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1. |
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Love is what your life is all about;
Don't you forget it, and never regret it.
Love is what your life is all about;
From the moment you roll out of bed,
Till nighttime when you rest your head,
Even in your dreams don't you doubt
That love is what your life is all about.
Don't let the rules prevent
Your sacred love from being spent.
And don't let your achin' head
Keep you from hearing what somebody said to you.
Love is what your life is all about;
Don't you forget it, and never regret it.
Love is what your life is all about;
From the moment you roll out of bed,
Till nighttime when you rest your head,
Even in your dreams don't you doubt
That love is what your life is all about.
Don't let humility
Keep you from singing you songs to me.
Don't let the cynics win;
Know in your heart that love makes the world spin--it's true.
And never take the love of another for granted,
"Cause love is something different if it has to be demanded.
And never think that love is weak, or doubt that love is smart,
"Cause love stands up for what is right and love can move your heart.
Love is what your life is all about;
Don't you forget it, and never regret it.
Love is what your life is all about;
From the moment you roll out of bed,
Till nighttime when you rest your head,
Even in your dreams don't you doubt
That love is what your life is all about.
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2. |
Exile Train
03:30
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There's a big old train just a-waitin' at the station
It's been a long time fillin' up for its journey home;
It's gonna pull on through the deserts and the mountains,
Gonna let the whole world hear that whistle blow.
It's the exile train, got a golden locomotive,
Through the years of wind and rain, it's gonna bring the children back;
It's the exile train, all the passengers are singin',
'Cause they know it's not in vain that they roll on down the track..
People from the east and from the west;
Young and old, hear their voices rise.
They've all got broken chains and broken shackles,
They've got the light of freedom in their eyes.
It's the exile train, got a golden locomotive,
Through the years of wind and rain, it's gonna bring the children back;
It's the exile train, all the passengers are singin',
'Cause they know it's not in vain that they roll on down the track.
They're comin' by the thousands from Soweto,
They're comin' from the streets of Salvador;
They're comin' from from the gulags and the ghettoes,
They're comin' through the reservation door.
It's the exile train, got a golden locomotive,
Through the years of wind and rain, it's gonna bring the children back;
It's the exile train, all the passengers are singin',
'Cause they know it's not in vain that they roll on down the track.
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3. |
Planting In The Dust
03:21
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I'm plantin' in the dust,
Though there's been enough rain for the combine to rust.
I'm plantin' in the dust;
My bankbook is broke and my dreams have gone bust.
Everyone tells me who to blame;
The banker, the senator, it's all a big game.
All I can see is a lot of red
'Cause I am a farmer who can't keep his family fed.
I'm plantin' in the dust,
Though there's been enough rain for the tractor to rust.
I'm plantin' in the dust;
My bankbook is broke and my dreams have gone bust.
I get paid to not plant a thing;
I get paid to grow too much of everything.
But there's silos burstin' with grain,
And there's silos that hold what we dare not name.
Grandma told me about '35
When the winds wouldn't quit and they barely stayed alive.
But now my land is washin' away;
At least there won't be much left, come that auction day.
I'm plantin' in the dust,
Though there's been enough rain for the whole world to rust.
I'm plantin' in the dust;
My bankbook is broke, and my dreams have gone bust.
Oh beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesty, above the fruited plain.
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4. |
The Iowa River
03:28
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The Iowa River is singin' its song;
Sweet lazy river, just a-rollin' along,
Down to the big muddy father of waters,
On to the sea, right or wrong.
Can't take the barges, the tugboats or steamers;
This one was made for the paddle-wheel dreamers:
Kids in canoes, and lovers close by;
stars in the water that fall from the sky.
The Iowa River is singin' its song;
Sweet lazy river, just a-rollin' along,
Down to the big muddy father of waters,
On to the sea, right or wrong.
Passin' the corn, not a stone's throw wide;
Windin' its way through the green countryside;
Under the bridges of timber and stone,
Shinin', but no longer clean as a bone.
The Iowa River is singin' its song;
Sweet lazy river, just a-rollin' along,
Down to the big muddy father of waters,
On to the sea, right or wrong.
They say that it carries the soil away;
Carries the poisons so slow to decay;
Somehow a flood seems a righteous thing;
And somehow the river continues to sing.
The Iowa River is singin' its song;
Sweet lazy river, just a-rollin' along,
Down to the big muddy father of waters,
On to the sea, on to the sea, on to the sea, right or wron
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5. |
Moline
03:35
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I was born in a river town,
Where the sky hangs low on the bluffs so green;,
Red brick buildings, where they made the John Deere plows--
Those hard-workin' people of Moline.
My mom and dad and grandma raised my brother and me
In a big old house that was always warm and clean;
Backyard baseball under grandma's apple trees,
It always means family in Moline.
