Victoria Falls

Buried Treasure

Copyright Mark Baughman 2019

Sitting in the park alone
The winter wind is blowing 
And he doesn’t feel the sting
He looks out through the stand of trees
The sunlight reaches back
But he doesn’t see a thing
He looks down at the paper
With the line that brought him all the way here
His fingers slowly tracing back and forth
He had the wheel but couldn’t steer

Standing on a runway
With the engines roaring by
And he doesn’t hear a sound
All those people coming, going
Watching and he wonders
If they’re lost or if they’re found
The jet wash pulls the paper 
Turning while it dances through the air
Across a field and over and out of sight
To some lost soul on his way to nowhere

In his suitcase all her letters
A box of empty photographs
At the ready all the answers
To the things she never asked
Seduced himself in hot pursuit
The trail is cold and fading fast
He may not be the first one here
He knows for sure he’s not the last

Kneeling in an open field 
Stretched out to the horizon
And he’s straining for a voice
Laying on the grass 
Looking up and asking no one 
If he really had a choice?
He swears he was born innocent
No direction where to begin
He spent his life wanting beyond his reach
Around the bend or deep within

In the suitcase all her letters
A box of empty photographs
At the ready all the answers
To the things she never asked
Seduced himself in hot pursuit
The trail is cold and fading fast
He thinks he’s not the first one here
He knows for sure he’s not the last

Buried Treasure

Willow

Copyright 2019 Mark Baughman

Took I-40 down to Nashville 
Where I saw the Parthenon
We were dancing in the Bluegrass Inn
That place has come and gone
My memory’s dim on why I thought
Was time for moving on
I was long on motivation
And short on making time
Couldn’t get out of my way
Stand up straight and walk the line

Drove the back road down to Natchez
And a dirt road to a camp
Where we played guitars and sang
‘Till the morning dimmed the lamp
And we slept beneath a willow
Where the ground was cool and damp
And time just seemed suspended
A minute took a day
With space for us to contemplate
How much a word can weigh

And the things you tried to tell me
Were said to avail
By time I teased the lessons out
That tangled in the tale
The signs had lost their meaning
The paint was peeling, pale
Like old decaying buildings
Like tombstones on the trail

Well the dew is hanging heavy
On the willow by the river
I came back to your waters
In hopes I’d be delivered 
I keep on coming back
Just in case you reconsider
The air is sitting thick
And the vines are smelling sweet
Just like the place, when we were kids
Where you and I would meet

And the current’s running fast
‘Neath the river by the willow
Come sit here in the rushes
Take my shoulder for a pillow
We’ll pretend we’re in our house
See the world out through our window
See the breezes take the drifters
Down the river by the willow

Willow

Some Kind of Fool
Copyright 2019 Mark Baughman

How many times are you going to leave me
Without saying goodbye
How long are you going to blame me
For something you should know is a lie?
How long are you just going to sit there
On the other side of the door?
Whispering songs to yourself in the night
And staring a hole in the floor

Well, I just keep hanging around here
And you just send me to school
I must be asking for it babe
I must be some kind of fool

What in the world would I have to carry?
Would it be a stone or a cross?
What would I give? What would I lose?
Either way I know what it costs
As right as righteous conviction
As wrong as someone can be
As bold as helpless, as strong as insecure
Lost between prison and free

I just keep walkin' this side of the street
I keep wearing a hole in my shoe
Must be my fault, ain't it babe?
I must be some kind of fool

If I asked you anything
Would you tell me something
Tell me lies, 'cause it's easy
Tell the truth, but don't tease me
I swear this road is ending here

How many times can I fall down
Before I just stay on my knees?
How many locks do have on that door?
Do you really want to throw away the keys?
How many songs can I give you
'Till the truth starts breaking through?
'Till the measures and scale let you out of that jail
Fill the promise overdue

I keep sitting alone in the dark
And I'm being stubborn as a mule
Well, I deserve what I get, babe
I must be some kind of fool

Some Kind Of Fool

Zambezi

Copyright 2019 Mark Baughman

I see the houses
With all their pretty doors
Their rooms are all empty
What do they have them for?
I meet the people
Lost and alone
Talking to no one
And aching to the bone
My weariness took over
And I finally closed my eyes
I heard a distant symphony
Reflecting off the skies
It was thunderous, majestic
It was singing out in tongues
And underneath a rhythm
That I heard when I was young

