1. |
New Hampshire Wind
04:24
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New Hampshire Wind
by Tom Smith and Mally Smith, TomSmithMusic.com
Over the mountain, the valley below
The deep granite sunrise is waking up slow
Come feathered musicians! Let the concert begin!
With notes that take wing on the New Hampshire wind
We’re joined by the bull frogs with well tempered scale
A squirrel conductor keeps time with his tail
Here on the front porch ‘neath a roof made of tin
I’m singing along with the New Hampshire wind
My axe and the wood pile call me away
But the blessings of hard work must wait while I play
This day strikes my heart strings like an old mandolin
That’s strumming a tune with the New Hampshire wind
The trail up the mountain is a slow lazy climb
I find myself walking in three quarter time
To see from the summit where I have been
And where I am going with the New Hampshire wind
Goodnight to the mountain and the valley below
The deep purple sunset, moon coming up slow
Hear the voices of coyotes, my kith and my kin
We share the same song with the New Hampshire wind
A harmony sung with the New Hampshire wind
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2. |
To A Songwriter
04:46
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To a Songwriter
by Tom Smith, TomSmithMusic.com
You give your heart in many pieces
Like serving loaves and fishes with a prayer
We receive them like from Jesus
I confess, I take my share
Now you ask what’s left for loving
After you have sung your heart away
When it’s gone it can’t be given
But with your heart it’s not that way
Chorus:
You heal by the giving
You heal like the morning
You heal by the singing
Of your song
You say your songs are just illusion
And they are just the high before the fall
Those are the words of your confusion
You say you’re lost. Aren’t we all?
We hide our light under a mantel
Then curse the darkness that we find we’re in
But your singing lights a candle
Where the dark had been
[Chorus]
Bridge:
You have no choice
You have a voice
Use it loud and strong
Final Chorus:
To heal by the giving
To heal like the morning
To heal by the singing
Of your song
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3. |
Phil's Guitar
03:53
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Phil's Guitar
by Tom Smith, TomSmithMusic.com
Ebony and spruce and walnut
He introduced me to the corner where it stood
My first impression I recall
But it’s just a box made out of wood
Though it was elegant in silence
Like the falling of a star
Chorus:
It’s his heart when he sings
And his touch upon the strings
That give the wings to Phil’s guitar
A simple strum behind a folksong
Upon a box on which three colors play as one
A perfect shape, a perfect union
One voice from black and white and brown
A harmony of form and color
Like a painting by Renoir
But [Chorus]
Bridge:
Is it the sharpened tools that shaped the wood with skill?
Is it the love that paid the bill?
Is it a promise that can never be fulfilled?
I know it can. I know it will.
Now I have come to understand
How a guitar becomes more than assembled wood
As soon as it leaves the craftsman’s hands
It joins a song in brotherhood
It’s like a ‘Golden Rule’ to live by
What we sing is what we are
Final Chorus:
It’s your heart when you sing
And your touch upon the strings
That give the wings to your guitar
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4. |
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A Fiddle with a Broken String
by Tom Smith & Jud Caswell, TomSmithMusic.com
I drop my pack at last command
And lay my soul upon the sand
I hear the guns at end of day
And from the mosque a call to pray
Their music is both right and wrong
When God and Satan play one song
Each pulls his bow to scratch and sting
A fiddle with a broken string
I lie awake at home in bed
I (still) fight that war within my head
Something I can’t understand
Makes me feel I’m half a man
I lost my wife. I lost my health.
I try in vain to heal myself
With alcohol and nicotine
A fiddle with a broken string
I love this country, served with pride
As did my comrades by my side
Though some are dead would they agree
They are better off than me?
Who called the shots? Who wrote the score?
