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Bob Dylan: Shot of Love

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s

Artist: Bob Dylan
Title: Shot of Love
Released: 1981.08.12
Label: Columbia Records
Time: 44:20
Producer(s): See Artists ...
Appears with:
Category: Pop/Rock
Rating: ********.. (8/10)
Media type: CD
Purchase date:  2002.02.20
Price in €: 6,99
Web address: www.bobdylan.com

 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] Shot of Love (B.Dylan) - 4:18
[2] Heart of Mine (B.Dylan) - 4:29
[3] Property of Jesus (B.Dylan) - 4:33
[4] Lenny Bruce (B.Dylan) - 4:32
[5] Watered-Down Love (B.Dylan) - 4:10
[6] The Groom's Still Waiting at the Altar (B.Dylan) - 4:02
[7] Dead Man, Dead Man (B.Dylan) - 3:58
[8] In the Summertime (B.Dylan) - 3:34
[9] Trouble (B.Dylan) - 4:32
[10] Every Grain of Sand (B.Dylan) - 6:12

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


BOB DYLAN - Guitar, Vocals, Piano, Harmonica, Percussion, Producer
JIM KELTNER - Drums
TIM DRUMMOND - Bass
FRED TACKETT - Guitar
CLYDIE KING - Backing Vocals
REGINA MCCRARY - Backing Vocals
CAROLYN DENNIS - Backing Vocals
MADELYN QUEBEC - Backing Vocals

With:
STEVE RIPLEY - Guitar
CARL PICKHARDT - Piano
BENMONT TENCH - Keyboards
STEVE DOUGLAS - Saxophone

And:
DANNY KORTCHMAR - Electric Guitar

Plus:
WM "Smitty" SMITH - Organ
RINGO STARR - Drums, Tom Tom
DONALD "Duck" DUNN - Bass
RON WOOD - Guitar On "Heart Of Mine"

CHUCK PLOTKIN - Producer
BUMPS BLACKWELL - Producer on "Shot of Love"
TOBY SCOTT - Engineer
DANA BISBEE - Assistant Engineer
ARTHUR ROSATO - Recording Supervisor
DEBBIE GOLD - Production Coordinator
NAOMI SALTZMAN - Administrative Coordination
BARBOVEA MOLDT - Administrative Coordination
KEN PERRY - Mastering
PEARL BEACH - Album Cover Art
Thanks to: DON WILLIAMS, PAUL BOLLAND
Special Thanks to: DAVID GEFFEN



Details:

SHOT OF LOVE:
Vocals - Bob and Clydie
Drums - Jim Keltner
Bass - Tim Drummond
Rhythm Guitar - Bob Dylan
2nd Guitar - Steve Ripley
Lead Guitar - Danny Kortchmar
Backing Vocals - Carolyn Dennis, Regina McCrary, Madelyn Quebec

HEART OF MINE:
Vocals and Piano - Bob Dylan
2nd Vocal - Clydie King
Drums - Jim Keltner, Chuck Plotkin
Bass - Donald "Duck" Dunn
Organ - WM "Smitty" Smith
Guitar - Ron Wood
Tom Tom - Ringo Starr

PROPERTY OF JESUS:
Vocals and Guitar - Bob Dylan
Drums - Jim Keltner
Bass - Tim Drummond
Piano - Carl Pickhardt
Guitars - Steve Ripley, Danny Kortchmar
Backing Vocals - Clydie King, Regina McCrary, Carolyn Dennis, Madelyn Quebec

LENNY BRUCE:
Piano and Vocals - Bob
Backing Vocals - Madelyn, Clydie, Regina, Carolyn
Guitar - Fred
Bass - Tim
Organ - Benmont

WATERED-DOWN LOVE:
Vocals - Bob and Clydie
Backing Vocals - Clydie, Regina, Madelyn
Drums - Jim
Guitars - Fred Tackett, Danny Kortchmar
Piano - Benmont Tench

