These words are all mine except for that line in All the Time I ripped off from Paul Simon– so if you use any of it, be sure and give me at least the same acknowledgment I gave him, please and thanks… 🙂

It’s not complete– if you are looking for something in particular let me know and I’ll add it…

C, eh? N, eh? D, eh? (The Canada Song)

Give me a C, eh?  Give me and N, eh?  Give me a D, eh?  Oh Canada…

C is for how it’s cool here to celebrate cultural diversity;

N is for how it’s normal to be nice in this society;

D is for the diligent devotion to common decency—

It’s not just a habit to be polite; it’s a civic responsibility…

I was not born in Canada, but I tried to get here pretty quickly,

And I knew I’d found myself a home the first time I heard the CBC.

I learned that coast to coast to coast we all love to hear and tell a good story,

It was Stuart McLean that taught me that – with a little help from Dave and Morley…

So, give me a C, eh?…

Now I do not claim to understand or to be a fan of ice hockey,

But I respect that it seems to mean a lot to people who mean a lot to me…

And I’m a lifelong fan of other threads in the Canadian cultural tapestry;

like Leonard Cohen, Neil Young, and Joni Mitchell, to name a couple or three.

And I love The Band and The Weakerthans, Arcade Fire and Broken Social Scene,

The Guess Who too, and Steppenwolf and of course all that Canadian comedy.

Yeah, the world thanks you for Lorne Micheals, the kids in the hall, Mike Myers, and Eugene Levy … and Samantha Bee … Bob and Doug MacKenzie … Red and Tom Green … Leslie Nielson, Phil Hartman and Joooooohn Candy… (Uncle Buck!)

So, give me a C, eh?…

When I sat down to write this song, I considered mentioning beavers and moose—

Or the difficult disposition of the ironically named Canada Goose…

I considered mentioning lumberjacks and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police

And the billion different definitions of that simple sounding phrase “I’m Sorry”..

But instead I decided to write about what Canada has come to mean to me…

And that’s things like love and things like home and family…

So thanks for all that Canada…

“Thanks” and… oh yeah… “Merci…”

Give me a C, eh? …

Album Lyrics to A Perfect Cliché:

Another One

I will not build another one

I will not build build a monument to all of your pain

I will not build another one

I will not see your stars again

Your scars again

Lift me up, carry me to some to some higher plane

I will wreck this thing, I will start again

A Perfect Cliché – Part One

Before this begins, a little warning

I’ll be sharing all my sins,

So you may not wanna listen if you’re rooting for the kind of boy who wins.

Before this all starts, a trigger warning,

I’ll be showing all my vulnerable parts,

You might choose another channel if you prefer your sports to the arts–

I’m sorry to say

That I’m a Perfect Cliché,

I’m just another hapless victim of the television age…

Last Exit

The last exit on the road before forever is on highway 21 just south of Caldwell

Kaleidoscopic creatures by the bridge there come to greet us-

They watch us as we pass and wish us well.

On a weekend pass from Sergeant Black Devaca,

I was coming down or just a bit still stoned-

She was smiling out the window at that perfect Texas summer

I was looking for an exit for a Lexington back Road

Something happened out there I’m still holding

It was sudden but was coming for a while

The second hand slipped, lost its grip and in an instant

The wind got distant, quiet soft and light…

A road was winding out into a field

A tree was there, a big one, wide and shady on a hill

A story seemed to write itself, the pages filled,

With words about a homestead that was waiting to be built

Then it stretched out like choir and it kept expanding

The fourth wall broke, the actor spoke and we were standing

There inside the picture, we were waving back together

The last exit on the road before forever

And words that fail to in-describe the indescribable

Are bible verses from the gospel of the lost

I was coming down or just a bit still stoned or oxytocin

Maybe magic, maybe acid, maybe a thought from the perfect mind of god

The wind woke up and we were on the 696 to Austin

You could save a half an hour on the drive

Then they widened up the 21 on down to the 290,

Now it’s faster just to drive right by

The last exit on the road before forever…

Everything OK

Gary loved Cindy, her long blonde hair like spun flax in the sun

Cindy loved Gary, in her way- she told me once ‘He’s a real man’

‘Hey, is everything OK?’

