Cove Me

© Copyright 2007, 2015 Peter Lloyd

A stranger as cold as the winter that bore him
Walked up to our church all alone
The long, snow-capped roof, shingles of grey
Old walls and worn steps of stone

Why he stopped only God knows, but he lingered outside
And gazed at the sign on our door
It's hung there forever and there it'll stay
For its few words are hard to ignore

I went out to greet him, a lost soul to save
But he shot me a terrified eye 
"Don't try to save me," he warned, "It's no use
"I'm just looking for a warm place to die"

	No arches of marble, no statues of gold
	Just a home for the hearts of her people
	The sign on the door says "There's room for one more"
	The church with the styrofoam steeple

"Our chapel is humble, but it's warm," I replied
"And you're welcome to rest here a while"
We walked up together as he shivered and coughed
He entered without even a smile

I'd hoped to unburden the stranger that night
As I brought him hot coffee, I said
"If you won't let me help you at least tell me why 
"You think that you're better off dead"

"Maybe you know me," he began, "maybe you don't
"But my name's been all over the news
"I've hobnobbed with kings back in my better days
"When this old church cost less than my shoes

	No arches of marble, no statues of gold
	Just a home for the hearts of her people
	The sign on the door says "There's room for one more"
	The church with the styrofoam steeple

"I've preached in cathedrals under spires of gold
"Looking down on my flock from my throne
"But the uncommon love I bore witness to there
"I'm afraid I never have known

"So would you please oblige me one pure act of love
"Take this pistol and prove that you care
"Agree to this kindness, no strings attached
"Lift my burden of hopeless despair"

"I'll hold the gun with you," I promised the stranger
"If you'll bow your head with me and pray"
But his body had already slumped in my arms
As the gun's report echoed away

	No arches of marble, no statues of gold
	Just a home for the hearts of her people
	The sign on the door says "There's room for one more"
	The church with the styrofoam steeple

Did I pull the trigger? The judge says I did
Powder burns marked both our hands
But the Lord does his work in mysterious ways
And love makes peculiar demands

	No arches of marble, no statues of gold
	Just a home for the hearts of her people
	The sign on the door still says "There's room for one more"
	The church with the styrofoam steeple

The Church with the Styrofoam Steeple

© Copyright 1976 Peter Lloyd

Take me to Louisville, driver, I got the fare
I love a woman livin’ somewhere ‘round there  
I was gonna marry her, but I got up tight 
Watching her dance on a Saturday night
Watching her dance on a Saturday night  

Stole into Louisville A-W-O-L
With two pints of Echo, the whiskey from hell 
Stashed ‘em a Greyhound rental box down there 
When a woman came up with long, curly hair
A woman came up with long, curly hair  

She took a package from the box next to mine
I knew that our futures would soon intertwine 
She told me my birthday and the day I would die 
I saw a spark in the dark of her eye
I saw a spark in the dark of her eye  

Bought her a Pepsi in the station restaurant 
She said, “I’m able to provide what you want 
I’ve got some money, we could travel in style 
You wait right here. I’ll be back in a while
You wait right here. I’ll be back in a while  

I waited one hour and I waited for two
Got sorta nervous wonderin’ what she would do 
Walked ‘round the lobby one more time, then I thought 
If I don’t go, I’ll bound to get caught
If I don’t go, I’ll bound to get caught  

Took out a bottle and decided to go
‘Cross to the burlesque, continuous show 
Found me a seat and settled down for the night 
Guess who I saw steppin’ out in the light
Guess who I saw steppin’ out in the light  

Opened my Echo as she started to dance 
Finished it right when she took off her pants  
Dirty old men in there kept shoutin’ for more 
I stood up to fight, ended up on the floor
I stood up to fight, ended up on the floor  

Police in Louisville took me back to Fort Knox 
Who knows what Greyhound ever did with my box 
Don’t know her number and I don’t know her name 
Might never know, but drive just the same
Might never know, but drive just the same  

And take me to Louisville, driver, I got the fare 
Find me that woman with long, curly hair 
This time I’ll marry her and I won’t lose my mind 
Cuz this time I will leave my Echo behind
This time I will leave my Echo behind
This time I will leave my Echo behind

Leave My Echo Behind

© Copyright 2006, 2015 Peter Lloyd
Produced and performed by Jason Ayers
                          
Summer sun’s a-fadin’ heavy clouds are laden
Rain’s comin’ down every day
Buried deep in slumber, yellow, orange, and umber
August has faded away

Dreary days are comin’ pleasant thoughts succumbin’ 
Winter’s up to stealin’ the light
Chilly breezes speedin’ all the birds a-heedin’ 
September’s last call to take flight

Bye, bye, blue summer sky
Give my love to July

It was laughin’ kids a-runnin’ pretty girls a-sunnin’
Now it’s bundle up and bring out the kites
October’s leaves a-dyin’ November snows a-flyin’
December means the longest of nights

Aw, and January hurts, but February’s worse
‘Till March summons spring from her grave
 April spills her showers, May parades her flowers
June returns the long days we crave

