from Peter John

Archive for the ‘Lyrics’ Category

Love Survives


Photo of George Clark Stone walking across wilderness bridge with fishing pole

George Clark Stone May 25, 1936 – November 4, 2012


Love Survives
By Peter John

Do you search for an answer in the rising Sun?
Do you reach out for comfort from the Moon?
Does your heart long for friendship when the day is done,
When the sky seems dark too soon?

Love survives in the desert.
Love survives in the sea.
Love survives in the memories
Of you and me.
From before we are born
To beyond our lives
Love survives.
Love survives!

When you welcomed your brother who was on the street
Did you offer him shelter from the rain?
At the crossroads where happiness and sorrow meet
The joy overcomes the pain.

Love survives frigid alleys.
Love survives fields of snow,
But it still takes a burning
For a hearth to glow.
When our vengeance has answered
Our hateful drives
Love survives.
Only love could still survive.
Love survives.

It dangles our hearts on a web between
The best and the worst we can feel.
For love sends a scalpel to slice our souls,
And love brings a balsam to heal.

Love survives every promise we fail to keep.
Love endures every fault we pass by.
After anger and envy have wept to sleep
Love alone still survives.

Love attends to the sunshine
But can offer the shade.
Love inhabits the hovels
That our hatred made.
When the night’s creeping darkness
Has left us blind, fear arrives
Love endures it and survives …

When you’ve found all your answers in the sunset’s glow,
When you’ve danced with the moonbeams on the sea,
When I’m never returning, only then you’ll know
The depth of your love for me.

Love survives — I remember
Tender nights, you and I —
Love survives when we wish
That it could simply die.
From before we are born
To beyond our lives
Fate contrives,
Anger weakens,
Hate deprives.
Love survives.

—-
(c) 1991 Peter John Stone. All Rights Reserved.
COntact the author for permissions.
—–

Read Why it's important to say "I love you"on the Mind Candy Blog

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Down The Road


"The artist's muse moves on down the road" by Tony Karp, http://timuseum.com

Picture by Tony Karp, http://timuseum.com . Used by Permission



Down the Road
By Peter John

Right here my roots are growing.
Right here my corn is tall,
And I know every fencepost
Like a brother.
I’m leaving God this chunk of sod
My sweat has tilled and hoed,
‘Cause I know I’ll find another
Down the road.

Down the road –
I’ll find a place to pitch my tent
And spend the night.
Down the road –
I’ll find some peace of mind
And set the wrong things right.
Right here your touch is velvet
And your kisses burn like flame,
But down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name.

Right here we drink of friendship.
Right here we sip of love,
Applauding every honest
Man and cheater.
But in this town my jug’s run down,
I’ve paid all that I owed,
And the water will be sweeter
Down the road.

Down the road –
I’ll find a place to pitch my tent
And spend the night.
Down the road –
I’ll find some peace of mind
And set the wrong things right.
Right here your touch is velvet
And your kisses burn like flame,
But down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name.

My thoughts of you weigh more
Than any treasure in my pack,
And that’s the only reason
I might have for coming back.

Right here I saw you smiling.
Right here I took your hand,
And never thought my future
Could be brighter.
Since I can’t flee you’re memory
I’ll bear the heavy load,
But the burden will be lighter
Down the road.

Down the road –
I’ll find a place to pitch my tent
And spend the night.
Down the road –
I’ll find some peace of mind
And set the wrong things right.
Right here your touch is velvet
And your kisses burn like flame,
But down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name –
Down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name.
—-
(c) 2002 by Peter John Stone. All Rights Reserved. Originally published in “Songs in the Key of See” (C) 2006 by Peter John Stone

Thank God I Can’t Believe My Eyes



Thank God I Can’t Believe My Eyes
By Peter John

I see Earth wrapped in heartache.
I see Earth washed in tears.
I see Earth full of wasted lives,
And countless, endless, wasted years –
One vast and dizzy wasteland
Spinning hopelessly through space –
One dark demented landscape,
Lost to heaven, lost to grace –
A planet that’s forever lost its way.
I look around and see it every day.

And I thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Cold shadows surrounding me are only a cruel disguise.
The Sun’s still shining warmly over the overcast skies.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.

