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Journey Home

by Tom Smith

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1.
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
2.
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
3.
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
4.
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
5.
Journey Home 04:42
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
6.
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
7.
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]
8.
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
9.
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.
10.
Working Poor 05:33
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
11.
Lick My Face 04:19
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!
12.
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.
13.
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]

about

“Although some of the music deals with the harsher realities of life, there is always an element of optimism in the songs, and I couldn’t help but feel uplifted at the close of each one. Not only because of Tom’s wit and humor, but also the positive feeling that comes through in every note he sings. I was also impressed with the wisdom in the lyrics and felt like I was getting a lot more out of each song than just great music.

Listening to “Journey Home”, not only made me want to aspire to be a better songwriter, it also made me want to be a better person. When it comes to the power of music, you can’t do any better than that.” ~ John Fern, performing songwriter

credits

released November 6, 2011

Tom Smith: vocals, guitar, banjo, jaw harp
Joyce Andersen: violin, viola
Seth Connelly: vocals, guitar, bass, piano, banjo, mandolin, bouzouki
Oen Kennedy: vocals, whistle
Billy Novick: clarinet
Eric Royer: banjo
Alle Santiago: vocals
Mally Smith: vocals
Sean Staples: mandolin

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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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