Not till tomorrow - Weather The Storm

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Not till tomorrow

Lyrics
Zimmerman Blues
                              I get a little sadness now, just now and then
            It comes to remind me, what it was like when
            I was out on that road, happy, hungry and cold
            First you win and then you lose.
            
            Oh, Lord, I got the Zimmerman blues.
            Oh, Lord, I got the Zimmerman blues
            Oh, Lord, I got the Zimmerman blues
            Oh, Lord, I got the Zimmerman blues.
            
            Don’t get me money now, if it’s bad for my head
            You can keep the honey now, put something else on the bread,
            To lose all them old time friends, who missed how they were making            it end
            And we all wound up confused.
            
            That’s what you call the Zimmerman blues.
            That’s what you call the Zimmerman blues.
            That’s what you call the Zimmerman blues.
            That’s what you call the Zimmerman blues.
            
            Do a concert for Angela, build a building or two
            It gets harder for me, but easier for you.
            As sure as the stars turn above, all we ever asked for was love.
            And I think that we’ve all been used.
            
            Ending up with the Zimmerman blues.
            Ending up with the Zimmerman blues.
            Ending up with the Zimmerman blues.
            Ending up with the Zimmerman blues.
            
            I get a little sadness now, just now and then
            It comes to remind me, when I called you a friend.
            So where do we go from here?  For me it won’t ever get that            near
            And if it did I know what I would choose.
            
            Anything but the Zimmerman blues.
            Anything but the Zimmerman blues.
            Anything but the Zimmerman blues.
            Anything but the Zimmerman blues.
              
         
      
First Song
              I've written words that say I'm leaving.
              Words express the pain.
              Old songs lose young meanings,
              But new ones they gain
              From changes that I've been through,
              And what I’m coming to
              You were my first song,
              And I still . . .
                        
              Sure I still get feelings
              To get back on the road
              And I still get leanings
              To forget the things I know
              About myself and changes,
              Gone through and coming to
              And you were my first song
              And I still . . .

Do words express true meanings?
              I mean the words are still the same
              Old loves lose young feelings,
              But new ones they gain
              From changes that I've been through,
              And new ones I'm coming to
              You were my first song,
              And I still . . .
              
              You were my first song,
              And I still...........
              
              Yes, you were my first song,
              And I still love you.
              
         
When I Was a Cowboy 
I was a cowboy, back in the alley.
Me and my six-gun kept law on the prairie
I remember my first horse well, he was lean but a fast one
We travelled miles together, till he got stolen.
 And the sheriff said get early to bed
And always keep your hat screwed on real tight
Case you get in a fight.
Well that’s one of the tricks that you must employ
If you wanna be a cowboy.
I travelled far from home,
even jumped freight trains
Threw stones in the ocean,
 slept out in the cold rain.
 It was down in some southern town,
and the music was playing
 And the people were talking so loud,
they heard no words I was saying.

Chorus

 I dreamed of a mountain,
with one lonesome rider
He was ragged and tattered,
but he carried a sabre.
And all through the canyon
you could hear his bones rattle.
He was dead on a dying horse
and he was tied to the saddle.

Chorus

  I was a cowboy, out on the prairie.
Life sure is easier, back home in the alley.

  Chorus 
         
         
Nettle Wine
In my country garden, underneath the mountain 
With the dead nettles growing all around the door
Early every morning the sun comes up the mountain
Setting in the sea in the evening once more.
Taking water from the brook, wondering who it was that took
The stones from the mountain, who built his cottage here.
Two up and two down, miles from the nearest town
I wonder who he was though the reason why is clear.
Take a bunch of nettles and add a little water
Drawn from the stream running outside the door
Leave it for a month or two, then bottle it and drink the brew
Then watch the suns go down in the sea once more.
Take in wood to build a fire, could you really get much higher
Than standing in the doorway with a glass of nettle wine?
My lady beside me, the mountain behind me
Before me the sea and the red skyline.  
         
         
Sylvia
Sylvia, does it help if I say I feel for you?
And I think it was the one about the tulips
That did it - that did it. Oh and isn't it a shame
You had to go through so much pain To help someone that you never knew.
Sylvia, it doesn’t help if I say I've been down too
But there’s always been someone I could turn to
Why not you - why not you?
And though seldom they could share
It was knowing they were there that pulled me through.
It seems there are a few
Who can say it for the many
And maybe one or two
Who can say it for the few
And one of them was you.
Sylvia, don't get me wrong if I say I see through you
And before my colours turn darker than blue
Oh what can I do- what can I do?
Oh it just seems so unfair that through sadness and despair
You help someone that you never knew.

It seems there's one or two
Who can say it for the few
And maybe just a few
Who can say it for the many
But that can't help you any.
Sylvia, it doesn't help if I say I've been down too
But before my colours turn darker than blue.
Oh what can I do- what can I do?
Oh and isn't it a crime that you lose out every time
And help someone that you never knew.
         
         
 Birdman     
 
You can kill me if you can
But the last thing you need’s another dead man.
Writing with black ink on your page
And I swear that death won’t kill my rage.
 
 
For it’ll take more to hold my tongue
Than your prison and your knives and your clubs and your guns.

 
I don’t want no peace prize
I will not do what you say’s wise
I’m a birdman but there’s no cage
 
That’s strong enough to hold my rage.
 
 
Chorus
 
 
Now John Henry told his captain,
 
That a man ain’t nothing but a man
But before I let this machine grind me down
I’ll die with my hammer in my hand.

 
So the birdman told his jailor
A man ain’t nothing but a man
But before I let your system grind me down
I’ll die with my gun in my hand.

