Lee Bains + The Glory Fires

AIN’T NO STRANGER
I used to could sing
A pristine Hallelujah.
It'd crawl over pretty, bowed, golden heads
To cleave to one heart.
Nowadays, it just cleaves
Two or three hearts right through,
And dies in the lonely love
And long-neck shards.

Ain't no stranger.
You know my trouble, Lord.
You might can raise the ghost,
But won't I turn him away from my door?
I ain't no stranger!
I ain't no stranger!

I used to could pine
For a fine apparition --
A soft lined face, a drawling grace,
Some sweet, deep-down ache.
These days I sit in contrition,
Sending up late-night petitions,
Scroll through my phone, trolling through the bones
Lying in my wake.

Ain't no stranger.
You know my trouble, Lord.
You might can raise the ghost,
But won't I turn him away from my door?
I ain't no stranger!
I ain't no stranger!

I used to could rage
In teenage piety.
Too young to mind, too scared to live,
Too dumb to die.
But right around twenty-three,
It was ripped out from inside of me,
Leaving me without a machine to break,
Or a tear to deny.

Ain't no stranger.
You know my trouble, Lord.
You might can raise the ghost,
But won't I turn him away from my door?
I ain't no stranger!
I ain't no stranger!


CENTREVILLE
If you hear any bleeding, it's just me and the boys.
We're over-educated and we're under-employed.
We're strictly and literally dressing dirty dirty --
Fresh white shirt, jeans ain't been cleaned since a month
ago Thursday.

Threw all our bets
Down 82 West.
"Go on and get you a pull."
Wound up low-down and pitiful,
We're broke down in Centreville.
Got to roll on.

You can blame it on the banks, the Baptists, the President,
or the press.
Lay the blame on every damn thing but yourselves.
We ain't trying to cast aspersions, or throw no stones;
We need them all to build this wall so y'all will leave us alone.

Threw all our bets
Down 82 West.
"Go on and get you a pull.
Wound up low-down and pitiful,
We're broke down in Centreville.
Got to roll on.


REBA
Reba, you know that I'm alone
If I go and pick up the phone,
And ask you to scare me off to sleep.
Reba, try as I might,
Though my promises are milky white,
I'll leave them out some night, and they won't keep.

Reba, you know I'm going to worry.
I live on the line between the false and true.
Reba, you know I'm going to worry.
It's all I can do. It's all I can do.

Reba, please don't tell him I called.
I ain't trying to mess with y'all.
I guess at best I'm a liar, at worst I'm dumb.
Reba, don't think your boy done changed.
I've been accused of a lot of things,
But having any sense never has been one.

Reba, you know I'm going to worry.
I live on the line between the false and true.
Reba, you know I'm going to worry.
It's all I can do. It's all I can do.

I ain't saying I'm trying to light an old flame anew,
It's that I'm afraid all my tinder has rotted through
Reba, you know I'm going to worry.
I live on the line between the false and true.
Reba, you know I'm going to worry.
It's all I can do. It's all I can do.


CHOCTAW SUMMER
West through the piney woods, y'all,
From Alabama into Mississippi,
There's a leafy trail cleared out by my brothers, heads down,
Said they're all going to miss me.

You've got to walk.
You've got to walk.

From the feet of the Appalachians
Down into the deepest swamps,
You used to could do what you had to do
Now you got to do what they want.

You've got to walk.
You've got to walk.

We can take a breath, puff out our chests, act like a proud,
noble band --
In that little bit of sun before the skies turn cold.

We can sing songs about the Southland, whoop and holler
while we can,
Whistle Dixie while that long, white hand takes hold.
In a Choctaw summer, where's a red-blooded boy to go?

Jackson's name on a piece of white paper
Drove our fathers to the Plains.
Now the paper's green. It's got his face, red and mean,
Going to drive us to our graves.

You've got to walk.
You've got to walk.

We can take a breath, puff out our chests, act like a proud, noble band --
In that little bit of sun before the skies turn cold.
We can sing songs about the Southland, whoop and holler
while we can,
Whistle Dixie while that long, white hand takes hold.
In a Choctaw summer, where's a red-blooded boy to go?


EVERYTHING YOU TOOK
It's been a long time coming,
And that ain't saying it's yet come to pass.
But, baby, we've been keeping these little fires so long burning,
I don't think I'd be a fool to think that they'd last.

Go on and keep my T-shirts.
Go on and keep my books.
Because each small hope that you give me
Makes up for everything you took.

You can keep my Walker Percy.
You can keep that shirt my brother got that time he saw
the Ramones.
Because just a small piece of your sweet mercy --
That's the dearest thing I've ever owned.

Go on and keep my T-shirts.
Go on and keep my books.
Because each small hope that you give me
Makes up for everything you took.


RIGHTEOUS RAGGED SONGS
When I look back on the road we've worn,
All the forlorn love, and peace foresworn,
I can say at least I've laid down all my bets.
I've packed a fair bit of living in a couple three years --
Terror and laughter and a couple three tears --
And I ain't figured out how to pack out a room just yet,
But I can pack two weeks in a duffel bag, and pack
a mean cigarette.

