the night
Take my hand
We’ll go wandering through the dark
We’re as good a choice as anyone
To finally get it right

There are curses in the sidewalk
Of this cold and bitter town
That get inside your head as you’re wandering
They don’t care what you’re feeling
They don’t care what you think
They don’t care what you’re dreaming

Now young men sing and genuflect
To the patron saint of lack of respect
And the old and angry build their case
To put those bastards in their place

And you try to scream but it doesn’t make sense
To waste your words on ignorance
From the people living in the past
Who say that you will never last

Don’t give up
A change is gonna come
Don’t give up
I can hear it rustling in the wind
Take my hand
We’ll go wandering through the dark
We’re as good a choice as anyone
To find the light again
To find the light again
Track Name: Stephen Foster's Ghost
Stephen Foster’s Ghost

Follow the road / follow the river
Indian nation / Indian giver
Pill-mills laid out / across the track
Crumbling factories / and smoke-stacks
What you remember / and what you see
Is just memory / playing tricks on me
Used to walk but now we ride….up and down and side to side
Used to walk but now we ride….up and down and side to side

In an old village flop house / By the Chelsea Hotel
Where Sid and Nancy both got sick and never did get well
You bleed for what you love and I’ll try and do the same
We’ll share our pennies at the gate and split the picture frame

All glassy-eyed / and shuffling past
from all them promises / that never last
They’ll be no future / for those who stay
And let the past / get in the way
I should be / carved up in stone
Instead of dying here / all alone
I had one more song to sing...but first I gotta pawn this ring
I had one more song to sing...but first I gotta pawn this wedding ring

Pass the past and dollar stores / And all the reservation whores
The do-littles and do-mores / Railroad tracks and meth sores
SSI or join the corps / Dream behind a bedroom door
On your knees to scrub the floor / Tell me what are we fighting for
Brill building and tin pans / Back alleys...waylaid plans
Taxi cabs and Times Square / Ready to take you anywhere
Rumbling for your daily bread / paying with a busted head
Or a needle jabbing at a vein / that ends it all once again

In an old village flop house / By the Chelsea Hotel
Where Sid and Nancy both got sick and never did get well
You bleed for what you love and I’ll do the same
We’ll share our pennies at the gate and split the picture frame
Track Name: Twilight In the Shadowlands
Twilight In the Shadowlands

We’d heard about old Sullivan….my baby and me
Marching up the highway…..being all that he could be
Trying to make a nation from a valley of tears
Of my father’s father’s father, and his father’s ‘cross the years

Provisions as the crow flies….all put to the flame
The white man and the hand of god wiping out our name
Nothing red allowed to live ‘cept the blood rolling down
These wretched endless mountains...under a thorny crown

Clips on the floor boards….with Johnnie Walker Black
One to leave a legacy...and one to walk it back
Magazines left behind….like rice on a wedding ground
We’d make love along the river bed….and never make a sound

The short wave radio...and Duracell by the score
And 100 dollar bills….from the fresh jacked general store
It’s easier than you think my friend...when you’re cold to the touch
And the scraps they left behind for you….don’t amount to much

Twilight in the Shadowlands
Loose dirt through closed hands
Ain’t gonna make you understand
I’m gonna go out like a man

Headlights bearing down on us through the Pennsylvania trees
Megaphone blaring….got my hands between your knees
If they wanted me alive they shoulda seen up close and slow
The fear in that old man’s eyes….before I let him go
The heart is what you took...the heart is what I gave
Just bury us together….in my Daddy’s grave

Twilight in the Shadowlands
Loose dirt through closed hands
Ain’t gonna make you understand
I’m gonna go out like a man
Track Name: County Line
County Line

Na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na (2)

Highway lines and the radio
Getting you where you need to go
Riding the world in the left lane
Running away from graveyard pain yea yea yea
Bury it all and move along
And hope you never hear a song
That brings it back one more time
While you’re straddling that county line yea yea

Na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na (2)

