{"id":51,"date":"2011-09-09T15:49:21","date_gmt":"2011-09-09T15:49:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/site\/?page_id=51"},"modified":"2019-12-14T19:08:18","modified_gmt":"2019-12-15T00:08:18","slug":"album-summer-lightning","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/?page_id=51","title":{"rendered":"Album: Summer Lightning"},"content":{"rendered":"

Preview and Download tracks or the entire album at<\/strong>:\u00a0Bandcamp<\/a><\/p>\n

“LIVE” Garnet Rogers with Doug Long<\/h2>\n

\"\"1. Give the Fiddler a Dram 3:25
\n2. The Beauty Game 3:50 (lyrics<\/a>)
\n3. This Shirt 3:37
\n4. What’s Wrong With This Picture 3:07 (lyrics<\/a>)
\n5. Frankie and Johnny 8:23 (lyrics<\/a>)
\n6. Let Me Count the Ways 3:00 (lyrics<\/a>)
\n7. Sleeping Buffalo 8:01 (lyrics<\/a>)
\n8. Sammy’s Bar 5:15
\n9. A Row of Small Trees 8:43 (lyrics<\/a>)
\n10. The Outside Track 4:36
\n11. Summer Lightning 5:32 (lyrics<\/a>)
\n12. The King of Rome 6:01
\n13. O’Neil’s Dream 2:58<\/p>\n


\n
\n
\n\"\"<\/form>\n

;<\/p>\n

\u00a91994 Snowgoose. Garnet Rogers with Doug Long<\/p>\n

\n

<\/a>
\nThe Beauty Game<\/strong><\/p>\n

She stands before the mirror
\nSelects a hat and tries it on for size
\nShe can’t see the beauty looking back
\nShe only sees the lines around her eyes
\nAnd the corners of her mouth turn down
\nThey tighten with self-consciousness and shame
\nShe takes off the hat, leaves the store
\nConcedes another battle in the beauty game
\nShe’s tried and failed to meet her mother’s standards
\nEver since she was a child
\nAnd the models she would like to be
\nPreach diet, self-loathing and denial
\nAnd their legs are long and tawny
\nTheir eyes and lips and breasts all look the same
\nAnd they bear the marks of surgeons’ knives
\nAnd the hidden deeper scarring of the beauty game<\/p>\n

She recalls the lies her mother taught her when she was impressionable and young
\n“Nice girls don’t express themselves
\nto get a man play it safe, play it dumb”
\nNow her mother’s old and bitter
\nWhen she visits her she’s sorry that she came
\nA fading gentle tyrant
\nOne more walking wounded in the beauty game<\/p>\n

So she didn’t get the hat she liked
\nIt didn’t look as good as the one in the magazine
\nInstead she \u0152phoned a friend up to commiserate and talk about what might’ve been
\n“Why can’t a man just love me for my humor and my strength and heart and brain?”
\nWorst of all it’s she who can’t accept herself and live outside the beauty game<\/p>\n

back to top<\/a><\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nWhat’s Wrong With This Picture<\/strong><\/p>\n

What’s wrong with this picture?
\nthere’s something not right
\nMy eyes feel like marbles, man,
\nmy teeth are too tight
\nwhat’s wrong with my mirror?
\nthat’s not the boy that we love
\nmy mouth tastes like the inside of truck driver’s glove<\/p>\n

What’s wrong with this picture?<\/p>\n

What’s wrong with this picture?
\nWho put grey in my beard?
\nHow did that happen?
\nmy God, I look weird
\nIs that really my waistline?
\nAre those really my thighs?
\nWho shrunk these jeans down to half of their size?
\nWhat’s wrong with this picture
\nHow did I get here?
\nMy God I look bad
\nI went to bed a young man, now I look like somebody’s dad
\nWhere did the years go?
\nWhere is my hair?
\nThe way that time flies, it just isn’t fair
\nWhat’s wrong with this picture?
\nWhat’s wrong with this picture?
\nI think I’ll go back to bed
\nand spend the day with the covers pulled up over my head
\n\u0152cause you can’t fight the Reaper, man
\nhe’s quick and he’s mean
\nI feel just like the Porsche that belonged to James Dean
\nWhat’s wrong with this picture?<\/p>\n

Where did my life go?
\nI had so much planned
\nWho took my hourglass?
\nI lost all my sand
\nHow did this happen?
\nMan, give me a break
\nI thought I was hitting my stride, and I got left at the gate
\nWhat’s wrong with this picture?<\/p>\n

back to top<\/a><\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nFrankie and Johnny<\/strong><\/p>\n

Me and Johnny we were brothers
\nThough we did not look the same
\nWe had not much in common
\nWe shared little but out last name<\/p>\n

He was big and bright and handsome
\nI was quiet, pale and shy
\nHe could talk a streak
\nI could barely speak
\nWhere I’d stumble, he would fly<\/p>\n