They were sending out their thoughts and prayers
Then they scattered like seeds on the wind

When I woke in the morning
In the center of a plain
A cloudburst opened up and it
Washed me with with it's rain
The water off my feet
Cut channels in the ground
Ran to join the others
Desperate to be found
They follow unfamiliar paths
Of choices they don't make
Assuming all the privileges 
Of liberties they take
They didn't see it coming
The river - gentle, slow
The earth broke open, swallowed
To the thunder from below

I sent them all my thoughts and prayers
And like vapor they left on the wind

On the one side of the coin
My friends all tell me
That I'm crazy
Seeing everything 
As part of some 
Complex design
It bugs me that I have this funny feeling
That I'm not alone and
Maybe should be looking harder
Cannot see the signs
I dreamed I saw Jerusalem
It's minarets and churches
And its calls to all the faithful
To come and start again
On the other side I build my house
Above and all around me
It mirrors what I know
It's designed to keep me in

What was the question?
What is it now?

I swam across the river
And crawled up on the bank
Basking and grateful
Not knowing who to thank
I thought of Zambezi
Arrested by the falls
The fate of all the innocents
Who fell over the wall

We sang them all our thoughts and prayers
And like vapor they left on the wind

Zambezi

Came to You
Copyright 2019 Mark Baughman

From the new rock opera Zambezi

I'm turning off the light
While I put the book away
I think I told you everything
There's nothing left to say
I could always find the time
I could never find the place
Or summon up the courage
To tell you face to face

Closer to the ending
Than closer to the start
Had everything in balance
And then it fell apart
I've been picking up the pieces
And putting them in place
Don't seem to be enough of them
In there center just a space

We fight our fights
We dress our wounds
Take our lessons
To our rooms
Why so strong
When tested true?
Why so weak
When came to you?

The night is getting darker
And the moon alights the show
A spotlight on my footprints
On the canvas of the snow
They're spelling out a story
Reading braille in the ground
Giving me directions
To turn myself around

We fight our fights
We dress our wounds
Take our lessons
To our rooms
Why so strong
When tested true?
Why so weak
When came to you?

Why in the world did we have 
To keep on running
Away from each other?
We knew better than that
We missed it - 
We could have had it all make sense
Now we'll never have the chance again
I'll never have the chance

I fight my fights
I dress my wounds
Take my lessons
To my room
Why so strong
When tested true?
Why so weak
When came to you?

Came to you

Why so weak
When it came down to you?
Was it as hard on you
As it was on me?
Did you put it down?
Did you just let it be?
Just wait your turn?
Just sit it out?
Dow you know what
This was all about?
I'm sorry for what happened
But I don't regret a thing
I can't believe I'll never
Hear you sing again

Came To You

Who's Been Talking to You?

Copyright 2019 Mark Baughman

I've been putting it together
What you wrote me in that text
The stuff you thought had happened
And the things you think are next
I swear it's nothing like that
I don't know how you could construe
I get the feeling I'm talking to
Who's been talkin' to you

Don't need a translator
To tell you what I mean
Don't need some kind of editor
To scrub my letters clean
And you don't need to lie about
All the things I mean to you
You can talk to me
Not who you've been talking to

Let me break it down for you
It's like this 
I am not him
Let me lay some truth on you
Something for real
I could play it for you
It's like this

I look behind the lines
Your words don't read the same
They read like you don't know me
Can't even say my name
I'm stranded on the longest limb
What am I supposed to do?
Want to sit down and talk to
Whoever's been talking to you

I'm pulling it together
At least the best I can
I don't know how we got here
This sure wasn't my plan
But you don't need to wonder
If I really thought this through
I wish you'd talk with me
And let me talk with you

Who's Been Talking To You?

