Old Sam and Jim on the Ridge Road steep,
Sam’s cattle crossed where the wild grass creeps,
Jim built his fence at the break of day,
But Sam’s herd drifted in anyway.
Clinking tin and splintered posts,
Words flew fast over ghostly coasts,
By night the lanterns lit the dust,
And neighbors whispered whose claim was just.

On the fence-line stand our grudges tall,
Voices echo down the hollow’s call,
From a stolen calf to a broken stake,
The court’s house waits for the one to break.

Mrs. Mae saw the cattle roam,
Saw her Sammy’s corn crushed where they comb,
She hollered up to Jim’s front door,
Said “Fix your fence or it breaks some more.”
Jim spat words like gravel stones,
Said “My land ends where my barn stands alone,”
Mae’s brother’s face under kerosene light,
Promised revenge if it came to fight.

On the fence-line stand our grudges tall,
Voices echo down the hollow’s call,
From a stolen calf to a broken stake,
The court’s house waits for the one to break.

In the courthouse hall the judge’s gavel falls,
Neighbors line up telling whose side calls,
Sam stands quiet, Jim stands tall,
But the land remembers the cattle’s crawl.

On the fence-line stand our grudges tall,
Voices echo down the hollow’s call,

The verdict came with the rooster’s crow,
Jim pays the fine, Mae’s corn will grow,
But the fence stays broken, the cattle still roam,
And the Ridge Road remembers their bitter home.
Old Sam said nothing, Mae wiped her tears,
The banjo strums on the end of years,
And neighbors whisper by moonlit sky,
“Who dug the fence and who let it die?”

On the fence-line stand our grudges tall,
Voices echo down the hollow’s call,
From a stolen calf to a broken stake,
The court’s house waits for the one to break.
When the fence is mended and the cattle roam free,
Still the banjo hums of the bitter decree.

In the courthouse hall

The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track ready for Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

I use every tool available, human or machine, as an instrument.
Technology doesn’t replace creativity. It expands it.

In the courthouse hall

Terminalose