If we'd just stop and think
About the one thing we've done right,
It'd be writing ragged songs
About a righteous ragged life.
And if we'd stop and think a bit longer
About where we went all wrong,
It'd be learning how to live from righteous, ragged songs.

Alabama, by now, I should hope you know,
I'd die for you if called to do so,
But I'm being courted by California and Tennessee.
Waiting at the gate, I wink away a tear,
Talking on the phone about Fugazi and fear:
"Dave, we're fixing to board, but just one last thing, please:
Say a prayer for punk rock, and a prayer for me."

If we'd just stop and think
About the one thing we've done right,
It'd be writing ragged songs
About a righteous ragged life.
And if we'd stop and think a bit longer
About where we went all wrong,
It'd be learning how to live from righteous, ragged songs.


THE RED, RED DIRT OF HOME
Sundays, Daddy'd carry me to Grandmama's house,
Allman Brothers up, windows down.
And I'd sing pining songs to the pines lining that blacktop road.
Now we're driving through Tennessee.
In memory of Ruel Bains and Liz Reed.
And my Daddy's back home, got our record on the stereo.

I’ve got a pastel postcard of my Savior on my dash.
I’ve got my Mama and Daddy on speed dial in my phone.
Lord knows I've got some pretty ghosts in my past.
They've all got other men's diamonds on.
And ground into the floorboard
Is the red, red dirt of home.

Burning up oil, burning down cigarettes,
Burning for a girl that ain't burned me yet.
And we're burning down the Interstate under the sun's burning crown.
And all this black air and white smoke
Are like brimstone in my throat,
But we've got a valley to cross and miles before we're laid down.

I’ve got a pastel postcard of my Savior on my dash.
I’ve got my Mama and Daddy on speed dial in my phone.
Lord knows I got some pretty ghosts in my past.
They've all got other men's diamonds on.
And ground into the floorboard
Is the red, red dirt of home.

I pray that someday I will change,
Find a sweet girl to bear my ring,
And I'll sow my seed in the red, red dirt of home.
But for now, I got this haint burrowed in my heart,
Got these songs, this stage and this bar,
And I'm going to shout, shout, shout till this mean old
haint leaves me alone.

I’ve got a pastel postcard of my Savior on my dash.
I’ve got my Mama and Daddy on speed dial in my phone.
Lord knows I got some pretty ghosts in my past.
They've all got other men's diamonds on.
And ground into the floorboard
Is the red, red dirt of home.


ROEBUCK PARKWAY
Ashes scattered across the parkway,
Ozone burning up in the West,
I passed her mama's house, where the years were laid out in a long,
line before me,
And where they're now all laid to rest.

Carry me back, Roebuck Parkway.
Carry me back to where you bend.
Carry me back to her mama's driveway,
Where we were squirming in the backseat
And everything made sense.
It ain't been that way since.
Carry me back.

She traded living for survival.
And she traded cough syrup for champagne.
And she set her pretty feet down on 20 East, and called it a trade up.
I just felt betrayed.
Carry me back, Roebuck Parkway.
Carry me back to where you bend.
Carry me back to her mama's driveway,
Where we were squirming in the backseat
And everything made sense.
It ain't been that way since.
Carry me back.


OPELIKA
Two thousand miles east of L.A.,
A thousand south of N.Y.C,
It's where I was born, God willing, where I'll die,
And that's just fine by me.
While the mooks in the suits are on the faxes and phones,
And boys in bands are all doing their hair,
We're going to tote it down to Opelika,
Hope you like it down there.
We're going to tote it down to Opelika,
Hope you like it down there.

So, your girl got married and got lame,
And your boy got buried in the couch,
And you don't know, baby, which way to turn
Ever since the fire burned out.
Well, while your folks are at home in the living room, watching
Folks living life, live on the air.
We're going to burn it down in Opelika,
Hope you like it down there.
We're going to raise the dead up from Opelika,
Hope you like it down there.

Would you drag me off the floor, and into service Sunday morning,
If I took you to church Saturday night?
We're going to burn it down in Opelika;
Hope you like it alright.
Hope's alive in Opelika, and their eyes are burning bright.

THERE IS A BOMB IN GILEAD
Children of Abraham, don't say you ain't been warned,
For there will come a burning day.
Strait are the checkpoints to your enemy's house,
And narrow is the way.

But broad are the wings of the silver birds overhead,
And wide open are their bellies' gates.
And many there be among y'all, children,
Who will lie begging in their wakes.

There is a bomb
In Gilead.
It sitteth on the throne of peace,
And it's fixing to get blown to pieces.
There is a bomb.

Children of Paul, forget y'all not
To Whom you belong.
For a sword long hath been wrought
That cleaves the weak from the strong.

Boy from his father.
Mama from her daughter.
If you ain’t loving,
You ain’t living.

There is a bomb
In Gilead.
It sitteth on the throne of peace,
And it's fixing to get blown to pieces.
There is a bomb.

Track Listing
* Ain’t No Stranger
* Centreville
* Reba
* Choctaw Summer
* Magic City Stomp!
* Everything You Took
* Righteous, Ragged Songs
* The Red, Red Dirt of Home
* Roebuck Parkway
* Opelika
* There Is a Bomb in Gilead