You come to town and you bring the war
Slap your back then lock their doors
There ain’t no gray....just shots and doom
Seen you lay out an entire barroom yea yea yea
But a heart like glass on a mantle top
will never survive that kind of drop
hands in the dark like a lonesome pine
While you’re straddling that county line yea yea yea

Na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na

Saturday nights Sunday morning
Both come on with no warning
Redemption sin rinse repeat
All them pills and two crows feet now...
yea two crows feet now

What they do to a child is what builds the man
And that bit nobody understands
a town full of ghosts with secret eyes
Nothing written down...so you memorize yea yea yea
Nobody and everybody knew
all them things that they’d done to you
Turning dirty water into wine
While you’re straddling that county line yea yea yea

Na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na (2)
Track Name: Shelby Cobra
Shelby Cobra

Daddy was a fighting man / learned to walk then he ran
earned what he could / to steal what he can
mamma she'd just shake her head / thankful for the warm bed
and them little pills / that kept her living in her own head
I grew up in between the doors in the hall / bought a record player and bounced off the wall
learned to play a guitar / never got very far
singing Badlee songs in the back of some dive bar
free townie women and drafts all night / wake up in the morning with another case of stage fright
Cheetos and a road trip / learn to leave and learn to tip
ain't afraid of nothing 'cept a little bit of kinship

Shelby Cobra is my name / and with it comes all the shame
of all the things I've done to keep you feeling just the same
told I got a son / coulda been anyone
I guess that's what you get for 30 years of one and done
Beer and chasers and a credit card / Burstin’ at the seams from trying too hard
Creepin’ time, creepin’ gray / Gonna get you anyway
So why not leave a corpse that looks good during the day
Roll up my wisdom in a sleeping bag / And listen to Levon sing ‘Rag Mama Rag’
Feel lonesome feel bad / Feeling sick or feeling glad
At least you feel something that’s the best I ever had

They used to say “join the corps../ Maybe you’ll get a war”
Get yourself a medal and bury it in your drawer
Maybe a GI loan / Get some blood from a stone
At least you got some stuff to remember when you’re all alone
But I sleep ‘till noon that’s a natural fact / Had a 9 to 5 but I ended up sacked
Lazy is as lazy does / Sometimes just because
I was all that I could be before I know what all that was
Dying is a drag I must’ve read that somewhere / Got myself a flower and wore it in my hair
So that’s how I got here / It all seems pretty clear
Until I put my shaking hands on this here steering wheel

Watching movies in my head / Go to sleep when I’m dead
Tried to take the fork but I wound up here instead
Argue with an echo / Wanna stay but then I go
Split the bloody difference by pulling out real slow
Rear view mirror ain’t got nothin on me / ‘Cause I only look at what I wanna see
Maybe I’ll write a book / That takes a deeper look
At all the scar tissues that forms like a new crook
‘Learnin’ all the ropes at the foot of a man / With no self doubt so he couldn’t understand
Hey ho rock and roll / Population overflow
Maybe you do need a weatherman to know that the wind blows
Track Name: A Greater Generation
A Greater Generation

Has everybody gone insane
I’ve never seen such hate
Give in to fear the end is near
But no one hesitates
I find it sad and narrow minded
This course we’re sailing now
When all you see is heresy
When you look over the bough

But I’ve been hopeful as of late
Though I admit I had my doubts
A greater generation waits
To kick these bastards out

Listen to the silence
And the heartbeats all around
From children far too long laid out
Like cordwood on the ground
Tears they fall like railroad tracks
Rolling down the line
From the seeds of betrayal
Uprooted one more time

But I’ve been hopeful as of late
Though towns and crosses burn
A greater generation waits
In line to take it’s turn

Rise up all you vagabonds
Put on your marching shoes
Ain’t no one said you couldn’t dance
To some old gut bucket blues
And so a child shall lead them
And all are welcome here
Your saints and all your sinners
And all that you hold dear

But I’ve been hopeful as of late
The better angels are aligned
A greater generation waits
No more nevermind
Yes, I’ve been hopeful as of late
Though I admit I had my doubts
A greater generation waits
To kick these bastards out

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