DEADMAN, DEADMAN:
Vocals and Guitar - Bob Dylan
2nd Vocal - Clydie King
Backing Vocals - Regina McCrary, Carolyn Dennis, Clydie King, Madelyn Quebec
Drums - Jim Keltner
Bass - Tim Drummond
Guitars - Steve Ripley, Fred Tackett
Keyboards - Carl Pickhardt, Ben Tench
Alto Sax - Steve Douglas

IN THE SUMMERTIME:
Vocals and Harmonica - Bob Dylan
Drums - Jim Keltner
Bass - Tim Drummond
Guitars - Steve Ripley, Danny Kortchmar
Keyboards - Benmont Tench
Backing Vocals - Madelyn Quebec, Regina McCrary, Clydie King

TROUBLE:
Vocals and Guitar - Bob
Lead Guitar - Danny
Bass - Tim
Drums - Jim
Other Guitar - Fred
Keyboards - Benmont
Backing Vocals - Clydie, Madelyn, Regina, Carolyn

EVERY GRAIN OF SAND:
Vocals and Harmonica - Bob
2nd Vocal - Clydie
Drums - Jim
Bass - Tim
Piano - Carl
Organ - Benmont
Alto Sax - Steve Douglas
Backing Vocals - Madelyn, Carolyn, Regina

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


1981 CD Columbia CK-37496
1981 LP Columbia TC-37496
1981 CS Columbia PCT-37496

Recorded At Clover Recorders except "Shot of Love" recorded on location at Peacock Records Studios
Mastered for compact disc by Vic Anesini at CBS Records Studio, NY


Liner Notes:

***"I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hidden these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes."

Matthew 11:25



Shot of Love finds Dylan still in born-again mode, but he's starting to come alive again — which isn't as much a value judgment as it is an observation that he no longer seems beholden to repeating dogma, loosing up and crafting songs again. And it's not just that his writing is looser, the music is, too, as he lets himself — and his backing band — rock a little harder, a little more convincingly. Shot of Love still isn't a great album, but it once again has flashes of brilliance, such as "Every Grain of Sand," which point the way to the rebirth of Infidels.

Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All-Music Guide, © 1992 - 2002 AEC One Stop Group, Inc.



Um Gottes Willen,dachten viele Fans,als sich Bob Dylan in den ausklingenden 70ern zu seinen christlichen Wurzeln bekannte und vom Politsänger zum Gospelbarden konvertierte. Im Jahr 1981,nach Slow Train Coming und Saved,markierte das jetzt wohlfeile Album Shot Of Love den Höhe-und Endpunkt dieser Phase. Dylan wirkt kraftvoll wie selten zuvor,sein Sendungsbewußtsein verleiht den Songs gesunde Aggressivität,und die prominenten Begleitmusiker strampeln sich ab wie selten.

© Audio



What the Critics Say...

Q Magazine (6/97, p.150) - 3 Stars (out of 5) - "...the album's highpoints are right up there alongside Dylan's very best work..."