‘No, it’s not ok…’

Gary told Cindy ‘Hey, let’s take a little break, run around the block a time or two’

Cindy said to someone ‘Hey, you’re my kind of mistake, Gary says it’s OK if I do’

(the chemistry took over and Cindy lost her head –

called too much too often, maybe not enough instead)

‘Hey, is everything OK?’

(and she said…)

‘I might have accidentally fallen in love with him just a little bit- I didn’t mean to do it, but I did…

Now I need to break my heart before I manage to destroy everything that matters in my life–

You’re everything that matters in my life’

Gary and Cindy were dancing on a rooftop, trying to figure out a way back down,

Slipped up on a shingle and managed to discover the fastest way to the ground

(the fastest way to the ground)

            ‘Hey, is everything OK?’

            ‘Yes, it’s gonna be OK’

Flight Path

All this time I was thinking, you were afloat but you were sinking down,

Remember how we used to laugh, living on the flight path, lost in sound,

The music could have saved our souls, in a way it did I suppose, lost and found…

It’s apparent now there’s something wrong–

such a fight to write this song,

the music springs from everything,

I don’t know what to say or sing, I guess this thing is gone.

The war was over before it begun you and me against everyone,

Instead of John and Paul you were Harrison,

I was Sutcliffe or some other one.

You’re in the light and I’m just around.

I wish those days were back sometimes,

Rhymes still come from time to time–

The past is past not meant to last,

And the mountain’s taller the farther up we climb.

Thanks for the ride again my friend,

but it’s just too hard to pretend,

I can’t write a song for you,

when I get inside,

it’s only me I find…

A Perfect Cliché — Part Two

Now we’re in the midst of it, I kinda wonder how I twisted it–

I tried to write an unsolved mystery but I think we all got the gist of it.

As the story unfolded and I realized my role in it–

I began to recognize it couldn’t happen just the way I always told it.

It was a situation comedy interspersed with bits of tragedy–

With a moral lesson buried somewhere in a parenthetical closed captioning.

It was a throwaway plot just like a million other scripts I’ve wrought–

I tried to change it up enough that maybe this time I would not get get caught.

You see I thought that I was special, and if I promised any less you’ll

Realize that I am nothing more than just another empty vessel,

For you to fill with your projections, if you can get past my protections,

And if you can find the room in there beside all my imperfections.

I’m sorry to say,

That I’m a Perfect Cliché,

Just another hapless victim of the television age…

Hey Mother

Hey mama, it’s nice to see you here,

Hey mama, let’s have another year–

Wake up early finish all the chores, get the restaurant ready and open up the doors.

Hey sister, it’s nice to sit and play–

Hey sister, let’s have another day,

Sit down on the bench and share a smoke, tell another story laughing at another joke.

Hey brother, it’s nice to lend a hand,

Hey brother, I like to help out where I can–

Sometimes I get scared by what I think, there’s probably another way but it’s better when I drink

Hey Mother, it’s nice to have some friends

Hey Mother, I would do it all again

Sweeping out the garden feed the fish

Throw a penny in the pond and make a little wish,

I’d probably wish for one more minute here without these voices in my ear…

The Crown Prince of the Tongue-Biters

I am the crown prince of the tongue-biters clan,

My powers to evade are the stuff of legends.

You’ll find me at the garden maze with a machete in my hand,

My urge to play the game starts where the hedge ends.

