Get all 4 Simon Flory releases available on Bandcamp and save 35%.
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1. |
At Our Kitchen Table
04:28
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At Our Kitchen Table
At our kitchen table, too confused to write these words down
You took our love and gave it, to some men about town, you just scattered it around, like a honeybee from flower to flower
You were sweet as cherry wine, soured over time
Now I’m at our kitchen table, for the very last time
At our kitchen table, holding onto a picture of you
You took all you could carry, now the tears hit your face, fall down the picture frame, collect in my hand on our wedding band
I take it off for the first time, it hits me like a mainline, that I’m at our kitchen table, for the very last time
At our kitchen table, I’ve got a backyard view
To where we worked and played and, we would talk for hours, in a garden that was ours, it bloomed there only for me and you
Now the leaves have turned brown and cover the cold ground, and I’m at our kitchen table, for the very last time
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2. |
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The Battle of Battle Creek, MI
Dreamt I had the diamond ring, that I found in Ramadi, around my neck for that tour, bloodiest diamond you’ve ever seen
Woke up like I always do, haunted and howling at the moon, VA says I can go home soon, but I got no ring and I ain’t got you
In the battle of Battle Creek, Michigan
I came up from Waco, Texas, your daddy said take a step back, with a little baby on the way, he changed the locks and you pulled the shades
In the battle of Battle Creek, Michigan
I walk these streets with my own, do you love your country, do you son?
The VA says I ain’t got long, do you love your country do you son? Do you love your country, do you, Don?
In the battle of Battle Creek, Michigan
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3. |
El Paso Rain
04:00
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El Paso Rain
Goodbye Joe, in the kindest way I hope I never see you again
Now that you know, you bought a pickup truck to go and find your own way
When she left you standing on your wedding day, hand full of heat from the golden band of shame
Now you make your way across the pastel shades, the sun will never set on you again
It’s hard to see but easy to breathe in El Paso Rain
I have seen through the eyes of a mad machine called the border fence
I pretend that my broken heart contends with the pain of that
And I know I’ll never come this way again, even if I’m on the same road
Each day we pay for a lifetime of sin, when we could be bloomin like a desert rose
It’s hard to see but easy to breathe in El Paso Rain
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4. |
Built By Blue
04:10
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Built By Blue
When it all goes down, I’ll lay a pallet on the cold ground
When they come take our house away, on a sunny afternoon on a saturday
I’ll take you by the hand, like the night we met, and I’ll lay down with you in this bed built by blue
Does your mom still live in Houston, because both my folks are gone
We’ve got some friends that would welcome us, if we showed up on their porch
Take the horses to the sale barn, and sell the old swing set for scrap
Bring along the old medicine chest, that your granny brought when she came out west
I’ll take you by the hand, like the night we met, and I’ll lay down with you in this bed built by blue
No it don’t take change to move on, it takes a highway ride on loan
The best that I can do right now, is say it’s alright, I’ll do anything, you’re never alone
I’ve never been more in love with you, I swear we’ll get to Houston soon
Then we’ll laugh and cry and sing, and this memory will keep on changing
I’ll take you by the hand, like the night we met, and I’ll lay down with you in this bed built by blue
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5. |
Flower In The Dark
04:20
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Flower In The Dark (John Wesley Coleman III)
Close the door, I don’t love you anymore, going back to where I came from
In the ground, where there is no sound at all, the walls made of stone, the sweet divine
Blood turns to sand, there’s a woman waiting there, with eyes in the dark
And I burn, in the backyard, just waiting for her to talk
Oh darlin, you carried me through, to a place we call home
Oh darlin, you carried me through, you’re my flower in the dark
There is a woman, standing in my grave, she won’t let me go home
There is a woman, standing in my grave, she won’t let me go home
Oh darlin, you carried me through, to a place we call home
Oh darlin, you carried me through, you’re my flower in the dark
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6. |
Paper Thin Lines
03:06
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There's a long paper thin line that stretches from here to there, through time and space and where I've been, what only I have seen.
I've touched it, felt the weightless moments, now heavy with perspective.
I don't see it straying through the hard years, tattered by violence, or cut short by loss, it's just right here with me.
I can pull on it when I want to see you again, because you were there with me where you will always be. You walked with me in glowing fields of golden light at sunset, you lifted me up with tender hands, you showed your face, a face I can still see if I try.
Why do I remain blissfully ignorant to this line, this gift I can unwrap and find new surprises? Passing days and weeks I now call moments are wrapped neatly in flashes of light held down by my own weak will, but oh how I miss you.
Sometimes when I’m alone and quiet the train comes around the final bend, first I hear it but only see the two parallel tracks disappear into the hardwoods, watch the pennies dance on them as you get closer, see the smoke plume push the wheels that will scream and crush the one cent souvenirs warm and flat and bring you home.
Today I found you in a postcard from a junk store; I found you in a fossil set in stone by a river; I found you in a smile from a stranger at the post office; I found you in a call from a friend who’s feeling the heavy weight of this world close in around them; I found you in the struggles of folks fleeing violence and oppression to make a better life, one you gave me; I found you in my anger towards those who oppose progress and I found you in my patient response of love.
There's a long paper thin line that stretches from here to there, through time and space and where I've been, what only I have seen.
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Simon Flory Fort Worth, Texas
It takes a perceptive ear to translate icons of a mythical “Americana” into the daily textures of real human lives, and Flory does it with the sincerity of early country music. His compositions are as much short-story sketches as they are songs, each populated – like the locales that inspire them – with those among us who have few choices. ... more
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