Bye, bye, blue summer sky
Give my love to July

Leave me alone, I’m feelin’ so sad 
I just left the best Summer I ever had

It was neighbors outside talkin’ lovin’ couples walkin’
Now the “Howdy-do”s get stuck my throat
As the bitter winds of winter like a thousand metal splinters 
Cut through the weave of my coat

Bye, bye, blue summer sky
Give my love to July


Leave me alone, I’m fixin’ to cry 
I can’t stand to see such a sweet summer die

                               
Summer sun’s a-fadin’ heavy clouds are laden
Rain’s comin’ down every day
Buried deep in slumber, yellow, orange, and umber
August has faded away

Bye, bye, blue summer sky
Give my love
Give my love
Give my love to July

Give My Love to July

© Copyright 2007, 2015 Peter Lloyd

It's hard for me to smile when you're looking so lonely
It's hard for me to laugh when you're feeling blue
It just might take a while to show you it's never as dark as it seems
But I'll be right by your side  until you're dancing your dreams

I'll hold you while you cry when your poor heart gets broken
I'll laugh with you again when you're on the mend
I know you'll find a way to laugh down your troubles in all their extremes
And it's never hard to smile  while you're dancing your dreams

Let me see your big bright smile like the sun coming up over the sea
Whistle me a tune, spin around the room
Like you do when you're laughing with me

Who could see you smile and not want to smile with you?
Who could hear you laugh and not laugh along?
The world's already cried enough tears to overflow all of her streams
We need to hear your song  and see you dancing your dreams

Let me see your big bright smile like the sun coming up over the sea
Whistle me a tune, spin around the room
Like you do when you're laughing at me

Who could see you smile and not want to smile with you?
Who could hear you laugh and not laugh along?
The world's already cried enough tears to overflow all of her streams
We need to hear your song  and see you dancing your dreams

Let us hear your song  and see you dancing your dreams
It's time to hear your song  and see you dancing your dreams

Dancing Your Dreams

©Copyright 1973, 2015 Peter Lloyd

You can take my shoes, you can drink my soup
I no longer lock my door at night
Here the moon comes up when the sun goes down
And the mountains roll ‘round the thunder clouds
While the river, she winds her way behind

It’s like beautiful, beautiful music
Mellowed in the Appalachian way
Folks come and go, but these mountains kow
That you take a bluegrass tune down to your grave

When Tom Gentry died, I cried and cried
Then one night I heard his voice below the ground
I said, “Oh, Tom, you make such a sweet, bright sound.
Can you tell me, my old partner, what have you found?”
And he sang these words I’m singing to you

It’s like beautiful, beautiful music
Mellowed in the Appalachian way
Folks come and go, but these mountains know
That you take a bluegrass tune down to your grave

When my stories are all told and my bones are cold
And all that’s left is an empty rocking chair
Won’t you wrap me up and carry me down
Cover me over with that sweet, black ground        
And pick a bluegrass tune above my head

It’s like beautiful, beautiful music
Mellowed in the Appalachian way
Folks come and go, but these mountains know
That you take a bluegrass tune down to your grave

Folks come and they go
But these mountains stay right here and they know
That you can take a bluegrass tune down to your grave
Yes, you take them bluegrass tunes down to your grave

Bluegrass Music

Words and music © Copyright by Peter Lloyd 1999

Early every morning the prisoner opens his eyes 
Turns his pillow over and tells himself he never cries 
But words fall from the radio, a memory fits like a glove
He thinks of you and wonders, How long is your love?

Days still dawn without you to carry his dreams on your voice
The walls around him echo the curses of derelict choice
Today he’s building barricades his predators can’t rise above
To bide his time and wonder, How long is your love?

He knows your love is strong enough,  abusing it—his crime
He hopes your love is long enough to stand the strains of time

Night gives little shelter should hungry eyes meet in the dark 
When they trade their secrets, they tremble without a remark 
Tonight he carves a makeshift knife just in case push comes to shove
He hides his pride and wonders, How long is your love?

He knows your love is strong enough,  abusing it—his crime
He hopes your love is long enough to stand the strains of time

Early every morning the prisoner opens his eyes 
Turns his pillow over and tells himself love never dies 
But words fall from the radio, a memory fits like a glove
He thinks of you and wonders, How long is your love?

Yes, he thinks of you and wonders, How long is your love?

How Long Is Your Love

Performed and produced by Caitlin and Jason Ayers
Words and music © Copyright 1969, 2015 Peter Lloyd

Sometimes I'm up. Sometimes I'm down
In this world there could not be a smile if it were not for the frown
Every 24 hours, if there's a night there's a daytime, too
No matter what shape my face may take
I'm always in love with you

Sometimes I'm caught so deep in thought
You may think that there's no room for you around my troubled mind
A love is hard to find, but it's worth it when you know it's true
No matter what shape my face may take
I'm always in love with you

Your love gave me a purpose
You love showed me the way
Your love gave my heart a song to sing
I'm gonna sing it every day

Just because I'm low sometimes, don't let me go
If you're looking for the perfect love, you'll be looking till your dying day
Just remember, Darling, when I'm feeling blue
No matter what shape my face may take
I'm always in love with you