Ride along with me I’ll take you nowhere

But at least I’ll probably get you nowhere fast

And we’ll all enjoy the ride, til the adrenaline subsides

Then we’ll all relax and drift until we crash

I’m the moderator of the self debaters club

With a membership of one, but that’s in question

We’re trying to decide which one of me I’d like to love

And which of me I’d rather get arrested

Ride along with me I’ll take you somewhere

But it’s somewhere you won’t really want to go

When I express my sins to you and when you realize they’re true

You might think you don’t really want to know

We need to build a better breadwinner, we need to rewire our world

We need to disentangle money and survival

We need a universal incoming ballistic missile shield made of solar panels dipped in marijuana

Made of champagne bubbles soaking in a sauna

You can ask again but I don’t wanna

I’m the instigator of the anti-hatred riots,

Our opinions are polite but they’re never quiet.

We’ll burn the world in effigy and then we’ll meditate for science–

If you haven’t, then I recommend you try it.

Ride along with me I’ll take you everywhere,

And they’ll never even notice that we’re gone–

We’ll all enjoy the ride, and we’ll laugh and clutch our sides

And pretend it’s just another silly song.

Wind Telephone

Wind Telephone, I’ve got words I want to say

And then watch the wind take them away.

Write your name on the back of a red oak leaf

And make a gift to the breeze.

Watch the campfire burn down to the embers

Lose another friend to September… to September wind.

Weight of the world and it’s rolling down my cheek

Means that I’m human not that I’m weak.

Losing you one teardrop at a time,

“Please quit asking me, I said I’m doing fine…”

Walk you down to the bridge and send you over–

Lose another friend to October… to October wind.

I know why that caged bird always screams–

He’s distracted by important things.

Raging against the dying of the light–

Says “I won’t give in without a fight!”

Raging about last words I don’t remember,

Lose another friend to November… to November wind.

The wind will come and we will be transported–

The wind will come our wings will be supported–

The wind will come rip the hinges off the door–

The wind will come and we will see our chance and fly away.

A Perfect Cliché — Part Three

And after all this, I’m embarrassed to report,

I’m just another little boy wished his daddy said I love you more–

Another television orphan, craving more parental touch–

Just another little boy who wished his mommy didn’t cry so much.

I’m sorry to say that I’m a Perfect Cliché

Just another hapless victim of the television age.

The Rest of Our Lives

Touch of your skin, touch of your skin,

Our silent story, where it begins–

Brush of your hand, brush of your hand,

A quiet reminder our hearts understand–

Curve of your hip, curve of your hip,

Where my touch wanders, words start to slip…

Top of your breast, top of your breast,

Comfort and calming and coming to rest–

Light in your eyes, light in your eyes,

Catches the shadows to push them aside–

Sound of your heart, sound of your heart,

The noise breaks back in, signals the start–

Of the Rest of Our Lives–

Of the Rest of Our Lives.

Mrs. Christmas:

Hey Mrs. Christmas-you’re on my wish-list

Come kiss Mr. Christmas right here-

The eggnog and whisky has made me feel frisky

So I’m risking my heart and I’m pulling you near

Hey Mrs. December, I still remember

Those Christmases when we were young delinquents

I love you more today in almost every way-

Our love has gotten stronger- if perhaps not quite as frequent

Hey Mrs. Santa Claus, I know we can’t because

The little one upstairs is a light sleeper…

If we don’t go all the way… to the North Pole

It’s ok, the couch is closer, and it’s definitely cheaper

Hey Mrs. Christmas—tip-toe over here,

I promise you a Silent Night of Jack Frost nibblin’ at your ear

Hey Mrs. Christmas, I won’t make a sound—

If we Fool-loo-loo-loo-loo-loo-lool around…

Hey Mrs. Yuletide, there’s a log on the fire inside,

Let’s melt you out of these blankets of snow—

Sit here beside me or climb up on Santa’s knee

We’ll unwrap each other’s presents underneath the mistletoe…

Hey Mrs. Holiday Cheer, you’ve been a naughty girl this year,

You’ve even trimmed the… tree in preparation…

There’s a lump of coal for you because you got caught kissing Santa Claus—

But coal turns into diamonds with a  little time and patience.