Robert Owen

Copyright 2019 Mark Baughman all rights reserved

My name is Robert Owen
And I saw the light today
The flash came out of nowhere 
And then it went away
I left my wife and daughter
At her mother's house back east
Where they sewed on cuffs and collars
At a penny for a piece
Didn't want much
Was just hoping
For a tiny piece of pie
Stood in line for
Days on ending
Then they served another lie

My name is Bobby Owen
So they wrote it on a list
One hand begging, open
While another made a fist
I gave a long week's work and
In return a short day's pay
Most every town greets us with 
A sign to stay away
In the railyards
Under bridges
Any shelter in a storm
Old newspapers
Tattered blankets
Not enough to keep me warm

The last of my dignity
I threw away tonight
I won a little money
Then lost it in a fight
The last of my possessions
They took the week 'fore last
They hit me while I slept at night
I'd have given if they asked
Just a locket
With a picture
And a cutting of her hair
Just a memory
Seems so distant
Don't remember who or where

My name is not important
Though it's spelled across the sky
Been sung in church and marches
Though I never figured why
Was recruited in a beanfield
Where the sun had made me blind
We stood firm on the front line
And they shot us from behind
Hallelujahs
Were delivered
By a choir in the back
All the truth of
My existence
Was buried in a sack

My name is Robert Owen
And I saw the light today

Robert Owen

Why Can't You Love Me?
Copyright 2019 Mark Baughman

Every night you walk in the door
Right past her, and up to your room
Lost in your books and you fantasies
Well there’s no going back
The rose is off the bloom
Every morning she wakes up alone
Spends the days wishing for change 
You were never mean or hurt her
It’s not like something happened
But you live like you’re estranged
She was trying to understand
What happened to the bliss
And then it came to her
It was always like this
She cried…

Why can’t you love me?
Why don’t you care like I do?
How can you be like that
After all we’ve been through?

The days turn to years, slowly by
And still I’m hung up on you
I gave you my best, you gave your worst
I just had to leave
But we were never through
You're everything I hoped you'd be
You’re with someone else, happy enough
I hang on to your poems
Like you wrote them for me
Turning page after page
Hoping to read my name
Asking again and again
But the answer’s the same

Why can’t you love me?
Why don’t I mean anything to you?
Don’t you know I’d do anything
That you asked me to do?

Why can’t you love me?
I could be so much better than before
Why can’t you see how good it could be
If you just walked through my door?
Why can’t you hear me?
What would it take for you to turn my way?
A part of me just dies a little more every day

Why Can't You Love Me?

Eureka Springs
Copyright 2019 Mark Baughman

At a café on a mountain
In a town that time rolled by
I was thinking about my next stop
When something caught my eye
She was sitting alone at the counter
Looking up and stirring her tea
She slid off the stool, skirt bellowing
She set sail right over to me

She stopped and looked out of the window
Distant, eyes fixed, on a dream
A noise broke the spell and she looked down
And asked if I was what I seemed
She pulled at my arm, then released me
Walking away, then looked back
Watching her dance, I was thinking
Her train’s on some other track

She sat down, took my hand
Reading my palm
I closed it on hers
She was suddenly calm
Said she was an actress
What role would she play?
I felt this compulsion
To take her away

We left through a door in a mirror
To a valley with river and mill
Slowly we walked through a garden
Our way to a house on a hill
A flash – and the house burned to ashes
And the garden turned into dust
So quickly defying description
Whatever had happened to us

 I went to my coffee
She went to her tea
I tried to ignore her
Looking at me
The turned and announced
As she reached for the cream
“I’ve seen it before
He’s not what he seems.”

Eureka Springs

Does anyone out there still write songs that are interesting, with melodies and lyrics and meaning?  -  Yes!

Mark Baughman is a composer, guitarist, playwright, visual artist and architect (yes, really, an architect). Based in Washington, DC, Mark writes songs that are more than stories - they are movies with vivid characters and real emotions. The songs have carefully crafted lyrics, melodies and song structures. Mark is incredibly versatile and prolific, easily moving from one genre to another to express what's on his mind and in his heart.

Mark has written and produced to stage 3 rock operas - 99, Release and Energie. Each tells a story of complex contemporary adult life. He is presently writing his 4th show, entitled Victoria Falls, and he posts the new songs as they are completed. 

Between the rock operas, Mark has produced 5 other albums - She Dreams of the Ghost, Charmed Life, Victoria Falls, No Prophet Here and Divided by Zero - which further showcase his songwriting dexterity and musicianship. 

Mark's live band is called Working Theory and takes different forms depending on the show  and venue. And he's busy now working on the next thing.

Victoria Falls

Mark Baughman's Working Theory