Your love gave me a purpose
You love showed me the way
Your love gave my heart a song to sing
I'm gonna sing it every day

Sometimes I'm up. Sometimes I'm down
In this world there could not be a smile if it were not for the frown
Every 24 hours, if there's a night there's a daytime, too
No matter what shape my face may take
I'm always in love with you
In love with you
In love with you

Sometimes (Sherry's Song)

Words and music © Copyright 2006, 2015 Peter Lloyd
Performed by my dear, long-time buddy, David Rhodes Brown

Cut a little bait, rig a little pole
Drive out on the lake, drill a little hole 
Ice fishin’, ice fishin’ 

Catch a mess of perch, throw ‘em in a pan 
Cook ‘em up and eat as many as you can 
Ice fishin’, ice fishin’ 

Nothin’ puts your mind at ease
Like ice and sky as far as your eyes can see 

Your toes as warm as toast, ‘spite what you’ve been told 
Fish are always fresh, beer is always cold
Ice fishin’, ice fishin’ 

Head back to the shack, play a little cards 
Drink a little whiskey, smoke a few cigars 
Ice fishin’, ice fishin’ 

Nothin’ puts your mind at ease
Like ice and sky as far as your eyes can see 

Cut a little bait, rig a little pole
Drive out on the lake, drill a little hole 
Ice fishin’, ice fishin’ 

Ice fishin’, ice fishin’

Ice Fishin'

Words and music by Peter Lloyd, mashed by the Widow Za
© Copyright 2000, 2015 Peter Lloyd

I’m not from around here—so I hope you take this the right way but 
Even though you seem to be neurologically complex enough
You flesh-bearing bipeds make an incredibly contradiction-riddled 
Species, as if you’re all bent on comic self-destruction
Of course, you could be vastly superior in some inscrutable way 
So allow me to share some of my recent observations and 
Perhaps you might be able to help me understand your kind

I saw one of your kind walking with a quadruped progeny substitute 
The poor thing was tethered to a territorial freedom constraint
Still it managed to defecate on a chlorophyll-covered status exhibit 
When someone ran out of a privacy protection unit and yelled
“Get that mongrel out of my yard. Why don’t you
Dump its shit on your own damn lawn!” The other pretended
Like she didn’t hear and muttered underneath her breath, “Animal hater.”

I ventured into one of your culturally vacant expanses of sameness
And found myself in the middle of one of those mass consumption pits
They were running some sort of consumer feeding frenzy when I overheard
A verbal exchange between two discretionary income disposers
“John’s out of town,” one said, “I’ve been shopping now
For two whole days. This is really gonna cost him.”
The other just chuckled and replied as she winked her eye, “Serves him right.”

I headed out to the surrounding asphalt field neatly divided into
Grid-lined stalls packed side-to-side with air-polluting transportation
 Pods as your sun was burning through your withering ultraviolet buffer
I passed some bipeds operating carcinogen intake units. One said
“I don’t know why people complain about smoking indoors
“I mean like I don’t complain about other people’s perfume.”
Just then a passer-by remarked, “Perfume doesn’t consume other people’s lungs.”

Then I looked up and noticed a huge artificially lit persuasion display
It kept flashing arrangements of symbols which when decoded
Promoted tricks like internet banking, certificates of deposit
And a way to easily obtain large quantities of paper wealth units
Claimed you could even pick your own interest rate and then it displayed 
Arbitrary measurements of thermal activity and temporal calibration
But before it began to repeat these messages all over again, it flashed, “John 3:15”

Well, did some digging and found your “John 3:15” resembles a
Concept long ago discarded in ridicule and shame back where
I come from. Seems we were killing so many of our own kind over
Our version of institutionalized schizophrenia, we gave it up in order to survive
So I visited a well-known purveyor of your brand of high-flying hocus pocus
And I described the great liberation we enjoyed when we dumped our delusions
Although he seemed to understand, he just gave me a condescending look and said, “Go to hell.”

I'm Not from Around Here

Words and music by Peter Lloyd © Copyright 2006, 2015 Peter Lloyd

Look outside my door, sun is shinin' bright 
What's the sun good for? Might as well be night
Ain't it plain to see I miss Marie

Left without a trace, why I'll never know 
Still I see her face everywhere I go 
Where can she be I miss Marie

I sit here reminiscin’ 'bout the huggin' and the kissin' 
She swore would never end
Nobody wants to listen but a part of me is missin' 
And I need some time to mend

Now it's time to go to the Town Hall Dance Me 
I'm layin' low, I don't stand a chance 
Everyone will see I miss Marie

I sit here reminiscin 'bout the huggin' and the kissin' 
She swore would never end
Nobody wants to listen but a part of me is missin' 
So why should I pretend?

Look inside my door. What an awful sight 
Lying on the floor, I'll be here all night
Ain’t it plain to see, I miss Marie

Well, it's plain to me I miss Marie

I Miss Marie

Songwriter since 1966. Can't believe I still have to write protest songs. Prefer writing love songs and songs of praise for stand-up women and men, parodies, lyrical nonsense, blues and adaptations.