Hey Mrs. Christmas, you’re on my wish-list

Show me yours and I will show you mine—

Mine’s just a single sheet, written there nice and neat is your name on every line!

Train Song

In my clever imitation of a life of moderation, I never seem to get the accent right

For my sloppy misbehaviour, my smile is my saviour

It’s the way I’ve tricked and charmed my way through life

But that train just keeps rolling through the station

With no patience for me or my devil’s smile

It’s Unseasonably Cool out here this morning—

And I’ve sacrificed my comfort for my style

The train’s on time, I guess I’m the one who’s late— The lights are flashing, I’m standing at the gate

Outside the station, I guess I’ll have to wait—Or find another way to you… I missed the train again, I’m feeling blue

Why should you always have to wait on me?

It’s not the life I want, It’s not the man I want to be-

When we’re side by side, it’s easy to keep up-

When I fall behind, my mind decides to try and trip me up-

You know I really oughtta stop with all this self-recrimination-

I’m the only one to blame for being in my situation-

The train is only here because somebody laid a track

And once it’s rolling through it’s just too hard to roll it back-

Trains’ll just be trains, I guess I’ll be me too—At least until I find myself

Another way to you…

Beth’s song

There’s a girl I know that likes to sing along, sits at the front of every show-

When the guitars start their ringing-and everybody starts their singing-

She hears a harmony that no-one else can hear

She hears his voice, she hears his voice-

She hears his voice and she doesn’t feel alone

Sometimes in the evenings, there’s a place she goes downtown, there’s laughter and the bands get up to play

There’s a memory of a song there and it lingers in the rafters,

if her eyes are closed, she can almost see his face

She hears his voice, she hears his voice-

She hears his voice and she doesn’t feel alone

There’s a guitar in the corner—It’s a bookmark in her pages

And the dust begins to settle on the strings—

One day she goes to move it, she picks it up and strums it—

And to her surprise, she begins to sing—

And she hears her voice (she hasn’t heard it in a long time)

She hears her voice (and it sounds like coming home)

She hears her voice (and the harmony that joins it)

She hears her voice, and she doesn’t feel alone

Don’t Burn Your Bible

Don’t burn your Bible; just to stay warm there’s more to survival than that—

You may need the heat, but you’ll need the book more, if you lose your place on the map

Don’t build your bridges, just to cross streams, be sure that you’ve got somewhere to go—

It’s a hell of a time, if we enjoy the ride, but it still feels real nice to come home…

And when you fly away, don’t fly too far, that urge only lasts for a little while—

If you fly too far, there might come a day, where your whole life can turn on a smile—

And you oughtta smile, and you oughtta pray—and you best not let sweet moments slip away—

I guess that all I really need to say is “I love you”

And don’t put all your existential blues into one basket, the only one that’s big enough to hold them is your casket—

We’ll all be there soon enough, there’s’ no call to make the ride more rough,

And if you ever need a thing from me, just ask it…

If you fall off the wagon that you hitched up to a star, remember you already learned to fly—

The ground is far below us, don’t look down, you’ll just get nervous, spread your wings and look up at the sky…

Me and Nicole

I was thinking about freedom yesterday—

and a travellin’ song I used to love to play

That said “freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose”

might’ve been a life I wanted once, but it’s not a life I’d choose—

What kind of fool would trade all his tomorrows, for one single yesterday?

If freedom means you’re only free from sorrow, it may cost nothin’ – but it’s still too much to pay.

I spent a year or two of my life, out there on that road—

I like to travel light, but even ‘light’ gets to be a heavy load.

I set my pack down in California, like all good travelers do—

it was somewhere near Salinas, I finally met you…

I met you in a restaurant in the Abigail hotel—

I had almost given up on love, but I figured what the hell;

I’ll have at least one more adventure before I pack it in—

who knows when a chance like this might come along again?