I see our armies clashing.
I see their pain and blood.
I see the battles raging on
For empires made on murky mud.
I watch wives turn to widows
Never knowing what it’s for,
While mothers bury only sons,
And orphans march to war.
When peace seems broken far beyond repair,
I hang my head and whisper one soft prayer.

And I thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Cold shadows surrounding me are only a cruel disguise.
The Sun’s still shining warmly over the overcast skies.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.

They say that seeing’s believing.
As I watch my life unfold,
Some days I see myself getting nowhere,
Other days just getting old.

I see my dear ones aging.
I see some pass away.
I see some nurture brand new life
With hope to bring a brighter day.
When everything around them proves
That all their hope is vain,
They face the darkness, fight the wind,
And disregard the rain.
They borrow light from some great source above,
And shelter a tiny candle lit by love.

And I thank God they can’t believe their eyes.
They show that the shadow lands are only a cruel disguise.
They draw warm sunshine down from over the overcast skies.
Thank God they can’t believe their eyes.
And I thank God I can’t believe my eyes.

Cold shadows surrounding me are only a cruel disguise.
The Sun’s still shining warmly over the overcast skies.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.

———————-
“Thank God I Can’t Believe My Eyes” -Music and Lyrics ©2006 by Peter John Stone/Audio & Video Recordings ©2008 by Peter John Stone. All Rights Reserved; Video: Images courtesy US Army, US Air Force, US Navy, US Marine Corps, and NASA-Available artist credited individually in video credits.
Free for all non-commercially related use, provided full credit and copyright notice is given the author. Please inform the author of any intent for creative application. Contact the author for permissions of anything involving funds changing hands, or other transactions of value.

Dark Oracles



Dark Oracles
By Peter John

Electric jungles, black and white,
With bullets broadcast every night,
And body counts from Walter Cronkite.
That’s the way it was …

When screams from someone else’s war
Entranced me on the parlor floor
And Daddy said, “We’re killing for the right
Our country does.”

Now Technicolor airwaves beam the battles from abroad.
The heavy decades of regret and still we’re playing God,
But I have shed the biases my father taught his son,
And recognize the wrong our country’s done …

Now I scream –
This is the wave of tomorrow, it’s breaking,
No soldiers to train.
No sons for the motherland.
No daughters to chain.
No fathers can force us to follow
The trails their lies have worn
No beatings can bring us to follow
The empty oathes they’ve sworn.

Dark Oracles blind us from knowing
The destiny we earn.
They tell us tomorrow must burn,
But the tables still can turn.

Today we are contemplating
Destroying Earth and sky.
No armies will need to be marshaled
If we should ever let the missiles fly.
Our navies will drift unattended
On seas of glowing blood.
Our bones will be washed with extinction
On shores of steaming mud.
A thousand millennia linger
Till dawns another age.
We’re smudges of ink on a finger
That helps to turn the page –
That’s all we are …

Dark Oracles echo our questions
With riddles of their own.
The answers that slice to the bone
We interpret alone.

Our planet is plagued with a species
A tumor in her head
Infesting her face with a growing
Malignant urban spread.
We poison her provident waters.
We scrape away her skin.
We synthesize sunspots in kettles
And melt her flesh to tin.
The hands of the stopwatch are frozen
A second to the bell.
One moment will show if we’ve chosen
To make the Earth a paradise or hell.

Dark Oracles’ blinding ambitions
Are fostered by our fear.
They say a catastrophe’s near,
We create what we hear,
And then we say Dark Oracles are right –
Dark Oracles calling in the night –
Dark Oracles swallowing the light.

The future offers these footsteps,
Oh, Mothers! Your sons refuse to kill.
Your daughters’ desperate oppression is over
Protected by the pill.
No promise of life without aching,
But one more day to live.
No glorious prize for the taking,
But one more chance to give.

Dark Oracles promise tomorrow
Humanity must die,
And then leave us wondering why
Without a clear reply.
It’s time for Dark Oracles to die!

Electric jungles, colorized,
While bullets go unrecognized,
With freedom blindly jeopardized,
Just like the way it was.
——-
“Dark Oracles” – Words and Music © 1991 by Peter John Stone. Video © 2010 by Peter John Stone; Brief tune in video, from “Dark Oracles, © 1991 by Peter John Stone. Please contact author for permissions on any use, but the atuhor offers reasonable terms.

