Lyrics

From Redbud Winter (2007)

Redbud Winter
Arise
Famous Blue Apron
This Would Be My Home
Crazy Glue
Because I Can
(Out There In) Texas
Shuffletown
Gospel’s Little Home


Redbud Winter

That old poplar is not what I’d remembered;
The roots more knotty and twisted by the year.
An early spring pulls sap into my limbs,
But a redbud winter will always pull me here.

I left the hills in May of 61;
A cold snap killed the dogwoods
and left me alone.
The city gave me power, the kind I thought I needed,
But a redbud winter will always bring me home.

I press my cheek against a rough white oak
And listen to the last winter wind blow.
Every mountain made low, every mountain made low.

Father, father, the cold goes to my bones;
I’m moving someplace easier when the season’s done.
Daughter, daughter, time will take the snows;
The last redbud winter is when I let you go.

Cedar waxwings strip the hollies bare,
And the blackberries blossom by the road.
Every mountain made low, every mountain made low,
Mountains made low,
Made low
.

© 2007 Allison Adams


Arise

Day broke on the embers,
The people gathered round.
We sifted through the ashes
On the black and sodden ground.

We wept for walls and timbers;
We wept our unbelief.
We wept in wails of anger;
We wept an endless grief.

But they’ll rise up at Gallilee,
They’ll rise up at Six-Mile.
Smoke clears from the skies,
Bright Morning Star, arise,
Bright Morning Star, arise,
Bright Morning Star, arise.

In central Alabama
County roads go on for miles.
In a clearing in the piney woods,
We are passing through our trials.

Day broke on our sorrows,
But we all gathered round,
We held our Sunday meeting
On the black but solid ground.

They’ll rise up at Gallilee,
They’ll rise up at Six-Mile.
Smoke clears from the skies,
Bright Morning Star, arise,
Bright Morning Star, arise,
Bright Morning Star, arise.

Day broke on the embers;
Fire consumed our sleep.
We’re sifting through the ashes;
We pray our watch he’ll keep.

Words and music by Allison Adams, copyright 2006


Famous Blue ApronIt’s just another ending,
Another small-town story:
For forty years I’ve sat here
With five rows of calico
And gingham and lace.

Out on the highway
They carved out the mountainside
And laid out thirty thousand square feet
Of merchandise
At that low, low price.

I fed my children,
I guess I’ve done alright;
So at six o’clock I’ll cut the lights
And lock the door, and without a fuss
I’ll say good night.

The days get lonely
I listen to talk radio
Or poke through the thrift store
That opened up next door
In the old five and dime

I think about my daughter
In that famous blue apron
Scanning lipstick and Pampers
At minimum wage
With no overtime

She feeds her children,
I guess she’ll do alright
If she don’t ask no questions
And don’t think too far ahead
Or put up a fight.

I fed my children,
I guess I’ve done alright;
So at six o’clock I’ll cut the lights
And lock the door, and without a fuss
I’ll say good night.

Words and music by Allison Adams, copyright 2005


This Would Be My Home

Oh for a window that I could see some green
Of my own, this would be my home.
Oh for a kitchen stove with a supper simmering
Of my own, this would be my home.
Oh for a tire swing where I could sit and sing
Sing with the crickets in the twilight lingering.
Oh for a resting place to end my wandering
On my own, this would be my home.

Oh for a little lamp that I could see to read
On my own, this would be my home.
Oh for a patch of dirt where I could lay some seed
Of my own, this would be my home.
Oh for a kind deed in someone’s time of need
Oh to be grateful for the gifts I have received.
Oh for a story that I know I could believe
As my own, this would be my home.

Oh for a tire swing where I could sit and sing;
Oh for a kind deed in someone’s time of need;
Oh for a simple room, a vase of lily blooms;
I’d draw the curtains back and watch the rising moon.
Oh for a quiet heart to slumber next to me
All my own, this would be my home.
All my own, this would be my home.
All my own, this would be my home.

© 2007 Allison Adams


Crazy Glue

Some days we spark like bottle rockets;
Some days we burn to dust.
Some days we mount the old iron horse;
Some days we sit and rust.
How do we keep ourselves together?
How do we know what to do?
Hold on for the ride, baby,
I’ll be your crazy glue.

Some years leave us laughing;
Some years hold us down.
Some years we climb the barbed-wire fences;
Some years we hit the ground.
How do we keep ourselves together?
How do we know what to do?
Hold on for the ride, baby,
Be my crazy glue.