Moline, you fit me like an old pair of shoes,
Comfortable and worn, and I never quite outgrew you.
You're a proud old workin' town, and your age really shows,
But Moline, you're with me when I come or I go.
I had good, good friends, and we made our own fun,
And I went away to college when I turned eighteen;
The farms went under, they were under the gun,
And times were gettin' hard in Moline.
The shops cut back, and some of them went down,
And the barges were few through Lock Fifteen;
I'd go home to a kind of ghost town,
Thankful not to stay in Moline.
Moline, you fit me like an old pair of shoes,
Comfortable and worn, and I never quite outgrew you.
You're a proud old workin' town, and your age really shows,
But Moline, you're with me when I come or I go.
Times do change, but still things stay the same,
The river boats return but not the farm machines;
The big old muddy rivers play their floodin' games'
Deep, like the debt I cannot repay Moline.
Yes those rivers roll down the Midwest land
And there is the town, all betwixt and between;
But there's something in the way that a river city stands
That lets you know they'll make it in Moline.
Moline, you fit me like an old pair of shoes,
Comfortable and worn, and I never quite outgrew you.
You're a proud old workin' town, and your age really shows,
But Moline, you're with me when I come or I go.
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6. |
Take Me In
03:01
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I have spent a long time living on the city streets
And I have called a thousand places home;
I have spent a lifetime living on my weary feet
And I have felt the winter in my bones.
Take me in--I need a little shelter.
Take me in--I need a place tonight.
Take me in--I need a little freedom,
Take me in--I need a little life.
I have spent a long time living in a border camp,
And I have raised my children near the wars;
I have spent a lifetime waiting for a visa stamp;
And I have felt the slamming of the doors.
Take me in--I need a little shelter.
Take me in--I need a place tonight.
Take me in--I need a little freedom,
Take me in--I need a little life.
Just a roof above my head,
Just a warmer safer bed,
Just a place where I can live with pride.
Just the space to raise the children
In a place that doesn't kill them;
Just a little shelter with a little life inside.
I have spent a long time living with the surgeon's knife
And I have everything that I could need.
I have spent a lifetime learning how to live my life;
And I have felt the wounds begin to bleed.
Take me in--I need a little shelter.
Take me in--I need a place tonight.
Take me in--I need a little freedom,
Take me in--I need a little life.
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7. |
Child of My Friends
02:35
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Child of my friends, child of the earth,
Child of deep, strong love.
Let me sing at your birth,
Let me hear you sing for all you;re worth.
Child of our hopes, child of our hearts,
Child of wonder born.
It's a world torn apart,
A beautiful and risky place to start.
But live your life with love in mind,
Live with peace at hand.
See where we have made mistakes,
And seek the promised land where you stand.
Child of our hopes, child of our hearts,
Child of God's design
May your vision be clear,
Everywhere you go may love be near.
Child of my friends, child of the earth,
Child of deep, strong love.
Let us sing at your birth,
Let us hear you sing for all you're worth.
And live your life with love in mind,
Live with peace at hand.
See where we have made mistakes,
And seek the promised land where you stand.
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8. |
Backroads
02:44
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I'm back where I started five years ago,
With little success and less profit to show.
I never pulled out in the fast lane at all,
Just been drivin' these backroads and havin' a ball.
There's all kinds of scenery off the main road,
And all kinds of room if you're pullin' a load.
I don't ride alone, I got good company,
She likes the same little backroads as me.
Now I don't want to worry about a career,
Just work at lovin' you girl, every day of the year.
You are the reason I do what I do,
You see I work for a livin' and live to love you.
Now I don't want to sign up for anyone's war,
And i don't want to keep buyin' more and more and more.
I'd be a monk if I wasn't in love with you,
Girl if I lost you I'd cry like a dove.
Now I don't want to worry about a career,
Just work at lovin' you girl, every day of the year.
You are the reason I do what I do,
You see I work for a livin' and live to love you.
A backroad can be kind of backwards at times;
Narrow and tricky, some roads really wind,
And sooner or later they take you around
To the highways and suburbs and corporate towns.
Now I don't want to worry about a career,
Just work at lovin' you girl, every day of the year.
You are the reason I do what I do,
You see I work for a liviin' and live to love you.
Yes, you are the reason I do what I do,
You see I work for a livin' and live to love you.
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9. |
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Let me tell you policies and procedures
Are one scary double feature.
There's a policy for hangin' your coat;
There's a policy on rockin' the boat.
There's a policy on eatin' your lunch;
I'd like a policy on throwin' a punch
At all of these policies and procedures.
Let me tell you policies and procedures
Are one scary double feature.
There's a policy wearin' your clothes;
There's a policy on wipin' your nose.
There's a policy on writin' your name;
Must be a policy for takin' the blame
For all of these policies and procedures.