We packed up ol’ Johnny Cash, and a little house on wheels—

Headed out from Oakland, ended up in Oxford Mills.

There was a girl before I met you, maybe two or three,

who could have been a song to sing like ‘Me and Bobbie McGee’

Love like that burns hot and fast, but it doesn’t last that long, I’d rather have a story than a  song…

Love like that burns hot and fast, but then the night gets cold…I’d rather have a story… like me and my Nicole

Late Fight

A desperate late night phone call, a friend I thought I’d left behind

Tells me she’s been thinking about those wild and crazy times—

She doesn’t like the way we left things, but I tell her that I’m fine…

She’s quiet for a moment, but it seems to ease her mind—

I wonder if she knew it, as soon as I picked up the phone

By my late night desperation

I ain’t never comin’ home

No one mowed the yard the day we left it; no one came to check up on the mail

No one topped the gravel in the driveway up that spring

Or picked up that ol’ pear tree where it fell

No one cleaned the gutters out that summer, the rain got in and it buckled all the wood—

And no one saw the hole I punched right through the hallway door,

The night you said I wasn’t any good…

I remember the night I called you, how you sat there like a stone

I cried out in desperate anger:

I ain’t never comin’ home

Now I’m standin’ out here starin’ at a forest, right where the old homestead used to be—

And even the trees have faded to whole new range of colors—

Saffron, brown, bright red and tangerine

And my hair is gettin’ gray around the tmples, and even I can feel the comin’ of the cold…

One more desperate late night phone call

This one to my momma—I gotta tell her—

I ain’t never coming home

Walking Sam

Walking Sam was an old black man

That used to wander through my neighborhood;

My daddy used to give him work,

A little money if he could.

My daddy was a good Christian man—

He didn’t do it ‘cuz he thought he should,

He didn’t want a chance to try to change the world,

Just a chance to do a little bit of good.

Walking Sam, do you need a hand?

Walking Sam…my daddy seemed to understand.

Mrs. Brooks, she was the secretary

At my daddy’s little office downtown,

Mrs. Brooks, she was an elderly lady,

And she didn’t have much family around.

My Mama cooked a big Sunday lunch,

We’d invite Mrs. Brooks around—

At Christmastime, she was a member of the family,

Her, and every other person in town, including:

Walking Sam, do you need a hand?

Walking Sam…my daddy seemed to understand.

Ruby Goins was my grandmother’s cook,

Turned out to be her best friend too—

When my grandmother passed, we kept an eye on her friend,

Now she’s a member of the family too.

You can say what you want about the people of the South,

We sure say what we think about you—

But we folks know it ain’t about what you say—

It’s about what you do (for your…)

Walking Sam, do you need a hand?

Walking Sam…my daddy seemed to understand.

Lone Star Beer

I don’t miss: hot days or rattlesnakes,

Guns or right wing Christian freaks,

My ex-girlfriends turning up,

No a.c. in my pickup truck,

And I do miss—Lone Star Beer…

I do miss: the spicy food—

But not the heartburn after,

I don’t miss the hangovers,

But I do miss the laughter,

And I do miss—Lone Star Beer…

I don’t miss the lonely years,

I don’t miss smokin’ cigarettes

Texas hold’em poker…

Losin’ bets,

But I do miss the music and I do miss my mom, and I do miss—Lone Star Beer…

I don’t miss George W.,

For that matter, George H. W.,

I don’t miss the fascists,

I just miss my friends— (repeat verse form)

And I miss the enchiladas all smothered in cheese,

But I don’t miss the getting no peace,

I miss the music and the friends that I made—

Almost as much as the chicken fried steak… (pause)

