Songs That Make You Want to Jump Off a Bridge


Mozart I’m not. Reportedly, he wrote Eine Kleine Nachtmusik in a few hours, just before it was supposed to have its premiere. He’d been writing a letter to his dad, so the story goes, and he concluded with something like, “Sorry to cut this short, but I’d better get to that piece I need to have ready tomorrow.” I, on the other hand, wrote this melody forty years ago. Put words to it recently. I guess something came up. Hope you didn’t mind waiting.

Been rolling just to empty to the sea
Black River and me
Been tearing at our banks to set us free
Black River and me

I’ve seen the kind of heartache
just won’t let you be
That same black water runs through you and me
Black River and me

Been running for no reason I can see
Black River and me
Been searching for some simple sympathy
Black River and me

I’ve cried the kind of teardrops
Nobody else sees
That same black water runs through you and me
Black River and me

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Many years ago, a wealthy lawyer I knew by chance thought he’d do me a favor. He recommended that I invest in the hot, new, private prison industry. He had some inside dope. “Thank you, but like hell I will,” I politely replied.

I could have gotten rich. I knew he was right. He’d had a few enormous successes along these lines.

This song, now that I’ve gotten around to discussing it, arises from my research into the juvenile prison system. If you’re ever in the mood to vomit, read about it. I suggest you start with Burning Down the House, by Nell Bernstein. Some of the lines in this song come from statements made by the victims Bernstein interviewed for her book. Concerning humanity, I do not mean to take issue with the guy who said, “Forgive them for they know not what they do.” The people who provide the customers that keep the prison industry lucrative know exactly what they’re doing. As Twain said, “It’s enough to make you ashamed to be a member of the human race.”

A Thousand Tricks

A slab of stone, a doorway in the slanting rain
Once had a home, but damn if I’d go back again
The busted glass, the frozen nights, the hungry dreams
that’s all my past, tonight’s the fight by any means
Was twelve years old and hard as bone

Once was a girl, an open heart, a trusting soul
he grabbed my curls and forced apart what once was whole
Now any man can have me for a blessed fix
I will be damned, but I will damn a thousand tricks
who look for warmth in one so cold

It’s handed down, the need to break a world that’s broke
Can’t live it down, the echoes wake the wakeful ghosts
It all comes round, the bruises and the broken bones
I’ll take you down so I don’t have to hurt alone
and you can’t say that I am wrong

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A dark song for a dark day. When I heard about a recent chemical weapons attack, my heart ached. Though, ostensibly, the lyric seems unconnected with the attack, it’s what came out when I picked up my pen the following day. Rumi, the great Middle Eastern mystic poet, once asked, “Who’s saying words with my mouth?” I know how he felt.

Have to pray to find the grace to pray
have to fight to end the endless war
have to break my silence just to say
nothing more
While all around me heaven rains
it doesn’t know about my tears
and even Jesus in his pain
can only stand and watch from his shore

Have to walk along a stony way
Have to look into the black of night
Have to find the star in empty skies
that know no light
While all around me heaven rains
It never feels a single tear
and even Jesus in his pain
could only moan and give up his life

Have to wait while patience hurries by
and search to know just what I’ve lost
and every loved one I’ve let fly
despite the cost
and all around me heaven rains
it doesn’t know about my tears
and even Jesus in his pain
can only moan and watch from his cross

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I was having a hard time writing a lyric that made sense for this melody. Most people would keep trying. I gave up and wrote a series of images that gave me an idea for a party game: Blindfold your guests and give them a bunch of puzzle pieces. Your friends have to feel the pieces to get them to fit together. Of course, when they do solve the puzzle, they won’t be able to see the picture until you say, “OK. Take off your blindfold!” But don’t.

Heart of a gypsy
wings of an angel
tears of an ocean
empty our arms
we beg for mercy
from perfect strangers
pray for someone
to keep us all warm

Hands in our pockets
deep in our jackets
turned up collars
face to the wind
echoes of footsteps
on pebbles and gravel
flyaway dollars
won’t come again

Ch.
Promised you’d come again
promised you’d bring the wind
a wind to breathe a soul
in our soul
make the mountains to roll
roll away
promised there’d be a day

Voice like a lion
eyes like a fire
memories like embers
so slow to die
cry like the crying
of wind in the wires
deep in November
crows in the sky

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Photographs are haunting. That’s all I’ll say.