Bob Dylan's career has been one great big roller coaster ride since the beginning. He has consistently followed low periods with high ones and vice versa. But one thing about Dylan: he has always kept changing and kept true to his own needs and whims, regardless of the desires of his fans and critics. Sometimes he has paid for those swift changes in style and perspective: at others he has been rewarded. Most recently, of course, Dylan's popularity took a dive when he embraced the Christian religion and unashamedly sang about his devotion. Dylan didn't attempt to mask his born-again Christianity; he dove right into it. He lost a lot of his most rabid fans as a result of his move, but he stuck with his decision and made the music he was feeling. Charges of irrelevancy followed him, whereas he was once considered the greatest pop poet of our age. Now Dylan is back with Shot Of Love, and it is easily his most enjoyable work since his Blood On The Tracks masterpiece of the mid-'70s. There are moments on this album that are positively chilling. Dylan's singing and his songwriting are something to notice once again. Although the subject of Jesus is present, it is not dominant as on past recordings. Nor is the gospel feel that didn't always sound very professional. Dylan has again constructed melodies that are easy to grasp onto; his words sting and meld together once again with remarkable fluidity. And his voice has regained its special, inexplicable charm. There are many lyrical segments on the LP that are worth quoting, but to do so would detract from the experience of hearing the record. "Lenny Bruce," a Dylan tribute to the late comedian/social critic, for example,is positively flooring. Compared to similar past Dylan tributes such as those to "Hurricane" Carter and George Jackson, this one is a masterpiece. It will make any listener who isn't familiar with Bruce's work and life want to be. Nearly every other song on the album has something to say lyrically and something musically compelling about it. The arrangements are simple - Dylan uses familiar backing musicians/singers to help him bring out his music rather than drown it, and he himself sounds more sure of himself as a singer than he has in years. Perhaps what is the most wonderful thing about Shot Of Love, however, is Dylan's voice itself. He no longer sounds as if he is trying to be something other than Bob Dylan. There are moments that bring to mind various other points in his career, from the very early folk days through his rock days, country era and the more recent, mature, gospel Dylan. Dylan sounds as if he's figured out how to incorporate his beliefs into his music rather than let them dominate it. He even sounds angry again at times, and humorous at others. Plus, he's letting his feelings about concerns other than religion affect his craft again, and it's made all the difference. Perhaps a closer examination of the lyrics would help one understand what has happened to Dylan to allow this new rejuvenation to take place. One thing that's obvious is that he's singing about love with an innocent openness he hasn't used in years, as if he knows something about it he didn't before. Whatever it all means, and whether Dylan or his co-producer (Chuck Plotkin) are responsible for the wealth of excellent music to be found on this record, there is no denying that Dylan is still able to make music that matters. There's more here, after 25+ albums, than most artists will record in an entire career.

Jeff Tamarkin: CMJ New Music Report Issue: 8 - Jan 31, 1983
© 1978-2002 College Media, Inc., Inc. All Rights Reserved.



When I first heard it, Shot of Love sounded like Bob Dylan's most interesting record in a long time. Interesting, not good. Though many of the songs seemed wretchedly written, the artist's churning mixture of ultimate love (God's) and ultimate hate (Dylan's), positiveness and paranoia, missilery and martyrdom, struck me as perhaps deliberate–as if he were laying out all the contradictions in a line, creating a fractured but understandable self-portrait for us to put together. To know him is to love him, as they say, and it's pretty difficult to do either these days. With "Every Grain of Sand," Dylan actually opened the door a little, ushered the listener in with some uncharacteristically warm and inviting harmonica playing, and offered a remarkably unwarlike account of why he became a born-again Christian. There were even a couple of numbers in which he didn't sandbag us with endless I've-got-Him-and-you-don't references to Jesus.

Truth be known, my initial reaction was just another example of the old and familiar Bob Dylan syndrome: i.e., because the man's past achievements have meant so much to so many of us, we tend to give his newest work the benefit of every doubt. No more. For me, it stops right here. Unfortunately, except for "Every Grain of Sand," Shot of Love seldom gets any more interesting than that first listening. Quite the opposite, in fact. Most of the time, Dylan's still beating the same annoying drum he did on Slow Train Coming and Saved (which, between them, produced one passable–and believable–cut, "Pressing On"), and if a recognizable portrait does emerge, it's probably an unintended one, since it's filled mainly with hatred, confusion and egoism.

Being reborn changed the world for him, Dylan claims, but his Christian compositions rarely praise God in any conventional religious manner (praise the Lord and pass the ammunition, maybe). Instead, they're choked with anger, rife with self-pity and so swollen with self-absorption that the singer often seems to think that he and Jesus are interchangeable on that mythic cross. Ultimate victims. And, of course, it's all our fault. By not appreciating the genius of Bob Dylan's current material, we're supposedly crucifying him, even though he's awfully handy with the hammer and nails himself. Dullards that we are, we can't understand God. We don't understand Dylan. Our love is no damn good ("Watered-Down Love"). We're barely alive ("Dead Man, Dead Man"). Therefore, each and every one of us can go to hell.

