They meet behind the old feed store
Where the town don’t tend to go no more


Earl plays spoons, Hank brings a jug
Lena belts like she once knew love
Billy Joe taps the beat on his cast
Each voice cracked like a weathered mast

We're the Dry County Choir
Singin’ grace through barbed-wire throats
Found salvation in an old flat tire
And mercy in borrowed coats
Ain’t no steeple, but we stand just fine
Holdin’ pitch in a busted line
Not divine, we're the Dry County Choir

They don’t sell liquor inside these lines
But the past still pours from our blood like wine
We don’t drink no more, we testify
With a harmony that’ll make God cry

We're the Dry County Choir
Swappin’ sins for secondhand songs
Every verse rises a little higher
Till the guilt don’t feel so wrong
Ain’t no pulpit, but we’ve got this shed
Where the ghosts' forget and the living ain’t dead
Least not yet, we're the Dry County Choir

The sheriff don’t ask, the preacher don’t come
But the cornfield listens when the singing’s done

We’re the Dry County Choir
Hymns from the lost and tired
We bend our shame into gospel fire
And burn it slow on a busted wire
Ain’t no altar but the dirt we own
Ain’t no heaven like singing alone
We attone, we're the Dry County Choir

Dry County Choir... Dry County Choir...

Dry County Choir

I CAN ONLY DO MY PART by NOVA J and MADRE

Easy to blame
To point, to shame
Words like knives
Still cut the same

But I’m done with your spin
I breathe and look within

I can only do my part
Keep my peace, guard my heart
Tend the fire, feed the soul
Take a breath, not control 
In a world that falls apart 
I can only do my part

(hmmm… hmmm…)
(hmmm… hmmm…)
I can only do my part…
do my part…

Rushed through life
To dodge the ache
Busy hands
Still hearts break

But now I stay
Let your noise drift away

I can only do my part 
Keep my peace, guard my heart 
Say less, listen deep 
Lay down what I can’t keep 
In a world that breaks apart 
I can only do my part

(hmmm… hmmm…)
(hmmm… hmmm…)
I can only do my part…
do my part…

Rush the mantra…
Mantra’s a light
Soft and low
Calling me back
To let it go
Breathe in still
Release the fight
This is all I need tonight

All things end
Even stars go dim
But I’ve made my peace
With what’s within

I can only do my part 
Keep my peace, guard my heart
Be a light, not a flame 
Choose the truth, not the game 
Even when the world falls apart 
I can only do my part

(hmmm… hmmm…)
(hmmm… hmmm…)
I can only do my part…
do my part…

I CAN ONLY DO MY PART

The last flood (b-side to “i-had-to-lie”)

My hands ain't for talking, they don't waste their breath
They carve out the morning, they wrestle with death
String up a six-string, dig graves in the sun
Raise up a barn, pull back on a gun

My hands ain't for talking, they carry the weight
Of the deals that I buried and the debts I won’t pay
Calloused and broken, they carry the law
My hands ain't for talking — they settle it all

They built up this homestead, they blackened with coal
They stitched up my brother, they carried my soul
They bled for the harvest, they hammered the stakes
They held up the heavens, they buried the snakes

My hands ain't for talking, they carry the weight
Of the deals that I buried and the debts I won’t pay
Calloused and broken, they carry the law
My hands ain't for talking — they settle it all

One finger on mercy, one curled 'round regret
One tracing the cross on a throat growing wet
I don't make a promise I can't carve in stone
These hands write my story — in bone against bone

My hands ain't for talking, they carry the weight
Of the sins that I shoulder and the scars that I take
Calloused and broken, they carry the law
My hands ain't for talking — they settle it all

Yeah, my hands ain't for talking... no, they settle it all.

My Hands Ain't For Talking

The FairyTale Bounce 10.28.15

Early Fires is a songwriting project by Tom Gallant.
It captures moments caught between light and shadow, shaped by years of living and making music in New York City. After his time writing and drumming with NYC’s Smackdarts, Gallant created Early Fires to follow songs wherever they led — finding the sounds, the voices, and the feeling that carried them best.

The last flood (b-side to “i-had-to-lie”)

Early Fires - Tom Gallant

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