So much so easily came to him
\nMe, I had to work so much
\nWhere I struggled on with everything
\nJohnny had the Midas touch
\nHe was quick to anger, quick to laugh, quick to fight
\nQuick to forgive
\nHe lived each day as though it was his last
\nMe, I merely lived
\nHe left home when I was eighteen
\nI still recall his face
\nWe waited vainly for his letters
\nAs he moved from place to place
\nMe I settled down and married
\nI got a mortgage and two kids
\nAnd if I envied him his freedom
\nI soon learned to keep it hid<\/p>\n

chorus:
\nIf you love someone
\nCan you let it show?
\nHold them close to you and tell them
\nSo they know
\nIt’s too late
\nBy the grave
\nGive them all the love you have everyday<\/p>\n

Johnny died when I was 30
\nIt was a senseless, random death
\nI got the news, put down the \u0152phone
\nI could not get my breath
\nMy parents took it worse than me
\nFor I had lost a brother
\nBut they had lost their prodigal son
\nThey took their pain out on each other
\nI tried hard to make up for Johnny
\nI tried to be a better son
\nIt nearly killed me, trying to live for two
\nI could only live for one<\/p>\n

chorus<\/p>\n

And so it fell to me to be the one
\nTo sort through his effects
\nI have no words to say how hard it was to search his desk
\nHe seemed so real, so near to me
\nThis man I barely knew
\nWhose freedom I’d so resented
\nWith each turning of the screw<\/p>\n

And then I found the package
\nIt was all tied up with string
\nI cut the knot, and opened it
\nAnd it revealed so many things
\nThere were the letters
\nThat he had never sent
\nHe mostly wrote to me
\nThey revealed the prisoner upon each page
\nThe man I’d thought so free
\nHe wrote “Frank
\nYou think I have so much
\nIndeed there’s little I’ve not done
\nBut you are loved and can give love back
\nYou’re the lucky one
\nYou’re the lucky one Frankie
\nYou have family, friends, your wife
\nand all they’ll say when I’m gone
\nis, “he had a busy life”
\nHe wrote, “Frank I just can’t say those words
\nWe’re so different we two
\nAnd if you’re reading this then I’m long gone
\nSo Frank, I love you”<\/p>\n

chorus<\/p>\n

It was late next day
\nWhen I got home
\nMy wife had gone to bed
\nShe stretched and stirred and made some room
\n“Are you okay?” she said
\nAnd I lay down and I held her close
\nAnd I kissed her on the head
\nThen reaching out to take her hand
\n“I love you.” I said<\/p>\n

chorus<\/p>\n

back to top<\/a><\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nLet Me Count The Ways<\/strong><\/p>\n

Well let me count the ways I love that girl
\nI could make a list
\nShe brings me coffee in the morning
\nWakes me with a kiss
\nShe snuggles up beside me
\nI smile to think she’s mine
\nShe gets a little closer lord
\nIt’s time to rise and shine<\/p>\n

Well, she’s not impressed with guys like you
\nYou’re just not her speed
\nAnd I don’t know what she sees in me
\nBut she’s got what I need
\nShe’s not impressed by the car you drive
\nOr the watch upon your wrist
\nBut she decides to kiss you
\nYou know you’ve been kissed<\/p>\n

She loves me…<\/p>\n

I watch her come towards me
\nShe looks some kind of cute
\nIn a big old Chev Suburban
\nand her Larry Mahan boots<\/p>\n

I love the way she swears in traffic
\nI love the way she sips her tea
\nThe way she changed my life
\nOh, they can’t take that away from me
\nI love the way she thinks I’m funny
\nI love her sneaky laugh
\nI love the way she does the cannonball
\nWhen I’m trying to have my bath
\nI love the way she cries at movies
\nI love the way she’s in my life
\nIf she weren’t my wife already
\nYou know I’d make her my wife<\/p>\n

she loves me…<\/p>\n

I watch her come towards me
\nShe looks some kind of cute
\nWearing nothing but an evil smile
\nand those Larry Mahan boots….<\/p>\n

back to top<\/a><\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nSleeping Buffalo<\/strong><\/p>\n

He lives an hour outside of Billings
\nThe distant hills are brown and sere
\nThe wind plays tricks outside your hearing
\nAnd whispers lies into your ears<\/p>\n

He’s got a station at a crossroads
\nHe’s got war medals in his den
\nHe’s got a wife in the county hospice
\nShe’s not coming home again<\/p>\n

He filled my tank and cleaned the windshield
\nHe popped the hood and checked the oil
\nHe wiped his hands upon his chinos
\nHis eyes were as dark as prairie soil<\/p>\n

He said, “Do you know of the Sleeping Buffalo?
\nThey’re about a half an hour away
\nA ring of sacred stones upon a hilltop
\nThat’s what the Indians say<\/p>\n

The Indians gathered in the springtime
\nBearing gifts for the Buffalo
\nThe white men set the stones in concrete
\nBehind a fence beside the road<\/p>\n