Well, fuck that. Sinning against God and sinning against Dylan are two different things. I'm ready to believe in the mystery of a higher power and willing to hope that God exists (if He does, He's got an ungodly sense of humor), yet Slow Train Coming, Saved and Shot of Love are a whole lot more sinister and secular to me than, say, Another Side of Bob Dylan, Bringing It All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde on Blonde, John Wesley Harding, The Basement Tapes, Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid, Blood on the Tracks and Desire, albums that hit hard but with a purpose. While the earlier LPs may have lacked the Biblical benefits of Dylan's certified salvation, they certainly served up ampler portions of real Christian charity–not to mention the milk of human kindness–than do the K rations of the last three. (Even the rants were better in the old days. Dylan could cut your throat with "Positively 4th Street" and "Ballad of a Thin Man," but at least he didn't wield the knife under the guise of God's martyred messenger. There was a context that made some sort of sense, an idea that big battles–both personal and political – were being fought.)

Throughout most of Shot of Love, Bob Dylan sounds more like an irate child who's just been spanked than a grown man who's found the answer of answers. In "Property of Jesus," "Watered-Down Love," "Dead Man, Dead Man," "Trouble" and the title track, the singer's so mad that he can barely manage his splutters of spite. Heavy-handed hard rockers all, these tunes are instantly forgettable (unless you're a masochist). Inspirational verse: "He's the property of Jesus/Resent him to the bone/You've got something better/You've got a heart of stone." If that's not enough, try "Trouble," yet another state-of-the-nation tirade in the terrible tradition of "Slow Train." "Nightclubs of the brokenhearted / Stadiums of the damned," Dylan intones, and you wonder if these places could possibly be any worse than being trapped in a room with this record. (Some people think Dylan is demonstrating a born-again sense of humor here. I wish I could agree with them.)

"Heart of Mine" and "In the Summertime" deal with the problems and pleasures of man-woman love, I guess, though who can tell with Dylan anymore? In the former, the artist counsels against letting the woman know that you love her and need her (great advice that: I suppose it's called resisting temptation), while in the latter, he goes on and on about a precious "gift you gave" but can't seem to grasp the details. "I got the heart and you got the blood /We cut through iron and we cut through mud," he remembers, yet the little things escape him: "I was in your presence for an hour or so/Or was it a day, I truly don't know." Those stadiums of the damned can really take it out of you.

On Shot of Love, the soft rockers stay in your head and the hard ones stick in your craw. It's not that the band – guitarists Danny Kortchmar and Fred Tackett, keyboardist Benmont Tench, bassist Tim Drummond and drummer Jim Keltner are the chief contributors–can't play rock & roll, but that the rock & roll isn't worth playing. The fast numbers disappear down the drain with the lyrics, and Bob Dylan's singing can't save them. Searching for that mid-Sixties vocal soar at the end of the lines in "Watered-Down Love," Dylan strains and shakes and comes up short. Everybody does fine with the ballads, though.

"In the Summertime," despite its hazy lyrics, has a lovely feel to it, and Dylan's harmonica playing hangs in the air like the scent of mimosa. "Lenny Bruce" may be a stupid song (Bruce as Christ figure is a very large cliché), yet somehow the simple-mindedness of such lines as "Lenny Bruce was bad/He was the big brother you never had" seldom savages the spare–and, on this album, rare–mood of compassion and innocence. It's sad that Dylan was so careless with the lyrics. Intending to praise Bruce, the singer unwittingly insults him: "He was an outlaw ... /I rode with him in a taxi once/Only for a mile and a half/Seemed like it took a couple of months."

One shouldn't make too much of "Lenny Bruce" and "In the Summertime," however, because in the long run, neither tune is truly successful. They're merely more pleasant than most. Indeed, if it wasn't for "Every Grain of Sand," which stands a chance of becoming a Dylan classic, I doubt if I'd ever resurrect Shot of Love again. But "Every Grain of Sand" is something special: the "Chimes of Freedom" and "Mr. Tambourine Man" of Bob Dylan's Christian period. A pearl among swine, it has surety and strength all down the line. Also vulnerability. Like Charlie Chaplin's twirling cane and funny swagger, Dylan's beautifully idiosyncratic harmonica playing has metamorphosed into an archetype that pierces the heart and moistens the eye. And, for once, the lyrics don't let you down. The artist's Christianity is both palpable and comprehensible:

In the time of my confession
In the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet
Flood every newborn seed
There's a dying voice within me
Reaching out somewhere....