Tequila, Sheila


Tequila, Sheila
by Peter John

Pour me a shot of tequila, Sheila,
Draw me a draft of beer.
It’s getting late,
But the music’s great,
And I like drinking here.
I don’t care if it’s after ten
And I get up at four.
One more shot’ll drag me home.
I can pass out on the floor.

Pour me another gin and tonic.
Pop me a couple of Buds.
I’d like to wade
In the mist I’ve made
And swim in the golden suds.
Lost on a foggy sunset road
I seek a thirsting soul
Drinking misery I don’t know,
Swallowing sorrow whole.

Another shot,
Another bottle,
A filtered quart of my blood —
Another cocktail,
I’ll trade a meal
For a swallow of Tennessee Mud!

Pour me another neon headache,
Congas announcing the dawn.
My pocket’s bled,
And my pounding head
Is taking the morning on.
Bloodshot images steaming thick,
The mirror hears me pray.
Wake me up with one more shot
So I can stagger away.
Hey! Pour me a shot of tequila, Sheila,
Another shot and I’ll stay.

(c) 1991 by Peter John Stone All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.

Premonition


Premonition
by Peter John

The first time that my brother came to visit
My uniform had almost left me mad,
Till on a foreign shore
He found my barracks door,
And I forgot why things had seemed so bad.

A voice I know, a face that looks familiar —
A face that carries features of my own —
He offers me his heart
When mine is torn apart.
He opens up a harbor far from home.

A questing heart, a mind that masters meaning —
A body strong, a soul that earns no shame —
Though I came first in birth
He helps me feel my worth,
And makes me proud to share his family name.

Another time my brother came to visit
When I was free but still had dues to pay.
He stepped into my cell,
Dispelled my private hell
And heaven didn’t seem too far away.

It bothers me to think how much I hurt him
When we were children learning how to grow.
But when I try to say,
He laughs it all away,
And I’m the one afraid to let it go.

So when the Stars and Stripes have brought him homeward,
And set him free to wander once again,
He’s sure to come to me.
I know I’ll never be
As good a man as he’s already been.

The next time that my brother comes to visit
I’ll open up that special jug of wine.
But he can’t help me drink.
So, when he’s gone, I think
I’ll drink it by myself, and I’ll feel fine.

(c) 1990, by Peter John Stone, All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.

The Cross I Carry


The Cross I Carry
By Peter John

I’m not worthy of the cross I carry
But I carry it anyway.
I wear it with the weight of wood
Anchored on bone
By a nail I won’t let fall away
Long as I can feel its loss.
So I still carry it,
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.

I wear mine tattooed on an arm
Of bronze, muscle, and pain —
Drawn from an angry road,
Leather, and steel —
On a one way run
That once begun
Takes  a miracle to leave undone.
But rage won’t let the miracle take the wheel

I’m not worthy of the cross I carry
But I carry it anyway.
I wear it with the weight of wood
Anchored on bone
By a nail I won’t let fall away
Long as I can feel its loss.
So I still carry it,
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.

I eat my fill. I stake all my claims
And claim all of my due,
Confident the poor and weak
Reap what they sow.
Through a cross they made
With a surgeon’s blade
Beats an offering beyond all trade,
And pride denies my gratitude
Room to grow.

But I’ve been blessed!
I’ve been blessed —
Though God knows I don’t deserve it —
Blessed in spite of each old curse
I entertain with each new dawn,
When I choose my daily dues
With loaded dice each losing toss.
Although I carry it, I know
I’m not worthy of The Cross

I bear mine in bottles of dreams
I drain empty and stale,
Or any battle I fight
When I should flee.
For my own strength fails
Facing up at tales
Of a sturdier Cross than the sharpest nails,
No cross I carry, but The Cross
That’s carried for me.

I’m not worthy of the cross I carry
But I carry it anyway.
I wear it with the weight of wood
Anchored on bone
By a nail I won’t let fall away
Long as I can feel its loss.
So I still carry it,
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.
Yes, I still carry it
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.

(c) 2009 by Peter John Stone – All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.

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