I used to go when I was younger
\nBefore I fought in Hitler’s war
\nNow it’s a park for the goddam tourists
\nI won’t go there anymore”
\nHe said, “Son I ain’t no Indian
\nYou can look at me and tell
\nBut bastards like Custer had it coming
\nI hope he’s burning still in hell”<\/p>\n

I left him at that windy crossroads
\nThe shades of night began to fall
\nI thought I’d drive toward the sunset
\nAnd pay the Buffalo a call<\/p>\n

The sun was just below the hilltops
\nThe night wind pulled me by my shirt
\nI walked toward the granite figures
\nBehind the fence, set in the dirt<\/p>\n

They loomed dull grey in the gathering twilight
\nI saw faded paint of red and blue
\nSome ancient hand had chiseled markings
\nNow a graven image for a roadside zoo<\/p>\n

But I drew near I saw the flowers
\nTobacco and fresh cartridges lay near
\nAnd so, for some faithful unseen wanderers
\nThe Buffalo’s spirit lingers here<\/p>\n

back to top<\/a><\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nA Row Of Small Trees<\/strong><\/p>\n

Her rings still held her warmth
\nAs they fell to his hand
\nThe doctor said, “there’s no more we could do”
\nAnd he was worried at first that he did not understand
\nBut then he saw his fist close
\nSo he knew<\/p>\n

And we watched from the window
\nAs he walked slowly outside
\nHe seemed unsure as to which way to go
\nAnd his coat whipped his legs
\nAs the traffic blew by
\nHe had one shoulder raised
\nAs though to ward off a blow<\/p>\n

And he lay in their bedroom
\nThose first sleepless nights
\nToo restless to sleep and too tired to cry
\nAnd he’d wander downstairs
\nIn the pale morning light
\nTo stare at the horizon with unseeing eyes<\/p>\n

His neighbours worried about him
\nThose first desperate weeks
\nHe seemed to dwindle and shrink in his clothes
\nAnd in the evenings
\nHe’d wander the hills by himself
\nTo return as the morning sun rose<\/p>\n

The grass shook and swayed in the meadow
\nAs he stood in the night
\nAnd he heard the dry whisper of leaves
\nAnd the wind was her spirit
\nRunning free through the grass
\nWhispering warm in his ear “don’t you grieve”<\/p>\n

He was seen kneeling last Friday
\nOn a high windswept hill
\nAnd his white hair blew back in the breeze
\nAnd we thought he was praying
\nOr had taken a fall
\nBut he was planting a row of small trees<\/p>\n

back to top<\/a><\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nSummer Lightning<\/strong><\/p>\n

I was driving west
\nthrough the Bighorn Mountains
\nThe hills were heavy with new-fallen snow
\nAnd the sun-bright hills
\nwere dappled like a pony
\nI was driving hard, I had miles to go<\/p>\n

And a magpie flew
\nacross the mountain highway
\nIt flashed and tumbled
\nthrough the golden trees
\nAnd I thought of you
\nand my heart was lifted
\nand floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze<\/p>\n

For where I go
\nYou go with me
\nThought the miles keep us apart
\nYour kiss is on my lips and your face before me
\nAnd your gentle hand, always on my heart<\/p>\n

We are brief as a summer lightning
\nWe are swift as swallow’s flight
\nWe are sparks that spiral upward in the darkness in the night
\nWe are frost upon a window
\nWe won’t pass this way again
\nIn the end only love remains<\/p>\n

Tonight the harvest moon
\nhangs across the valley
\nI see the hills shine in its silvery light
\nIt’s the same old moon
\nThat shines upon you
\nIt’ll light my way until I’m by your side
\nWell, who scattered these diamonds
\nThrough the vault of heaven?
\nWho drew the curve of the magpie’s wing?
\nWho shaped your face?
\nWhat made you love me?
\nWhere is the spark of every living thing?<\/p>\n

Well, I guess I don’t know
\nDon’t care either
\nI know you love me
\nHow could I not see?
\nAnd I am yours, now and forever
\n\u0152til my lips fall silent and my eyes can’t see<\/p>\n

We are brief as a summer lightning
\nWe are swift as swallow’s flight
\nWe are sparks that spiral upward in the darkness in the night
\nWe are frost upon a window
\nWe won’t pass this way again
\nIn the end , dear, only love remains<\/p>\n

back to top<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Preview and Download tracks or the entire album at:\u00a0Bandcamp “LIVE” Garnet Rogers with Doug Long 1. Give the Fiddler a Dram 3:25 2. The Beauty Game 3:50 (lyrics) 3. This Shirt 3:37 4. What’s Wrong With This Picture 3:07 (lyrics) 5. Frankie and Johnny 8:23 (lyrics) 6. Let Me Count the Ways 3:00 (lyrics) 7. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":6,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-51","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/P7qHGF-P","jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/51","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=51"}],"version-history":[{"count":20,"href":"https:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/51\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":27675,"href":"https:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/51\/revisions\/27675"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/6"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/garnetrogers.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=51"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}