For a moment or two, he touches you, and the gates of heaven dissolve into a universality that has nothing to do with most of the LP.

I gaze into the doorway
Of temptation's angry flame
And every time I pass that way
I always bear my name ...

I hear the aging footsteps
Like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn there's someone there
Other times it's only me
I am hanging in the balance
Of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling
Like every grain of sand.

As excellent as it is, "Every Grain of Sand" isn't enough to hide the hate that powers the majority of songs on Shot of Love. It doesn't make you forget the creepy conservatism, the chaos and the cancerous urge to lash out and get even for some unknown sin. You do wonder, though. If Bob Dylan is so full of God's love, why is he so pissed off at the rest of the world?

PAUL NELSON - RS 354
© Copyright 2002 RollingStone.com
 

 L y r i c s


SHOT OF LOVE

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love.

Don't need a shot of heroin to kill my disease,
Don't need a shot of turpentine, only bring me to my knees,
Don't need a shot of codeine to help me to repent,
Don't need a shot of whiskey, help me be president.

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love.

Doctor, can you hear me? I need some Medicaid.
I seen the kingdoms of the world and it's makin' me feel afraid.
What I got ain't painful, it's just bound to kill me dead
Like the men that followed Jesus when they put a price upon His head.

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love.

I don't need no alibi when I'm spending time with you.
I've heard all of them rumors and you have heard 'em too.
Don't show me no picture show or give me no book to read,
It don't satisfy the hurt inside nor the habit that it feeds.

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love.

Why would I want to take your life?
You've only murdered my father, raped his wife,
Tattooed my babies with a poison pen,
Mocked my God, humiliated my friends.

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love.

Don't wanna be with nobody tonight Veronica not around nowhere,
Mavis just ain't right.
There's a man that hates me and he's swift, smooth and near,
Am I supposed to set back and wait until he's here?

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love.

What makes the wind wanna blow tonight?
Don't even feel like crossing the street and my car ain't actin' right.
Called home, everybody seemed to have moved away.
My conscience is beginning to bother me today.

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love.

I need a shot of love, I need a shot of love.
If you're a doctor, I need a shot of love.


HEART OF MINE

Heart of mine be still,
You can play with fire but you'll get the bill.
Don't let her know
Don't let her know that you love her.
Don't be a fool, don't be blind
Heart of mine.

Heart of mine go back home,
You got no reason to wander, you got no reason to roam.
Don't let her see
Don't let her see that you need her.
Don't put yourself over the line
Heart of mine.

Heart of mine go back where you been,
It'll only be trouble for you if you let her in.
Don't let her hear
Don't let her hear you want her.
Don't let her know she's so fine
Heart of mine.

Heart of mine you know that she'll never be true,
She'll only give to others the love that she's gotten from you.
Don't let her know
Don't let her know where you're going.
Don't untie the ties that bind
Heart of mine.

Heart of mine so malicious and so full of guile,
Give you an inch and you'll take a mile.
Don't let yourself fall Don't let yourself stumble.
If you can't do the time, don't do the crime
Heart of mine.


PROPERTY OF JESUS

Go ahead and talk about him because he makes you doubt,
Because he has denied himself the things that you can't live without.
Laugh at him behind his back just like the others do,
Remind him of what he used to be when he comes walkin' through.

He's the property of Jesus
Resent him to the bone
You got something better
You've got a heart of stone

Stop your conversation when he passes on the street,
Hope he falls upon himself, oh, won't that be sweet
Because he can't be exploited by superstition anymore
Because he can't be bribed or bought by the things that you adore.

He's the property of Jesus
Resent him to the bone
You got something better
You've got a heart of stone

When the whip that's keeping you in line doesn't make him jump,
Say he's hard-of-hearin', say that he's a chump.
Say he's out of step with reality as you try to test his nerve
Because he doesn't pay no tribute to the king that you serve.

