Tag Archives: Waylon Jennings

Seasons After Spring

I’m just an outlaw over 40
with no airtime on the radio today
where each hot new hit’s a retrofit
of juvenile emotion and cliche;
but I’m laughing at the demographics
every time I get a chance to play
’cause for me real country music isn’t
about some gold records on display.

I’m just an outlaw over 40
far beyond my prime for video appeal
where the song need tell no story
if the actors on the screen can keep it real;
and to write about the fight against
such fantasy can break your record deal.
I won’t say that it’s not country, but
it’s whistle steam that never turns the wheel.

Music’s not just for the young,
not an excuse to sell CDs.
It’s about speaking from your heart;
at least, that’s how it is for me.
If music doesn’t help you grow,
it’s not much good for anything;
and only growing older makes
songs that have seasons after spring.

I’m just an outlaw over 40
whose wild days of drinking binges are long past
and who’s started slowing down to find
those things along the path that tend to last.
You may laugh at my appearance
and believe this song should be played twice as fast;
but it’s not your song, it’s mine; when you
build your own car, you can waste your own gas.

I’m just an outlaw over 40
who can’t line dance or pretend it’s not too loud
if I can’t hear myself think, and tend to
get a little frightened by the crowd
that is full of fight and vinegar, not doing much
but acting tough and proud.
I won’t say that’s not my country, but
intruding on my space is not allowed.

Music’s not just for the young,
to sell some product on TV.
It’s about sharing of your life;
at least, that’s how it is for me.
If music doesn’t help you learn,
it’s not much good for anything;
and only learning to grow old
makes songs with seasons after spring.

19 NOV 2005

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Play the Game

At some point, it doesn’t matter
if your bank account gets fatter
or you end up with the most expensive toys,
always playing at high roller
with illusions of control or
desperate attempts at mirrors, smoke and noise.

Despite all your wealth and power,
you won’t get another hour more
because you bought your way into the park.
Once the lights go down, it’s finished;
both the stage and crowd diminish,
and we each go home alone and in the dark.

And still we play the game,
thinking that we know the score,
thinking we can beat the odds,
thinking we deserve much more.
Doesn’t matter, win or lose:
they’re really pretty much the same.
What’s important is the way
We each decide to play the game.

Yes, the spotlight’s glare is fleeting;
in the center ring, competing
for a prize that fades before you make it home,
fighting for a piece of nothing
’cause it’s better sometimes bluffing
than to face it and remain a great unknown

but the time doesn’t go quicker,
despite some expensive liquor
or the company of fast and fancy friends;
the same minutes turn to hours,
like seeds slowly sprout to flowers
and then die and just the same begin again.

And still we play the game,
thinking that we know the score,
thinking we can beat the odds,
thinking we deserve much more.
Doesn’t matter, win or lose:
they’re really pretty much the same.
What’s important is the way
We each decide to play the game.

06 NOV 2006

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