And I do miss—Lone Star Beer,

Yes, I do miss…

Fields Of Orange

I’ve waited my whole life just to love you

now I don’t even know your name

how can I be the man that I’m supposed to be, when I can’t even find the photo in the frame

of those fields of orange

of those fields of orange, where I ran to you

I’m feeling the sun beat down on my neck

and I’m remembering how to run

wondering if I can find my way back to where I was far away before this other life begun

on those fields of orange

on those fields of orange

and when I saw the hill approaching,

I told myself it was the end,

but when we reached the crest I saw the next hill coming and I knew that we were really starting over once again…

We’ve already made it through some valleys

And we’ll find our way through this one too,

I only hope that when we reach the bottom we will find another field of orange to run towards each other through

through these fields of orange

through these fields of orange where I run to you…

West Texas Man

It’s hard to be a good man in West Texas,

But I’m doing the best that I can—

Drink the beer, but not the bourbon,

Fight your fights, but don’t start ‘em,

Some wild nights might be OK,

But don’t drink in the day,

And remember to be ready to lend a hand

It’s hard to be a good man in West Texas

There’s a dry and fierce heat

That makes the cactus and mesquite

Grow up through the cracks in your soul

And you can’t stand on your feet, you swallow your defeat

And admit you’ve got a hard row to hoe…

She was always gonna be a big project,

But I loved her—and I thought, that I could…

Be the thing that she needed

But in the end, well I conceded,

She’s still out there somewhere, and I’m gone…

Oh, It’s hard to be a good man in West Texas

There’s a rattlesnake underneath every stone

There’s a bar there—and there’s oil,

But there ain’t too much for soil,

It’s sure hard to make anything grow…

Best Thing

I hear a harmony to every word you say,

I wanna write sweet songs about you every single day

Let me walk beside you, hold your hand but not to guide you

Whisper truth but not to teach you, just to reach you…

You are the best thing that ever happened to me

I wanna sing sweet songs about you, think that I can’t live without you,

Since you showed up in my life and said ‘I’m home’

Life I lead before you, I always knew that I’d adore you,

Now I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be alone

Another Way to Smile

Be careful of the characters you play;

They’ll follow you home, they’ll get in your way.

Be mindful of the company you keep;

The one you let go, may trouble your sleep.

Don’t build your house upon a shifting sand,

The rain will come—it will not stand.

And no matter how long we chase the sun—

The rain will come, all around—

And we’re all tied together on this lifeline,

When one of us falls,

It pulls us all,

Towards the ground.

So don’t give up—please get up—

Even if for just a little while—

Find yourself another way to smile.

I saw a sapling in the yard and I chose to cut around it—

Now the trunk is strong and hard and nothing like I found it—

I saw a man both young and strong and always on the go—

Years for him were hard and long and now his head hangs low—

I’ve seen the summer pass to fall, fall breeze to winter wind—

I’ve seen my young tree standing tall and then nothing once again.

And no matter how long we chase the sun—

The rain will come, all around—

And we’re all tied together on this lifeline,

When one of us falls,

It pulls us all,

Towards the ground.

So don’t give up—please get up—

Even if for just a little while—

Find yourself another way to smile.

Starting Over

It’s so easy to cling to your tired old notions.

As you bob on a ring, out in an ocean—

That’s full of the proof, that you were wrong all along—

And when you start to sink, and when it’s all gone—

Don’t be afraid, it’s not the end,

You’re just starting over…

You tie a small string, to everything

So you can reel it back in, you won’t lose it again…

But it still gets away, because nothing is real—

It’s just what we’ve, agreed to believe…

Don’t be afraid, it’s not the end

You’re just starting over…

All The Time

When I was younger, I used to believe

I could be anything I wanted…

Now I’ve grown older, I’ve come to see,

What I want, is to be, what you need.

I’ve been ecstatic; I’ve been a fool,

I’ve been a rock, yes and I’ve been an island—

I’ve never regretted, one minute with you,

I look back—I still catch myself smiling…

Remember when you asked me, where it was that I was going to?

You were wondering, what it was that I wanted to do—

I said: ‘You’re the place I’m going to…’

I’ve got all the time in the world, for you.