Chorus
 

Those bells do ring, ding dong ding
And I don’t fear no guard.
When freedom come maybe with a gun
Outside in the prison yard.
 
I’m a birdman, oh watch me fly.
I’m a birdman, death, sweet death,
She can’t hold me.


         
         
 Barges
Me and my brother returned to the water
I saw a pike that was
two feet long

Two small magicians,
each with a jam jar
Cast spells on the
water with hazel twig wands

Country boys catch tadpoles, dive into water
Made shy by their
laughter, we wandered down stream
And summer rolled
o'er us with no complications
'Cept thinking of Mama sometimes in dreams

Stand by the drawbridge, waiting for barges
Waiting around for
smiles from the man
Lifting the bridge whilst watching the horses
Dragging the slow
boats up the canal

I do remember the
times but no number
After the day, but
before evening comes

Waiting for castles
and kettles with roses
Painted on barges
that sailed into the sun

Oh, see the river run, that was by man begun
Open the locks, let
the boats sail on
Taking their castles and kettles with roses
With summers of
childhood leaving smiles on the man
         
         
 Standing Down in New York Town
  
Hey, buddy, can you spare me some change?
Me and my lady trying to get back to Detroit
They’re ripping off the customers and tearing the buildings down.
The ship seems to be sinking, and everyone’s moving out.
But maybe it’s just the way
I feel For some have been so kind
Maybe it’s just that I’m far from home
And you, and you and you, been on my mind
Faces in the curtains whilst the sirens were screaming
Disturbing the dreaming that
I had without sleep Hustlers
on the block taking every cent I got So it’s dollars for the barman to give my mind some ease.
But maybe it’s just the way
I feel For some have been so kind
Maybe it’s just that I’m far from home
And you, and you and you, been on my mind
Someone has bled an angry slogan on the wall Just across the street from my luxury hotel And the letters are so big that from close up you cannot read them But I’m high up in my room and I can read them very well.
But maybe it’s just the way
I feel For some have been so kind
Maybe it’s just that I’m far from home
And you, and you and you, been on my mind
Hopalong, the Bowery Boys,
and all my cowboy heroes
Saturday morning picture memories floating in the air
“Give my regards to Broadway,”
said a grey-faced statue
Who was obviously stoned to be standing in that square.
But maybe it’s just the way
I feel For some have been so kind
Maybe it’s just that I’m far from home
And you, and you and you, been on my mind
              
         
      
Another Rain Has Fallen
                                  Another rain has fallen, and               I am the ploughman, and I love the rain.
              And another rain has fallen, and I am the ploughman, and I love              the rain.
              For the rain will soften all my ground
              And make the plough cut perfectly
              The earth is ready for the seed
              And a little rain is all I need.
              
              And another rain has fallen, and I am the sower, and I love the              rain.
              And another rain has fallen, and I am the sower, and I need the              rain.
              For the rain will make the seed to burst
              Begin its life and take firm root
              To grow the crop to swell the grain,
              It must have a little rain.
              
              Another rain has fallen, and I am the reaper, and I watch the sky.
              For another rain might fall, and I am the reaper; I must watch for              rain.
              For now I really need the sun
              To reap my good crop that has grown
              If the rain falls now my crop is lost
              And I’d be left to count the cost
              
              Of another rain falling, and I am the lover, my tears like rain.
              And another tear has fallen, and I am the lover, and I have cried              again.
              And I have ploughed, and I have sown,
              I have guarded, I have loved,
              And like the farmer I must blame my gamble cost and loss
              On another rain.
               
              
         
      

This Time of Night
                                  Thank you for the party and               I thank you for the wine
              I think I better get along now, I know it’s time.
              And maybe you were wrong and maybe, maybe you were right
              But I won’t talk about it now, this time of night.
              
              About what happened, well, what can I say?
              ‘Cept it was bound to happen sometime anyway
              And you want me to say I’m sorry
              Well, alright, alright,
              But I won’t ask forgiveness from you now this time of night.
              
              See, my friend, I been laying it down on the line
              About what happened, well I don’t blame the wine
              And if I stick around much longer you’d be asking me to fight.
              And that would not solve anything this time of night.
              
              Oh, my friend, I don’t expect you to see me to the door
              And I don’t suppose you’ll see me Coming round here much anymore
              And do not feel, oh do not feel you have to say good-night
              It’s much too late for words like that right now, this time of              night.
               
              
         
      

Gypsy
              Our fathers out of India come
              And stopped where they found water
              And the gadgo boys with their greedy eyes
              Coveted our daughters, coveted our daughters.
              And the moon shone into the seas across the palms with silver
              There was music that night in the dark campsite
              And the music made you shiver; to be the gypsy.
              
              Across the deserts our fathers come
              With dancing boy, and bear, and drum
              And the gadgo boys with their greedy eyes
              Coveted our freedom, coveted our freedom.
              And we fit in your landscape as the sixth to the five senses
              But the pastures close as the cowboy knows
              And the world’s cut up by fences, to catch the gypsy.
              
              And the colours fade on the caravans
              And old roads bend in change
              And the vigilantes move us on
              But still we do remain, and while we do remain
              Your ways only keep us on the paths we have chosen.
              When it’s cold at night, and the fire won’t light
              And the children’s hands are frozen, and it’s hard to be the              gypsy.
              
              Oh, the fire that burns, the cage, the key, the dancer of delight,
              The flame that burns behind your eyes
              Yet flickers in your sight, flickers in your sight.
              And you may die of cold because the ways that you have chosen
              Has warmed your hands, but not your heart and left your poor soul              frozen.
              Let the gypsy dance.
              
              Now if the gypsy cannot dance, in your heart you may discover
              That the flame needs air to burn, and soon it’ll be all over.
              
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