Nothing left

Mama kept the lights on with a prayer and a fuse
Daddy played the numbers, always bound to lose
We learned to dance on hardwood, scuffed and stained
Where the gospel met the bottle, and the truth got strained
Now the porch light flickers like a warning sign
And the mailbox holds more weight than time
When the bills come due, and the grace runs thin
You count your blessings like loose change in a tin
You sing hallelujah... with a hole in your shoe
‘Cause mercy don’t knock—it just walks on through
When the bills come due
Uncle Joe’s guitar still hums in the shed
Strings rusted over, but the songs ain’t dead
He said “Love is credit, pain is cash”
And all bad faith comes back at last
Now the bills sound like a choir off-key
try to save your roof ...try to save.. what used.. to be...
When the bills come due, and the lights go cold
You trade your silver for stories you told
You hum redemption every note is blue
And hope the good Lord’s got a plan for you
When the bills come due
There’s a ledger in heaven, or so they say
Where the debts we carry get washed away
But down here, we settle with sweat and song
And pray the echo don’t take too long
When the bills come due, and the choir’s gone home
You find your rhythm in the ache and the tone
You write your name and pray it's true
sing like the truth finally made it through
When the bills come due
When the bills come due
When the bills come due
When the bills come due, and the choir’s gone home
You find your rhythm in the ache and the tone
You write your name and hope it's true
sing like the truth finally made it through
When the bills come due

All rights held by the songwriter Edwin H. Balder
When the bills come due

All rights held by the songwriter Edwin H. Balder

Link to more of our Singer/songwriter style hits you can cover into fame because of your take!

https://soundcloud.com/edwin-balder/sets/best-new-folk-americana?si=04e0155163644977b37cf8c0a04f3c53&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

When the Bills Come Due

Last Song of the Night

In the shadows of Apache Junction, at the foot of the majestic Superstition Mountains, sits a weathered hacienda. This desert oasis is home to an enigmatic figure, a songwriter whose journey reads like a long, dusty road of honky-tonk bars and college cafeterias. He wasn't chasing fame or glitter; instead, he chose the soul-crushing beauty of music for music's sake.

Years spent hunched over sticky barroom tables and scribbling lyrics on napkins earned him a reputation—not in the spotlight but in the back rooms where deals are made. He wrote melodies that found their way into the hearts of stars who had lost their own muse. He sold his creations for cash, with no recognition, but the whisper of his songs carried the weight of his soul.

Finally, he bought this piece of desert paradise—a stable income from his timeless songs allowed him to live comfortably, if anonymously. Here in this hacienda, with his family beside him and the mountains as his backdrop, he found the peace to write hits under his own name. He chuckled at the irony that now, without chasing fame, he could create music that brought him joy.

In the end, it was never about the spotlight. It was about the journey, the stories, and the songs that wrote themselves through his life. As the sun set behind the Superstitions, casting long shadows over the hacienda, he strummed his guitar and sang—content, unknown, and unburdened by the world's gaze.


Copyright 2019 Edwin H. Balder

I may be dead when fame comes but my real glory was always JULIE & The Kids. Thank you for such love

When the Bills Come Due

Edwin Balder