I’ve got all the time in the world…

So head’s up, there’s two sides and light always wins

A single candle can drive out the dark

C’mon up, we’re waiting, this is where it begins,

You be the bonfire an I’ll be the spark.

So she waits, by the gates to the stairs and she stims—

She’s just waiting for her turn to start…

C’mon up, we’re waiting, this is where it begins,

You be the bonfire and I’ll be the spark.

I’ve got all the time in the world for you…

I’ve got all the time in the world.


Just can’t seem to get out of Newark,

Something just keeps pulling me back—

I keep tryin’ to leave, Oh, but just can’t believe,

There’s just nothing left for me here—

I just can’t seem to get out of Newark

A patent leather life at ‘the Pru’

Down at four corners on a Saturday night—

Sunday morning, back home to you—

And part of me thinks that I’ve settled for all this—

And part of me knows that’s not true—

And all of me knows that you’re part of me now,

I can no more settle for the lines on my face,

You can’t come in second if it isn’t a race—

I just can’t seem to get out of Newark

Monday morning up for the train—

For my job at the airport where I tell all the passengers—

‘I’m sorry that your flight is delayed,

I’m sorry if your life feels like running in place…’

Fire Song

When the luck ran out, we were out on the lawn

Watching it go up in flames—

I was riding hard towards the south of the sun—

I was losing my grip on the reins.

For a week or two in the midst of it all,

I thought I was going insane,

But you held your vigil and you lit your candle

And waited for me ‘til I came—

And now I’m here where I belong,

I don’t want to be with no-where else,

Yeah, I’m here where I belong—

Holding me close and no one other…

There’s a picture somewhere that tells the story,

Much better than I ever can—

I’m young and strong and my hair is long

And I’m holding the world in my hand.

But my eyes in the picture tell a different story,

They’re sad and they’re narrow with fear—

They’re looking out hard over this horizon

And praying that something is here—

When the luck ran out, I was out on the lawn,

I was acting like I didn’t care—

I was riding hard towards the south of the sun,

I was feeling the wind in my hair—

I’m an old man there with a map in my hand,

To everything I’ve left behind—

But the route ends here—

And from the map it looks clear

That I took the right turn every time…

Uncle Don

Here’s a song for my Uncle Donny:

The last time I saw you alive,

You said that you were getting ready—

To ride along the Great Divide.

Well, you always were ‘the odd one’—

That’s the kindest way to say—

You’re weird as a three cent penny,

But we loved you just that way…

Canvas tents and flintlock muskets,

A magazine mail order bride,

Boy Scout camps and model airplanes—

And riding on the Great Divide.

You were a young boy’s favorite uncle…

Handmade gifts don’t go out of style,

You never threw away a thing; you never knew what you might need,

To make somebody, somewhere smile…

But you didn’t want to be a burden,

So you learned to live life light—

With your wits to keep you warm, and if you needed something more,

You’d find it on the Great Divide.

But you learned to live so lightly—

That the wind swept you aside—

If you’re calling after Donny, he’s out there somewhere wandering,

Riding on the Great Divide.

Thank You Friends:

To my friends back in Bryan,

When I thought I was dying,

You gave me your time,

And I want to say:

Thank you friends, thank you for your time.

A shout out to the West Coast,

San Francisco and Oakland,

Emeryville—oh, I miss you still…

Thank you friends, thank you for your time.

To my friends back in Austin,

Where I got lost and

Where I got found—

If you’re still around…

Thank you friends, thank you for your time.

Now I’m up here in Kemptville,

You’ve welcomed me home,

Given me family—

Like I’ve never known—

Thank you friends, thank you for your time.

Thanks to the guy

That opened your mind,

You helped me survive

A really tough time…

Thank you friend, Thank you for your time.

Thanks to the girl—

Gave me the world—

Gave me your time…

Oh, God, I want to say

Thank you friend, Thank you for your time.