It's just a game that you play for somethin' to do
Who does what and where, who says "boo" to who.
If you toe the line and you walk the plank,
You can take a bigger paycheck on down to the bank
With your policies and procedures.
Well the word comes down from the chairman of the board
To the head of the division like the word of the Lord.
And he passes it on to the big administrator,
And all of the department heads hear a little later.
And they thell it to the supervisors, tell it loud and clear,
And the supervisors run with it burnin' in their ears
To the clock-punchin workers for the hourly wage,
Who get a new procedure bar upon their policy cage.
Policies and procedures
Are one scary, scary double feature:
There's a policy on turnin' the heat up;
And a policy on puttin' your feet up.
There's a policy on smokin' and a policy on jokin',
I got a policy on policies that need to be broken.
Policies and procedures--oh, no, no, policies and procedures.
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10. |
Windmill Road
02:58
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If you see me out on windmill road,
You can bet good money down
That my heart is on the move again
But my feet don't make a sound.
If you follow me down windmill road,
I can't say where I will lead you;
But my heart is on the move again,
And I'm afraid that I might need you.
All the circles spin in a silent wind, and it's cold
In the dawn of a life on windmill road.
If you lose your way out on windmill road
Keep your feet on the ground;
Your heart will tell you how to go
But the world won't make a sound.
I'm just roamin'gon windmill road;
I'm behind and above you.
I'm just learning to find my way;
I'm just learning to love you.
All the circles spin in a silent wind, and it's cold
In the dawn of a life on windmill road.
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11. |
The Spiral
03:13
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Somehow it all seems so wrong to me now,
Like the earth in Copernicus' time.
All of the striving for money and fame
Is just legally organized crime.
I've got a notion that all things connect
In a way that we never can know,
Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse--
It depends on the seed that you sow.
The rich just get richer, the poor just die quicker,
And history re-writes Vietnam.
The farmers are starving and all of the money
Gets stuffed into lasers and bombs.
The sins of our fathers and mothers will visit us
Over and over again;
Caught in the spiral we manage to pass them along
To our own next of kin.
And it's way hey, up and away; let's fly away to the moon.
Way, hey, up and away; bigger is better, and never too soon.
I am no different from anyone else, but I can no longer pretend
The blood don't run red or the kids all get fed,
Oh no, somewhere this spiral must end.
Now one country's rebels are another one's freedom fighters,
For what that is worth.
Peace becomes war, like 1984
And it plagues the entire earth.
Nations indebted clear up to their necks;
The solution is "loan 'em some more."
And people who're starving for love just get sex,
And it works like a revolving door.
The artists are working for corporate images,
Selling shampoo on the air,
Musicians strike poses, turn up their noses,
And scowl through their lavender hair.
The rivers and lakes are in desperate straits
While the atmosphere goes down the drain;
And big corporations make small conversations
With dictators over champagne.
And it's way hey, up and away; let's fly away to the moon.
Way, hey, up and away; bigger is better, and never too soon.
I am no different from anyone else, but I can no longer pretend
The blood don't run red or the kids all get fed,
Oh no, somewhere this spiral must end.
Yes, somewhere this spiral must end.
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12. |
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Early every evening you could see him sittin' there,
Old John, with his Hohner in an ancient rockin' chair.
He played the "St. Anne's Reel," and he played "The Red Haired Boy;"
He played the best harmonica in the state of Illinois.
And he'd close his eyes and play, like a child when she prays,
And he always used to say, "It keeps that old devil away."
"'Cause the devil hates a good tune, he cannot take the time
To look up at the full moon and listen to it shine.
Well, he knows that it's a fine thing, one of the ties that bind,
Oh the devil hates a good tune, boy, keep that in mind."
John lived by the station-house, the old Rock Island Line.
He had a way of sayin' when he heard the whistle whine,
"Now there's a good tune boy, that rockin' on the rails.
The devil hears it comin' and he always turns his tail."
Then he'd take his harp and blow, kinda bluesy, kinda low,
And he'd chuckle, "don't you know, now that devil's got to go."
"'Cause the devil hates a good tune, he cannot take the time
To look up at the full moon and listen to it shine.
Well, he knows that it's a fine thing, one of the ties that bind,
Oh the devil hates a good tune, boy, keep that in mind."
He never played for money, never played for fame.
Half the old man's neighbors didn't even know his name.
But the last time I was home he still had songs to play,
And no one seemed to notice that he'd kept the devil at bay.
They had other things to do, walk on down the avenue,
And look up at the moon, and hear its shinin' tune.
"'Cause the devil hates a good tune, he cannot take the time
To look up at the full moon and listen to it shine.
Well, he knows that it's a fine thing, one of the ties that bind,
Oh the devil hates a good tune, boy, keep that in mind."
