Right On Time (Alternate Mix)

Artwork by Justin Jackley, Austin, Texas.

Adultus Gardens

2019-04-15 - Live at Aurora II

A JADED WORLD
Copyright 2024 Moretti/O'Brien/Murphy/Robinson/Glass
Music by France Moretti, Keith Murphy, Nigel Robinson, Rob Glass
Lyrics by Alex O’Brien; SOCAN
All Rights Reserved

France Moretti: Keyboards, Vocals, Mixing
Keith Murphy: Guitars, Mastering
Nigel Robinson: Drums & Percussion
Rob Glass: Bass

It’s a jaded world  
But it will pass
And then again
It will come back
It’s a jaded world
But it will pass
And then again
It will come back

What’s left to believe in?
What’s left to feel?
What are we achieving?
What’s there that’s real?

To make it right will take a lifetime

Where are the joyous days?
Where lives the truth?
Where are the wonder plays?
Where is our youth?

Who here has given up on loving?

It’s a jaded world  
But it will pass
And then again
It will come back
It’s a jaded world
But it will pass
And then again
It will come back

When will we see the light?
When will we soar?
When will we do what’s right?
Choose peace not war

There was a time when words did matter

One day the sun will rise
Our hearts will dance
Our dreams we’ll realize
We’ll know romance

We will find the time to live and love again

It’s a jaded world  
But it will pass
And then again
It will come back
It’s a jaded world
But it will pass
And then again
It will come back

It’s a jaded world  
But it will pass
And then again
It will come back
It’s a jaded world
But it will pass
And then again
It will come back

RELEASED ON SOUNDCLOUD: May 8, 2024

A Jaded World

Entropia

The Music Poem (Demo)

Stoned Gypsy Wanderer 2009

Occasional Summer 2014 edit

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

Music : Janne Hennie & Little Man
Vocals & lyrics : Janne Hennie

You feel a little restless, have no peace of mind
Your head is spinning, worries made you blind
Take a little moment, see the flowers on the ground
It may give you comfort, and some peace of mind...

If you can see
If you can hear
If you can feel
You can find some peace of mind

2
You feel a little stressed, so much to do
Nothing can wait, it's all waiting for you
Take a little moment, and listen to the birds
It may give you comfort, and some peace of mind...

If you can see
If you can hear
If you can feel
You can find some peace of mind

3
You feel a little sorry, words should have been said
But you couldn't get out, what was inside
Take a little moment, and say it to your heart
It may give you comfort, and some peace of mind...

If you can see
If you can hear
If you can feel
You can find some peace of mind

Some Peace Of Mind

If you like the music please share & subscribe, thanks!

https://youtu.be/ylIhoU22ulo - Full Music Video
https://www.youtube.com/@theartificialhomewreckers
https://soundcloud.com/theartificialhomewreckers
https://open.spotify.com/artist/0TuHLZaDhxt6bLGZGKukJ7
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/the-artificial-home-wreckers/1787896253
https://theartificialhomewreckers.bandcamp.com/
https://theartificialhomewreckers.com/

---Lyrics---
[Verse 1]  
Rolled in wearin’ boots that seen better days,  
Denim torn like the roads I blaze
Old V-twin hummin’ gospel blues,  
Gravel kicks up like Sunday news.  
Shame in a flask of black-label rye,  
Parked by the steeple, let a sinner try.  
[Chorus ]
I’m layin’ chrome at the chapel gate,  
Hands on the tank, beggin’ Heaven to wait.  
Ain’t got silver, silk, or luck—  
Just a busted heart and an empty truck.  
Let the whiskey be the wafer, the weight be the wine;  
If I pour it in the dust, redraw my line.  
Pull me back from that moonlit flood—  
Here I stand, red-clay and blood. 
[Verse 2]
Most folks whisper when they talk my name,  
Bar-room legend with a lonesome flame.  
Bottle’s been my barn-dance friend,  
Two-step devil with a crooked grin.  
Tried quittin’ cold, but the cold got warm,  
Now I’m knockin’ where the prayers are born. 
[Chorus ]
I’m layin’ chrome at the chapel gate,  
Hands on the tank, beggin’ Heaven to wait.  
Ain’t got silver, silk, or luck—  
Just a busted heart and an empty truck.  
Let the whiskey be the wafer, the weight be the wine;  
If I pour it in the dust, redraw my line.  
Pull me back from that moonlit flood—  
Here I stand, red-clay and blood. 
[Bridge]
Dust on the hymnbook, tear on the page,  
Fiddle cries soft like a front-porch sage.  
If mercy’s a river, let it rise and run,  
Wash this outlaw ’til the battle’s won. 
[Chorus ]
I’m layin’ chrome at the chapel gate,  
Hands on the tank, beggin’ Heaven to wait.  
Ain’t got silver, silk, or luck—  
Just a busted heart and an empty truck.  
Let the whiskey be the wafer, the weight be the wine;  
If I pour it in the dust, redraw my line.  
Pull me back from that moonlit flood—  
Here I stand, red-clay and blood. 

---Story---
They say the night still smells like gasoline an’ cheap rye down at Sparrow Fork, right where the black-top spits ya straight into Pine-Needle County. That stretch of road’s darn near a legend ’round here, ’cause that’s where Boone “Chrome” McCafferty finally slammed the kickstand on his shovelhead Harley and dragged his sorry hide up to St. Brigid’s chapel—chrome so bright the sunrise bounced off it like wildfire.

Boone weren’t no choirboy, not by a dang mile. Folks knew him as a bar-room wolf with a busted grin, packin’ more warrants than church stamps. He’d spent twenty-odd years swappin’ prayers for poker chips, so when the jukebox quit singin’ and his best friend Jack Daniels started talkin’ back, Boone figured the devil done called in the tab.

But it’s funny how a song gets stuck in your craw. One night, him half lit on barrel-strength hope, that new country track—“Chrome at the Chapel Gate”—come blastin’ through a dented ’78 pickup outside. The hook punched him square: I’m layin’ chrome at the chapel gate, hands on the tank, beggin’ Heaven to wait. Boone chuckled first, then felt it claw at his gut. Turns out a melody can feel like a barrel to the chest when it’s pointin’ at the truth.

So he lit out before dawn, ridin’ south through whippin’ wind and thunder so big it sounded like God cockin’ a twelve-gauge. No saddlebags, no map—just a half-dry flask and a story itchin’ to change its endin’.

By sunrise, his tires rolled over the white gravel lane headin’ to St. Brigid’s—the old clapboard chapel that sits crooked on a hill like a tired mother. Boone killed the engine. The hush felt heavier’n iron. Cicadas hissed. A lone crow razzed him from a cross-beam. He figured Heaven sent hecklers...

The rest can be found on the website, link up top.

Chrome at the Chapel Gate

Guitar-based songs. Lo-fi emotion. Cinematic moods. I write what I feel. Sometimes they hurt, sometimes they don't.

Right On Time (Alternate Mix)

David Michael Henry

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