We were their instruments of war
Now songs of peace we can not sing
Like fiddles with a broken string
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5. |
Journey Home
04:42
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Journey Home
by Tom Smith & Margo Smith, TomSmithMusic.com
Make my song, reveille
Wake the sleeping good in me
Heal the faults of flesh and bone
On my journey home
Make my song, my decree
Amplify the good in me
Show me that I am not alone
On my journey home
I can see a world in ill-repair
I concede presumption in my prayer
Make my song, prophecy
Sung by every deity
Step by step, stone by stone
On my journey home
I can see a world in ill-repair
I concede presumption in my prayer
Step by step, stone by stone
On my journey home
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6. |
The Jolly Glazier
02:58
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The Jolly Glazier
by Tom Smith and Larry Hanks, TomSmithMusic.com
Fall is here. The leaves are red.
It’s early in the morning and I’m rising out of bed
I’ve got a job to do. I put it off too long
So you’ll hear me sing my glazier song
Chorus:
Hey ho, been a long long time
Standing out upon the ladder in the bright sunshine
Hey ho, gonna lose my brain
If I work on one more window pane
I start with a scraper and work it all around
Flake the paint and putty as it falls upon the ground
Glaze it nice and easy as I go around the bend
Oops! I slip and break the window, gotta start it all again
[Chorus]
I go to the store, get a window glass
I bring it home to cut it. What a pain in the neck
Score it on the top. Support it from beneath
Say a prayer and bend it while I grit my teeth
[Chorus]
My knees are shaky. My arms are sore
I’ve only got to do just twenty nine more
This antique ladder is a wobbly wreck
I’ll be lucky if I finish with a one-piece neck
[Chorus]
At the top of the ladder there’s a real good view
I can see my neighbor pulling on an ice cold brew
Oh, what the heck I think I’ll have me a beer
This glazing can wait for another year
Chorus (appendix):
Hey – ho – long – time
Out – la – bright – shine
Hey – ho – lose – brain
Work – one –– doh pane
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7. |
Annie On The Stairs
04:55
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Annie on the Stairs
by Tom Smith & William Thibodeau, TomSmithMusic.com
These old pine stairs were strong and silent when first made
Now footsteps play their serenade on weary boards
They were in bad shape when we bought this place
It was a case of buying only what we could afford
Four walls to keep us from the cold
We were so young this house so old
“Please fix those noisy stairs” she said. “Isn’t that the work you do?”
But I grew to love their tune if truth be told
I am a carpenter. I tap down restless nails
To take the music from the stairs in other homes
Sometimes at night I fight those nails within my head
While in my bed my body’s raging like a storm
I go from lost to found
When her slippers play their song
On pine piano keys each with a pitch and tone
A tune well known. I know that I am not alone.
Chorus:
When I hear her on the stairs
Music fills the air
A melody that is the soundtrack for my prayers when I hear
Annie on the stairs
Annie on the stairs
The children came they grew they played their own refrain
Not the same as mine nor Annie’s, but their own
Long after curfew when they thought I could not hear
It was the stairs that would betray they’re safe at home
Our children are all grown
But their echoes linger on
A kind of harmony with Annie on those stairs
They need repairs but not the love that carries on
[Chorus]
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8. |
A Folksinger's GPS
05:30
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A Folksinger's GPS (Recalculating)
by Tom Smith, TomSmithMusic.com
Life is a road trip. I start up the car
Sit next to my banjo and my two bit guitar
I’m destined for fame. I program the address.
It all seems so simple with my GPS
But the signs are confusing. I’m starting to doubt
If I can get there ‘fore my money runs out
The road’s full of potholes, I’m running out of gas
When I hear this advice come from my GPS
(Recalculating....)
Chorus:
As you travel life’s highway en route to your star
It’s the road blocks you find that refine who you are
And the detours you take help you make the best songs
Decide what’s important – turn right then move on.
I like my day job. I love my wife.
We don’t need much money. We have a great life.
Our one bedroom condo and little sports car
Are perfect for two. I think I’ll buy another guitar.
I’ll try out a Gibson, a Martin, why not?
It’ll look good beside that new banjo I bought
Then a phone call from home changed my path in a flash
“I am pregnant” she said. “Seek advice from the dash”.
(Recalculating....)