Some lives fold like paper dolls;
Some lives burst like a balloon.
Some lives spread over the fertile fields;
Some go to seed too soon.
How do we keep ourselves together?
How do we know what to do?
Hold on for the ride, baby,
Stick like crazy glue.
Stay with me for the ride, baby,
We’ll be crazy, we’ll be crazy glue.

© 2007 Allison Adams


Because I Can

I got a bushel of cukes I picked today,
I gotta put ‘em up or give ‘em away.
Those twenty-four pint jars how they shine
When I pack ‘em full and pour on the brine.
Sweet pickles, dill pickles, that’s my plan—
Why?
Because I can.

A peck of apples from the Georgia hills,
I made a pie and I ate my fill.
So ripe and sweet, it’s a shame to toss ‘em,
Guess it’s time to applesauce ’em.
Sauce and butter, that’s my plan—
Why?
Because I can.

Lord, my kitchen gets steamin’ hot
When I put my produce in the pot
And add that sugar cup by cup;
Yeah, I’m the kind of girl who . . . puts up!

A mess of beans is mighty fine
In the middle of winter time.
Twenty quarts all in a row,
Cook ’em long and cook ’em low
Green beans, pole beans, that’s my plan—
Why?
Because I can.
Because I can.
Because I can.

Words and music by Allison Adams, copyright 2005


(Out There in) Texas

 

When this is over, I think I’ll go to Texas.
They say it’s flat out there, and you can see for miles—
Miles and miles of empty,
Road and dust and sky.

Mama brought me here to this weary little room;
We ain’t seen sunshine since we set out from home.
It’s dim and damp and cold here.
I smell steel and fear.

I’ll get a blue shirt, blue jeans,
Wind in my hair,
I’ll get a palomino,
A golden mare
Out there in Texas.

Sometimes I feel him, his breath upon my skin—
Saying he’ll take care of me, it’s just a matter when.
I wish my mind were empty,
Flat and clean like Texas.
Mama said I’d go to sleep, I wouldn’t feel a thing,
But I know my baby’s leaving me, I seen her in my dreams.
Wish I could take her with me,
Out there to Texas.

I’d show her sunshine, cowboys,

Days without rain,
Yellow roses—
Rose is her name
Out there in Texas,
Out there in Texas,
In Texas.

Words and music by Allison Adams, copyright 2005


Shuffletown

The city’s got a chokehold,
The river’s dammed and gone.
It’s just a little farm town,
But dying takes so long.
There used to be a ferry,
Human chattel was the freight.
Later on it carried fishermen
Looking for beer and bait.

There’s no room for Shuffletown,
And no one here to blame.
When you go down, Shuffletown,
Who will remember, who will remember your name?
A Carolina crossroads,
Catawba River shore,
A few hardscrabble farmers,
And a rundown country store.
Here we’re born and here we’re married,
Here we love and here we die.
Life ought to be that simple,
And the world should pass us by.

There’s no room for Shuffletown,
And no one here to blame.
When you go down, Shuffletown,
Who will remember, who will remember?

Slow down, Shuffletown,
Things will never be the same.
When you go down, Shuffletown,
I will remember your name.
I will remember your name.
I will remember your name.

© 2005 Allison Adams


Gospel’s Little Home

The cabbage fields are lying fallow,
A winter rain is blowing in.
This old valley sure gets lonely,
But Lord, you know I’m listening in.

Just a year ago November,
Jesus called my Charlie home.
I miss his singing in the mornings;
The silence cuts me to the bone.

Tune me to AM 1650,
Take me to Gospel’s Little Home.
Set my soul to gently drifting
On the waves of a Silvertone.
Send the signal from the station
Clear as Mother Maybelle’s song.
Let it be my destination,
Let it be where I belong.

“Angel Band” with Ralph and Carter
”Savior’s Train” with Bill Monroe—
All those songs I sang with Charlie,
Now I sing with the radio.
Tune me to AM 1650,
Take me to Gospel’s Little Home.
Set my soul to gently drifting
On the waves of a Silvertone.
Send the signal from the station
Clear as Mother Maybelle’s song.
Let it be my destination,
Let it be where I belong.

In the sweet by and by
We shall meet on that beautiful shore;
In the sweet by and by
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

© 2005 Allison Adams