He's the property of Jesus
Resent him to the bone
You got something better
You've got a heart of stone

Say that he's a loser 'cause he got no common sense
Because he don't increase his worth at someone else's expense.
Because he's not afraid of trying, 'cause he don't look at you and smile,
'Cause he doesn't tell you jokes or fairy tales, say he's got no style.

He's the property of Jesus
Resent him to the bone
You got something better
You've got a heart of stone

You can laugh at salvation, you can play Olympic games,
You think that when you rest at last you'll go back from where you came.
But you've picked up quite a story and you've changed since the womb.
What happened to the real you, you've been captured but by whom?

He's the property of Jesus
Resent him to the bone
You got something better
You've got a heart of stone


LENNY BRUCE

Lenny Bruce is dead but his ghost lives on and on
Never did get any Golden Globe award, never made it to Synanon.
He was an outlaw, that's for sure,
More of an outlaw than you ever were.
Lenny Bruce is gone but his spirit's livin' on and on.

Maybe he had some problems, maybe some things that he couldn't work out
But he sure was funny and he sure told the truth and he knew what he was talkin'
about. Never robbed any churches nor cut off any babies' heads,
He just took the folks in high places and he shined a light in their beds.
He's on some other shore, he didn't wanna live anymore.

Lenny Bruce is dead but he didn't commit any crime
He just had the insight to rip off the lid before its time.
I rode with him in a taxi once, only for a mile and a half,
Seemed like it took a couple of months.
Lenny Bruce moved on and like the ones that killed him, gone.

They said that he was sick 'cause he didn't play by the rules
He just showed the wise men of his day to be nothing more than fools.
They stamped him and they labeled him like they do with pants and shirts,
He fought a war on a battlefield where every victory hurts.
Lenny Bruce was bad, he was the brother that you never had.


WATERED DOWN LOVE

Love that's pure hopes all things,
Believes all things, won't pull no strings,
Won't sneak up into your room, tall, dark and handsome,
Capture your heart and hold it for ransom.

You don't want a love that's pure
You wanna drown love
You want a watered-down love

Love that's pure, it don't make no claims,
Intercedes for you 'stead of casting you blame,
Will not deceive you or lead you to transgression,
Won't write it up and make you sign a false confession.

You don't want a love that's pure
You wanna drown love
You want a watered-down love

Love that's pure won't lead you astray,
Won't hold you back, won't mess up your day,
Won't pervert you, corrupt you with stupid wishes,
It don't make you envious, it don't make you suspicious.

You don't want a love that's pure
You wanna drown love
You want a watered-down love

Love that's pure ain't no accident,
Always on time, is always content,
An eternal flame, quietly burning,
Never needs to be proud, restlessly yearning.

You don't want a love that's pure
You wanna drown love
You want a watered-down love


THE GROOM'S STILL WAITING AT THE ALTAR

Prayed in the ghetto with my face in the cement,
Heard the last moan of a boxer, seen the massacre of the innocent
Felt around for the light switch, became nauseated.
She was walking down the hallway while the walls deteriorated.

East of the Jordan, hard as the Rock of Gibraltar,
I see the burning of the page, Curtain risin' on a new age,
See the groom still waitin' at the altar.

Try to be pure at heart, they arrest you for robbery,
Mistake your shyness for aloofness, your shyness for snobbery,
Got the message this morning, the one that was sent to me
About the madness of becomin' what one was never meant to be.

West of the Jordan, east of the Rock of Gibraltar,
I see the burning of the stage,
Curtain risin' on a new age,
See the groom still waitin' at the altar.

Don't know what I can say about Claudette that wouldn't come back to haunt me,
Finally had to give her up 'bout the time she began to want me.
But I know God has mercy on them who are slandered and humiliated.
I'd a-done anything for that woman if she didn't make me feel so obligated.

West of the Jordan, west of the Rock of Gibraltar,
I see the burning of the cage,
Curtain risin' on a new stage,
See the groom still waitin' at the altar.

