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Dizzy from the Distance. I’m running through a pastel desert, And that ol’ sun is burning hard, sending the heat down, Bleaching all bright colors from the land and living things for miles and miles around. And the only sounds are the whining of my wheels on the highway
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I’m running through a pastel desert, And that ol’ sun is burning hard, sending the heat down, Bleaching all bright colors from the land and living things for miles and miles around. And the only sounds are the whining of my wheels on the highway And the roaring of the wind in my ear. This whole scene is looking like a painting of my life, A painting of my life when you’re not here. . . . And I’m dizzy from the distance. Well, I watched you take a dive Into that sea of light, and you never once came up for air. So I put my number in a bottle, tossed it, then I turned and got away from there. Sometimes you’re on the line to say you miss me When the frantic boomtown rhythm has nigh driven you to tears. In this western quiet I am reaching out for you, Still reaching out for you when you’re not here. . . . And I’m dizzy from the distance . . . Fallen in between us.
I stand on a windy ledge— These empty arms outstretched— And I’m calling out your name, And the echo comes promising a change Gonna come around someday . . . someday. Now I’m late to meet the morning train, A broken rose in hand, red-faced and out of breath. There must have been some bad connection—down the line—the train pulls out and I am left. And I wonder why love comes in pieces hard to put together With directions that are anything but clear— From the station to the highway to that desert in the night— There’s a desert in the night when you’re not here. . . . And I’m dizzy from the distance . . . Fallen in between us.
Off and running, up and coming Morning in the East; Spent the night wound so tight With no chance of release. In the sky I see the light Of that morning star; Somewhere you can see it too, And I'm wishing I was where you are. Though I can't bridge the years and the miles laid in between, I have learned with every step that you are still the best I've ever seen. Two young lovers undercover On a dirt road Friday night, Touched and dreamed—the windows steamed And the radio just cried. Hearts a-racing, kisses tasting Warm and wild and sweet, And the dashboard light lit up your smile When I said, "You're all I need." I don't know why things couldn't work the way we dreamed, But moments not forgotten yet remind me you're the best I've ever seen. Oh, you're the best I've ever seen.
Take a listen to the band and I remember when we danced; I'm thinking things I might've said and wishing that I had just one more chance. Won't you give me one more chance. Too obsessed I came out west And I found a place to hide. You took a lover, then another, Never satisfied. And the people say it's such a shame To see your appetite And to see me chase the sun and end up running into lonely nights. I look at that star again and I see you as a queen— Standing in your blue dress, girl, you'll always be the best I've ever seen. Oh, you're the best I've ever seen.
The social event of the calendar year Was circled in red hearts and finally near. A thrill ran through Kayla, and up she jumped, a-clicking her heels. Her mother's old dancing shoes still had their shine, They had cut many a rug in their time, And on younger feet they would again dance the waltzes and the reels. Come Saturday night with the bonfires all lit, The ale in the keg and the pig on the spit, Joshua stood off alone as the fairgrounds were filled. But when the fiddles were fondled and the mandolins rang, He lifted his high lonely voice, and he sang, And it echoed in waves through the misty blue valleys and the hills. Songs for the highland—songs for the sea— Songs for the lovers who long to live free From the painful misgiving and the fear of misstep. Let 'em laugh right out loud and dance wild through the crowded jamboree.
Joshua's voice caught way down in his chest When he saw the angel in the blue cotton dress. Kayla was a-whirling and a-twirling to the songs he had made. She danced with the old men, and she danced with the boys, The sound of her laughter rose over the noise. Then she and the singer locked eyes, and he jumped from the stage. Songs for the highland—songs for the sea— Songs for the lovers who long to live free From the painful misgiving and the fear of misstep. Let 'em laugh right out loud and dance wild through the crowded jamboree. They still tell the tale in the local dance halls, The band dropped a beat and swung into a waltz. Kayla and Joshua glowed, at least that's what is said. He walked her home under the October moon, He held her hand gently, and he made up a tune, And the band played it sweet the night Kayla and Joshua wed. Songs for the highland—songs for the sea— Songs for the lovers who long to live free. . . .
The sun goes down, the lights come up, and the city changes gears. The hustle takes on a rhythm you can see and feel and hear. And it's so romantic—she even said it was herself. I hope she's not delirious, thinking I'm somebody else. A blond beach boy with beautiful bones is one thing I'll never be. But I'm a true-blue man, looking for my one chance To rescue love from the jaws of modern romance. She rolls her eyes and she keeps pretending she don't see What her trembling chills have got to do with her and me. "Oh, Doctor, Doctor," she says, "Doctor, don't let this be love!" Well, I must be quite a shock compared to what her dreams are of. But still her fever lingers, and I have the remedy. I'm a true-blue man looking for my once chance To rescue love from the jaws of modern romance.
Cat and mouse— Hider-seeker— Beauty and the Beast— It's the classic tangled web, A romantic masterpiece! Well, the silver screen and the magazines build dream-walls 'round her heart. Though I go against her fashion sense she's letting down her guard. "Oh, babybabyprettybaby, let's go for a ride! "We can dance to the radio under the moon with the car doors open wide. "Well, I may step on your toes, but I will never break your heart!" "'Cause I'm a true-blue man looking for my once chance "To rescue love from the jaws of modern romance!" Yes, I'm a true-blue man looking for my once chance To rescue love from the jaws of modern romance.