[Chorus]
In just a few years we both can retire
I’ll play my guitar ev’ry day by the fire
I’ll sing and write songs, drink lattés, eat scones
I’ve crossed all the T’s. There are no more unknowns
It’s just Margo and me and our empty nest
I met with a planner. I’ve learned to invest.
Yes we have a mortgage and loans to repay
But I can depend on my 401K (or “Medicare and Medicaid”)
(Oops! Recalculating....)
[Chorus]
It looks like retirement is not meant for me
And fame is not all that its cracked up to be
Our kids moved back in with kids of their own
There go my lattés. There go my scones.
My name is now ‘Bop Bop’ and Margo is ‘Bam’
Our grandkids renamed us, but I know who I am
And I credit the detours that I took in my life
And the voice from the dashboard that gave this advice
[Chorus]
So when you come to a road block or you’re stuck in a rut
It’s more about how you make choices and less about what
Choices you make, though some may turn out wrong
Just decide what’s important – turn right then move on
Just decide what’s important – turn right then move on
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9. |
Swallowed By The Hole
04:46
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Swallowed by the Hole
by Tom Smith, TomSmithMusic.com
In January fifty nine
I kissed my Marianna
Rode down the throat of the Knox coal mine
To a place that never saw sun nor shine
Under the Susquehanna
The boss sent me to the river vein
No arguments, no sobbing
It’s not for dead work, don’t complain
Ignore the wet, the coal black rain
The pillars you’ll be robbing.
Robert Groves called down on the company line
Get out! Get out, all miners!
No reason given, take your time
We don’t want panic in the mine
Go home and have your dinner
But the water rushed above my waist
My mind and body shivered.
Dodging props and ice, no hiding place
My thoughts of Mary’s last embrace
No exit through the river
I saw Joe Stella on higher ground
With five others on the landing
To the Eagle air shaft they were bound
My choice, that shaft or to be drowned
Though the shaft was long abandoned
Eighty one souls in the mine that day
To navigate the hazard.
Eighty one prayers in the dark were prayed,
Sixty nine prayers were heard that day
Twelve prayers left unanswered
Twelve mining men at Knox were lost
Twelve thousand jobs soon followed
All lie buried. Who paid the cost?
Our lives, our jobs, our hope were tossed
By the hole they all were swallowed.
By the hole we all were swallowed.
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10. |
Working Poor
05:33
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Working Poor
by Tom Smith, TomSmithMusic.com
My wife and me, an old twin bed
The baby’s crib in common threads
Three older boys sleep knee to knee
A single room, a family
Times are hard. It’s day to day.
I grub for work that does not pay
For both this room and pork ‘n beans.
Pay days are few. Pay days are lean.
Chorus:
And they call us working poor
But I know what I work for
My wife, four kids and me
A single room, a family
Day-labor camp, it’s 4 a.m.
Eight bucks an hour, I’ll take what I can
I sell my work. I join the mob.
Forty men for every job.
But for that church, on Bowdoin Street
We could not bathe, we would not eat.
Just mac and cheese, my children cry
They eat the cheese, I eat my pride
[Chorus]
Every night, before I sleep
I pray to the lord, my soul I’ll keep
Until my sons can see the day
My honest work, brings honest pay
Final Chorus:
They won’t call us working poor
My boys will know, that I work for
My wife, four kids and me
A home, a family
Tag:
My wife, four kids and me
Our home, our family
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11. |
Lick My Face
04:19
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Lick my Face
by Tom Smith, TomSmithMusic.com
I work hard every time I write a song
My goal is for the world to sing along
To promote the common good, peace and brotherhood
My hope is that each song will right a wrong
I got an invitation from this place
“Please write a song that we can all embrace
Sing it on songwriters’ day at Vanilla Bean Cafe,
And by the way, it must contain this phrase..."
Chorus:
“Lick My face.” I read the message twice
Lick my face? I guess that is the price.