I’ve got your picture around here somewhere
haven’t seen it for a while
I don’t always want to see
the sadness in your smile

You were younger, you were handsome
wavy hair, eyes of grey
you’re turned toward the camera
but your gaze is far away

When did you learn
all we know, we just can’t say?
When did you turn
down that sad and silent way?
What made you go, what makes you stay?

I’ve heard stories about your family
all those ghosts you locked inside
the lost and the lonely hidden forms
you couldn’t hide

How they rode upon your shoulders
how they murmured in your ears
the words you can only know,
the ones you just can’t hear

When did you learn
all we know, we just can’t say?
When did you turn
down that sad and silent way?
What made you go, what makes you stay?

I’ve got your picture, your old wristwatch
all those things we all can keep
and I’ve got your silence
like the heavens
wide and deep

When did I learn
all we know, we just can’t say?
When did I turn
down that sad and silent way?
What made me go, what makes me stay?

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This song came from hearing about returning soldiers. It’s a distillation of the stories some soldiers have told me as well as those from accounts by friends, in books, and through broadcast media.

Daddy was a broken soldier
couldn’t talk about the war
came home with it on his shoulders
brought it from that bloody shore
and it was his forevermore

Used to be, his eyes were gentle
used to be, his heart was warm
he came home no one I remember
crying in his silent storm
rained on him forevermore

I read about the bullets screaming
heard you heard them streaking by
and how you felt with friends all bleeding
guilty because you didn’t die
ever left to wonder why

Broken soldier, broken children
no one they can ever reach
just the ghost who walks the hills
and wakens shouting in his sleep
Now the war is ours to keep

Daddy was a broken soldier

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A song about hope, in the face of all the forces against it.

Just like every kid you’ve ever seen
all the world to me was evergreen
smiling for the camera, brand new shoes
up against a background everblue

Flying through my dreams and busting free
mightier than all the chains on me
nothing in the world I couldn’t do
even on a background everblue

Singing in the saddle, riding high
single silhouette against the sky
dreaming I was free, somehow I knew
shadows on the sand are everblue

Out along a dusty road at night
coming from or heading for a fight
postcards from a city ever new
postcards with a background everblue

Just like every kid you’ve ever seen
I try to hold to something evergreen
I go on though I know what’s ever true
I’m up against a background everblue

Smile for the camera, shine your shoes
You’re up against a background everblue

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A sad song from a rough time for me, a time akin to Picasso’s “Blue Period,” only mine was worse. This is a live recording from a restaurant where no one was listening. I never sang it when people were listening for fear they’d order a shot of hemlock along with their next beer.

Oh, Lord, I just want to fly
give this old heart just one more try
I’ve been tied, and I’ve been low
and I have paid all that I owe
Lord, I just want to fly

Lord, on my journey home
I will not have this trouble no more
No one will shame, no one grieve
it’s all the same, I truly believe
Lord, on my journey home

Your child in the garden
he trembled and cried
Lord, let this cup pass me by
but oh, Lord, I want to fly

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A true story full of excellent advice. This song would make a great sing-along with very young children!

Yonder sits a baby buzzard
learning how to fly
Mama says, come on now, Custer
let’s give it a try
When I sees a dying duck
my heart is overjoyed
Call it fate, or call it luck
but don’t blow your opportunity, boy

Don’t blow your opportunity, boy
Don’t blow your opportunity, boy
She might knock once, but she won’t knock twice
so don’t blow your opportunity boy

Out on every highway, son
there’s possum coon and snake
freshly killed and sweet as honey
if you stays awake
There’s trains and cars and trucks and buses
and what they will destroy
He who eats is he who does
‘nt blow his opportunity, boy

So don’t blow your opportunity, boy
Don’t blow your opportunity, boy
She might knock once, but she won’t knock twice
so don’t blow your opportunity boy

All at once that mama buzzard died most suddenly
It was just a freak of nature, far as I can see
she would have been so proud of him
her little pride and joy
he wiped his chin, yodelin’
don’t blow your opportunity, boy

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