A hymn to the inspiration and guidance I feel from flowing water. Five-part a cappella harmony. Straight takes, no editing.

I wrote this in the fall of 1995, the morning after having seen the movie Beyond Rangoon. The climax of the movie comes as a group of Burmese refugees is trying to cross a river marking the Thai border. At the time, I was spending some time every day watching the creek near my house.

keep rolling down river

V1: how does it feel
when you can’t find a friend
how does it feel
when your loves at an end
how does it feel 
when you’re swimming upstream
how does it feel
when life’s tearing at the seams

CH: how does it feel, how does it feel
how does it feel, to be the only one 

V2: how do you know
when your time has come
how do you know
when the solo’s done
how do you know
it’s time to set it free
how do you know
it’s as good as it seems

CH: how do you know, oh how do you know
how do you know, 
when you’re the only one 

V3: where do you go, 
when the world gets hard
where do you go 
to get a new start 
where do you go when 
the waves are crashing down 
where do you go
after you leave this town 

CH: where do you go, where do you go
where do you go, when your the only one

CH: How does it feel, how do you know
where do you go, when you’re the only one

DEMOS

Only One

The sketches seemed so clear, the calculations right
now it’s all hooked up, in the still mist of the night
Should I tell someone before I flick the switch 
Just in case of some weird catastrophic glitch

I Should be ok since there’s rubber on my shoes
I’d write a note… but my pencil is the fuse
Could there be a screw loose, a disconnected ground? And
  when-it-goes-up-in-smoke my body will be found?

Maybe I should climb back in bed 
Where these schemes can safely dance in my head
So my dog doesn’t find me dead 

Why can’t I just be like the other kids? 
Who do science with whatever’s in the fridge.
Like that 5th grader I think his name was Judd
Made lava flow from a volcano made of mud. 

The doctor says she thinks it helps me blow off steam
To tinker in the basement on whatever I can dream
as long as I’ve got some electrodes to adjust
In the morning there’ll be footprints in the dust

Maybe I should climb back in bed 
Where these schemes can safely dance in my head
So my dog doesn’t find me dead

Footprints In The Dust

Erik Herman

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