Alice and Harry got married when maybe breaking up might have been the better thing to do. Granted they had their moments, but in the big picture those moments were too few. 'Cause somewhere in his past ol' Harry boy let that demon of anger have his heart. Alice mistook the anger for jealousy, the jealousy for love, and she played her part. To the moon, Alice, to the moon— You're going soon, Alice, to the moon. Harry saw life as a pressure cooker and the fits of rage as just escaping steam. Alice saw life as a struggle to hold the little love she deserved, and her dreams were only dreams. Learning to see Harry's boiling point coming, she learned things she could do to stoke the fire, 'Cause in the stillness after the steam was blown he was her lover again and she his one desire.
To the moon, Alice, to the moon— You're going soon, Alice, to the moon. There's a different line drawn every day, Cross any one and you're on your way to the moon. Alice discovered romantic novels could take her places she could not forget. Harry discovered alcohol, a real good snarl, and growl for making threats. Alice was in New Zealand one night with a taut and tan lover's arm around her waist. Harry came in with a bottle of gin and brought her home real quick by throwing her around the place. Oh, Alice, you're gonna end up tip-toeing 'round the lion's den for one too many nights. No matter what you think you deserve or think you'll lose, you gotta make it out of there alive. To the moon, Alice, to the moon— You're going soon, Alice, to the moon. There's a different line drawn every day, Cross any one and you're on your way to the moon.
See that worldly girlie over there? Barely dressed on a windy corner— Looking for a ride to feed her hunger for the week— She is from some eastern town, Born of a frightened woman And an evil man who committed crimes of which she will not speak. She has run away with one too many strangers in the night, Seeking shelter from the storm. She is dangerous to know—she’s a deadly on to hold— And those who seek her company get more than what they bargained for— This is the street I live on, And the neighborhood is getting crowded High above the street I live on, Money flows like water. . . . But where’s the dollar trickling down?
See that wheezing geezer over there? He will not work for food, Fed by guilty handouts at the traffic light. From a wealthy western city— A poet, first, unpublished, And a lecher, second, caught and given life without a rhyme. He will reach a boiling point and expose a bit too much To an unforgiving world. Then the lecher lands in jail, where the poet starts to wail Apologies and curses to God and little girls. This is the street I live on, And the neighborhood is getting crowded High above the street I live on, Money flows like water. . . . But where’s the dollar trickling down?
Once there was a politician with a two-day beard, And he come down here dressed in rags— Spent the weekend undercover on my street— Sunday he went home, called the paper and washed his hands. This is the street I live on, And the neighborhood is getting crowded High above the street I live on, Money flows like water. . . . But where’s the dollar trickling down?
We ran the Genesis Road, ran it hard and fast, Living every day like the last, No questions asked. With a love of the open-hearted, a love that knew no shame, We staked our claim, And Eden it was named. But something came creeping into the garden, Whispering to my soul, Telling me there was a bigger world Than that woman and that lonely road. But it's the same sky here, painted blue and white, Sequenced traffic lights Sequenced day to night. I see a lonesome star, I see a tear-stained moon, And far away somewhere those two Also shine on you. Baby, leave your window and find a picture Of the days when things were clear. The smiling face beside you there Is somber distanced from you here.
In the beginning we had it all— Same sad story that's always been told. Rose of Eden, I hear you call— Calling me back down the Genesis Road There are deeper rhythms in life than these driving my reckless pace. This mechanical human race Is losing touch with grace. You are a dancer in love with native rhythms I have left— The rise and fall of your breast, The beat of life itself. Baby, set that rhythm as a beacon I can feel and follow home. I've left my winding way unmarked, And there's no returning on my own. In the beginning we had it all— Same sad story that's always been told. Rose of Eden, I hear you call— Calling me back down Genesis Road
If I die In this place so far from home And I never make my living From my native soil again, Don't leave me where these strangers Will walk across my bones. Take me back and lay me with my next of kin. There were many things My father could not say. He turned the sod and swung the rod And kept his feelings locked inside. When things around the homeplace Went from bad to worse to stay, He sat in silence with my brothers as I said goodbye. Homecoming dreams are bittersweet to the taste . . . Homecoming promises are hope to the displaced . . . They echo through my soul with the distant music of "Amazing Grace" . . . Let there be a Homecoming someday.
I have learned to breathe Beneath this sea of light. I've won and lost and paid the cost To find a future for myself. But the ties of blood and earth still bind Across the years and miles, And in my memories the old ways still are dearly held. Homecoming dreams are bittersweet to the taste . . . Homecoming promises are hope to the displaced . . . They echo through my soul with the distant music of "Amazing Grace" . . . Let there be a Homecoming someday. I've been cursed as a deserter And prayed for like a prodigal son. Seems no matter where I've turned, My loyalties have fallen under the gun . . . under the gun . . .
The End Homecoming dreams are bittersweet to the taste . . . Homecoming promises are hope to the displaced . . . They echo through my soul with the distant music of "Amazing Grace" . . . Let there be a Homecoming someday.