Put your hand on my head, baby, do I have a temperature?
I see people who are supposed to know better standin' around like furniture.
There's a wall between you and what you want and you got to leap it,
Tonight you got the power to take it, tomorrow you won't have the power to
keep it.

West of the Jordan, east of the Rock of Gibraltar,
I see the burning of the stage, Curtain risin' on a new age,
See the groom still waitin' at the altar.

Cities on fire, phones out of order,
They're killing nuns and soldiers, there's fighting on the border.
What can I say about Claudette?
Ain't seen her since January,
She could be respectably married or running a whorehouse in Buenos Aires.

West of the Jordan, west of the Rock of Gibraltar,
I see the burning of the stage,
Curtain risin' on a new age,
See the groom still waitin' at the altar.


DEAD MAN, DEAD MAN

Uttering idle words from a reprobate mind,
Clinging to strange promises, dying on the vine,
Never bein' able to separate the good from the bad,
Ooh, I can't stand it, I can't stand it,
It's makin' me feel so sad.

Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.

Satan got you by the heel, there's a bird's nest in your hair.
Do you have any faith at all? Do you have any love to share?
The way that you hold your head, cursin' God with every move,
Ooh, I can't stand it, I can't stand it,
What are you tryin' to prove?

Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.

The glamour and the bright lights and the politics of sin,
The ghetto that you build for me is the one you end up in,
The race of the engine that overrules your heart,
Ooh, I can't stand it, I can't stand it,
Pretending that you're so smart.

Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.

What are you tryin' to overpower me with, the doctrine or the gun?
My back is already to the wall, where can I run?
The tuxedo that you're wearin', the flower in your lapel,
Ooh, I can't stand it, I can't stand it,
You wanna take me down to hell.

Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.


IN THE SUMMERTIME

I was in your presence for an hour or so
Or was it a day? I truly don't know.
Where the sun never set, where the trees hung low
By that soft and shining sea.
Did you respect me for what I did
Or for what I didn't do, or for keeping it hid?
Did I lose my mind when I tried to get rid
Of everything you see?

In the summertime, ah in the summertime,
In the summertime when you were with me.

I got the heart and you got the blood,
We cut through iron and we cut through mud.
Then came the warnin' that was before the flood
That set everybody free.
Fools they made a mock of sin,
Our loyalty they tried to win
But you were closer to me than my next of kin
When they didn't want to know or see.

In the summertime, ah in the summertime,
In the summertime when you were with me.

Strangers, they meddled in our affairs,
Poverty and shame was theirs.
But all that sufferin' was not to be compared
With the glory that is to be.
And I'm still carrying the gift you gave,
It's a part of me now, it's been cherished and saved,
It'll be with me unto the grave
And then unto eternity.

In the summertime, ah in the summertime,
In the summertime when you were with me.


TROUBLE

Trouble in the city, trouble in the farm,
You got your rabbit's foot, you got your good-luck charm.
But they can't help you none when there's trouble.

Trouble,
Trouble, trouble, trouble,
Nothin' but trouble.

Trouble in the water, trouble in the air,
Go all the way to the other side of the world, you'll find trouble there.
Revolution even ain't no solution for trouble.

Trouble,
Trouble, trouble, trouble,
Nothin' but trouble.

Drought and starvation, packaging of the soul,
Persecution, execution, governments out of control.
You can see the writing on the wall inviting trouble.

Trouble,
Trouble, trouble, trouble,
Nothin' but trouble.

Put your ear to the train tracks, put your ear to the ground,
You ever feel like you're never alone even when there's nobody else around?
Since the beginning of the universe man's been cursed by trouble.

Trouble,
Trouble, trouble, trouble,
Nothin' but trouble.

Nightclubs of the broken-hearted, stadiums of the damned,
Legislature, perverted nature, doors that are rudely slammed.
Look into infinity, all you see is trouble.

Trouble,
Trouble, trouble, trouble,
Nothin' but trouble.


EVERY GRAIN OF SAND

In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed
There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair.

Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake,
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break.
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.

Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear,
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer.
The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay.

I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name.
Then onward in my journey I come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.

I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light,
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me.
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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