Old John played the "St. Anne's Reel," and he played "The Red Haired Boy;"
He played the best harmonica in the state of Illinois.
And he'd close his eyes and play, like a child when she prays,
And he always used to say, "It keeps that old devil away."
"'Cause the devil hates a good tune, he cannot take the time
To look up at the full moon and listen to it shine.
Well, he knows that it's a fine thing, one of the ties that bind,
Oh the devil hates a good tune, boy, keep that in mind.
Said the devil hates a good tune, boy, keep that in mind."
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13. |
[Demo] Classical Lines
03:28
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Once I stood with no song of my own;
Livin' life like a buried stone.
I moved like a ghost through the night,
Like a shadow that cowers from the light.
Like the glass Galileo used,
Your guitar gave me worlds to view.
You encourage me so many ways
Not to drown in some lonely romantic haze.
In your eyes there's intensity;
In your life there's a harmon.
You are defined by classical lines.
Your designs stand out sharp and clean;,
Art and life fused like fine machines.
In a rarified atmosphere
There are songs you could sing that we should hear.
In the sky there are a million moons;
And on the wind there are a million tunes.
I may find one or two in my days,
Since you showed me the glass through which to gaze.
And In your eyes there's integrity;
In your life there's a liturgy.
You are defined by classical lines.
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14. |
[Demo] I Close My Eyes
03:11
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Just down the highway there's a road;
Follows the river up and down.
It'll take you to the cold bright lights,
Or the shadow of a small town night;
Either way it's deep enough to drown.
That river shatters on the rocks;
That river rushes through the dells.
Then it strands you in some pool,
Like a king without his fool,
Standin mad and lost in his own hell.
I close my eyes at night,
I hear the armies fight;
I hear the children cry,
I close my eyes.
It's like tryin' to clear a way to go
On a flood plain, pushin' a broom.
Over on the corporate ladder
People wonder what's the matter;
Might as well be shootin' the moon.
But just down the highway there's a road;
Follows the river up and down.
It'll take you to the cold bright lights,
Or the shadow of a small town night;
Either way it's deep enough to drown.
I close my eyes at night,
I hear the armies fight;
I hear the children cry,
I close my eyes.
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15. |
[Demo] Call It Spring
02:20
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Mud has turned to dust on the road that leads to Highway One;
Pickup truck went rollin' by and clouded up the sun.
Little ol' creek has flooded up and washed the bank away;
All the little field mice are runnin' out to play.
And it's little green grass, little green grass,
Little green grass, everywhere;
Warm wind blowin', warm wind blowin', warm wind blowin' my hair.
Oh boy, here we go, no more jump starts, no more snow
I think I'd believe most anything.
Oh my, goodness me, count the flowers one, two three;
Count 'em again and you call it spring.
A big black dog named Blue is just a snoozin' in the sun;
Two young mousin' cats attack his tail just for fun.
It's almost time for lemonade and whiskey on the swing,
Fishin' off the bridge and skinny-dippin' in the spring.
And it's little green grass, little green grass,
Little green grass, everywhere;
Warm wind blowin', warm wind blowin', warm wind blowin' my hair.
Oh boy, here we go, no more jump starts, no more snow
I think I'd believe most anything.
Oh my, goodness me, count the flowers one, two three;
Count 'em again and you call it spring.
All I need come April is some elderberry wine;
Just one little sip of vintage '79.
I'll be # sittin' on the porch, strummin' a tune,
And if I'm feelin' lazy I might stay there 'til June.
And it's little green grass, little green grass,
Little green grass, everywhere;
Warm wind blowin', warm wind blowin', warm wind blowin' my hair.
Oh boy, here we go, no more jump starts, no more snow
I think I'd believe most anything.
Oh my, goodness me, count the flowers one, two three;
Count 'em again and you call it spring.
It's spring. It's spring.
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Tim Gustafson Moline, Illinois
I have been writing and playing Americana--sometimes bluesy, sometimes rockish, sometimes jazz-inflected folk--since before it was called "Americana." I don't know where songs come from, or how or why they emerge. But here they are. I hope you enjoy them. ... more
Tim Gustafson recommends:
Dan Tanz is a singer-songwriter in the mold of Pete Seeger. Really, really good stuff.
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Still On Fire
by Fireroast Mountain Boys
More songs by Don Browne, David West, and yours truly, with tuba, accordion, clarinet, mandolin, guitar and...ukulele.
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Unlike the Bison
by Hypoxic Punks
EcoAmericana
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Michelle Stodart’s folk music captures hope in melancholy, addressing the transformational aspects of the most challenging times.
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The St Buryan Sessions
by Sarah McQuaid
Recorded live at St Buryan Church, the latest from Sarah McQuaid is a showcase for the simple power of voice & guitar.
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featured on Bandcamp Radio Sep 29, 2015
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