Before I write a song to heal the human race
I have to write a song called "Lick My Face"
A dozen half-wrote songs were in my head
I thought about just what that message said
I had to use that wretched phrase. I pondered it for days
As the show approached my heart was filled with dread
(I know) I'll take a song, pick-a-phrase and just replace
Perhaps it won't appear so out of place
(Like this) ‘It's the hammer of justice, It's the bell of freedom
It's a song about love, So lick my face’ (er - maybe not)
[Chorus]
They can't make me write that song, it’s abuse
I’m well within my rights to refuse
In the course of human events, this truth is evident
Each songwriter has the right to choose
A subject that is worthy and in good taste
Like those that make the world a better place
That's what I’m choosing now, and I will show you how
I’ll do it with humility and grace
[Final Chorus] (2x)
Lick my face! Go write your own damn song
Lick my face! and we can sing along
There's just one thing to say before I leave this place
Write your own damn song, Lick my face!
Tag:
The answer my friends, is blowin' in this place
Write your own damn song! Lick my face!
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12. |
The Last Folksinger
05:45
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The Last Folksinger
by Tom Smith, TomSmithMusic.com
On my way home after playing a show,
Driving alone, I crashed in the snow.
I climbed from the car, thanked God that I could
My electric guitar lay crushed where I stood
I didn’t know then but that was a sign
Was it fate, omen, luck or design?
I met an old man. He stood at his door
He gave me his hand. I took so much more.
I sat by his fire. He went to the hall
Took down his guitar that hung on the wall.
He sang of the past like a saint to a sinner.
I knew that this must be the last folksinger.
The magic was plain. It was wrapped in his song.
I can’t explain but as I sang along
To his songs about sailors, farmers and such
Mill workers and tailors, I swear I could touch
Their calluses, sores, and sweat on their brows
As they pulled on their oars and pushed on their plows.
It’s true that my plow has a different name.
As I push on it now I sweat just the same.
When our eyes met I knew he could see
That I was in debt. His songs were in me.
Songs that will last in my soul. They will linger
As they live in the soul of the last folksinger.
He sang of the future, of peace love and light.
And how we can get there if we just sing it right
To a world that is waking to the words and the chords
Of his songs for the making of plowshares from swords.
The thought came along, what will become
Of all of his songs when the old man is gone?
For nothing I made ever gave my heart wings
Like those songs that he played on six humble strings.
I awoke the next day the old man had died.
His sad guitar lay right there by his side
Seeming to ask for the touch of his finger
And the sound of the voice of the last folksinger.
I found a note tucked under the strings.
Words that he wrote, “A new bell must ring.
I pass my guitar. It’s the bell you’re the ringer.
Sing on! is the hope of the last folksinger.”
... the last folksinger.
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13. |
Street Singer's Heaven
03:05
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Street Singer's Heaven
by Bob Bovee and Stevie Beck
I’m standing on the corner with this guitar in my hand
I’m just a poor musician in a poor street band
Tryin’ to make a living out of all these songs I’ve sold
Tryin’ to keep my feet warm out here in the cold
Chorus:
When I’m gone (When I’m gone), they’ll talk about my singin’
When I’m gone (When I’m gone), they’ll remember the good old days
I’ll be in heaven (in heaven), with my golden guitar ringin’
Where there’s a crowd on every corner and a hat that’s full always.
I’m tryin’ to keep warm enough just to move these aching fingers
Tryin’ to get two bits from every soul that stops and lingers
If I had a dime from every smile on a passer’s face
I could stack them up to heaven and I’d climb up to that place
[Chorus]
They say that up in heaven street singers do so fine
That you have to walk around the block just to get into the line
To step up to the singer’s hat and drop in dollar bills
And all the streets are heated there to keep away the chill.
[Chorus]
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Tom Smith Boston, Massachusetts
“Folk music is still a living tradition that feeds on new songs that speak of people’s wants, needs, struggles and triumphs. Tom Smith is a man who writes songs that seem like they’ve always been there. There are very few songwriters working today that I would call folksingers, but I would call Tom Smith a true folksinger.” – Dave Palmeter, WUMB-FM Boston ... more
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