1990 CD Rykodisc RCD-10203
1990 CS Rykodisc RACS-0203
1991 CS Rykodisc 203

John Lombardo - Bass, Guitar, Vocals, Guitar (12 String), Producer
Mary Ramsey - Organ, Piano, Violin, Viola, Vocals
Augie Meyers - Accordion
Joey Molland - Guitar, Vocals (background - I Became Alone)
Jerome Augustyniak - Drums, Vocals (background)
Joe Barbaria - Mixing
Robert Buck - Guitar, Mandolin
Mitch Easter - Engineer
Ronnie Lane - Vocals (background - We Have Nothing)
Dr. Toby Mountain - Mastering
Armand John Petri - Percussion, Engineer, Mixing
Steven Jurgensmeyer - Design
Shannon Carr - Mixing

RED WOODEN BEADS (Lombardo-Ramsey)

Marika stamped her feet saying hey hey listen to me
a face she’d never meet, saying hey hey listen to me
sitting in the kitchen light, prism crystal glass
the banking ledger overdrawn
a silent prayer as if to make it pass.

Marika’s days were spent thinking hey hey listen to me
her nights in argument thinking hey hey listen to me
running down the alleyway to catch the last Guignol
calling names of cities and a life she would never know.

late in the evening, sorting what to keep
the boxes in the bedsit, her clothes all in a heap.

Marika free at last signing hey hey listen to me
all through her autumn past signing hey hey listen to me
moving toward the telephone, dinner on the run
the spiral cord wrapped round her wrist, the table sold
a brand new day begun.

later in the evening, she found a missing key.
the lock turned in a jewel box
and there some red wood beads for her to wear.

THE AZALEA FESTIVAL (Lombardo-Ramsey)

like strangers on the road a distant view
I saw someone who looked like you.
my blood ran chill as snow, my body shook
I’d only found where not to look.

I’d hung the sky with stars in hopes you came
I called you by your childhood name.
tears raining in my heart a funeral kiss
I never though it’d end like this.

not you alone you won’t delay
or wound the dawning of the day.
not you alone this voice is screaming
a ray of hope get up stop dreaming.

with joined hands and downcast eyes the curious crowd
very angry and very loud.
the saddest of farewells the pouring rain
a ticket on an empty train.

I am too near so much to lose
I wonder how she’ll take the news.

like emeralds from the sky the green pier lights
how children would have loved those sights.
hearts ticking through the night the morning bells
the wait for death in shore hotels.

not you alone....
I am too near....
coffins with sails set by the brave.
sharp pointed spears around each grave.

PILES OF DEAD LEAVES (Lombardo-Ramsey)

piles of dead leaves, warm wing blowing crabapple trees
hands to the sky, eye at the keyhole on bended bare knees
lying face down, small eyes glancing room all around
dark at the stairs, the warm wind blowing breath through hair
without a home alone, suffering and not saying so
that lesser souls will never see me turning back again and again.

I went my way, looking around at scars on the ground
you went your way, naming the stars, the shells, the trees.
Susie and me, riding our bikes and swinging from trees
mud in our toes, the red rocks glowing in the glistening stream
and catching raindrops few, iridescence in the haze
the colors twisting in and out
the crunch the creek the crackle the crow

and you on your way to school
me sitting all alone
playing with the dusty things
waiting for the hall clock’s chime to ring

we were two, just two you, you, you, you
and everything we did so far lightning bugs in canning jars
rocks and rings and funny things: ashes, ashes we all fall down

late Sunday night, there on the table package from you,
woolen bright socks, stripes and dots of burgundy blues
soles having been worn playing around in different towns
sometimes when I sleep
the sounds from the window they bring me on back
when we went away dancing in the rain
I was splashing you here, everywhere you.

and you on your way to school, me sitting home alone
rocks and rings and funny things in our boxes all away.
I collected more than you, went fishing, this and that with you
rocks and rings and funny things all around you.

WE HAVE NOTHING (Lombardo)

as it hides from sunlight the winter moves on
and now gone like ghosts things we counted upon
the check you promised never came
I beat the windows and bawled your name
we have nothing.

I’ve the feeling this is happening twice
longtime friendships are now melting like ice
so good with words yet now they fail
as seasons meet and the days grow pale
we have nothing

the long-buried poems the night that we met
and then the hour we swore we’d never forget
the ticking clock moved backwards too
till I wasn’t sure if it was still you.

people stirring at their windows at dawn
and we stood pissing on the constable’s lawn
is that the moon there at the foot of the pool
I was happy now I feel like a fool.

like a curtain dropping down from above
it’s as though you had never been loved
we made a list from one to five:
good reasons not to be alive
we nursed our drinks in a workman’s bar
we kissed goodnight in a freezing car
we have nothing.

RAGS OF FLOWERS (Lombardo-Ramsey)

city streets with noises abound
telephone wires sparkled with sound
all believed impeachably
world without end, amen, amen
and the grass grew yellow and brown
and the sky wasn’t blue
and at first when our radios worked
we wouldn’t believe it was true.

boy with friend awalking the land,
woman in fields a plow in the earth
goods a plenty in front of the store,
life was in love with the mushroom cap war
and the grass grew yellow and brown
and the sky wasn’t blue
and at first when our radios worked
we wouldn’t believe it was true.

looking for the fort we built by the old abandoned mine
but there was nothing, nothing we could find.
there was no place for seeking and hiding,
no time left for us finding
the worn-out whisky bottles
as my cold hands drawing crosses on the ground

searching for our secret tree, the one with both our names
but there was nothing, nothing we could find.
there was no place for seeking and hiding,
no time left for us finding
the worn-out whiskey bottles
as my cold hands drawing crosses on the ground.

stunted trees growing wild in the pool,
once summertime swims, now shade keeps us cool
Kunda’s baby never got born,
victory gardens all withered and worn
and the grass grew yellow and brown
and the sky wasn’t blue
and at first when our radios worked
we wouldn’t believe it was true.
the rags of flowers bloom
the clouds a living tomb
and Christmas is coming soon turn gladly back home.

I BECAME ALONE (Lombardo-Ramsey)

cutting squares of cloth from scraps of old dresses,
sewn quilt hanging on the wall.
over there just to remind me how I became alone.

angled scissors to the life there devoted,
apple branches scent the air.
asking her who hasn’t been asked,
red the color of her hair.

I pulled the rope, and it broke.
laughing startled with surprise.
I knew there and then that everything had changed
no good days and no goodbyes.

I caught you in the web, you were standing there alone.
I could cry but then I hear voices.
just brittle flowers in the wind.

I woke the old man sleeping on a rumpled bed,
he grasped my hand so tight.
as the snow fell silent into the shadows holding breath
’tween slanted light.

all the boys are now far gone away, folded letter by the phone.
watch the mouths move but they not hearing
I became alone.

THE OPEN WINDOW (Lombardo-Ramsey)

she walked away with the ring in her hand.
the back door open scattered coins on her night stand.
the room around her so silent and sill.
the echoes of the voices lingered from a time
when so long ago and far away,
how sweet the fiddled bow did play.
smiles around the table as they talked intimately.

when she would leave them her children alone,
their cries and protests made her want to stay back home
in isolation she worked into night,
her hands all calloused by the twisted vines she’d fight.
then she’d think of times so long ago,
the dinner embers still aglow
smiles around the table as they talked intimately.

the window was open, the daughter was pale
the steam pipes were broken and her hand
froze to the rail.

when so long ago and far away
how sweet the fiddled bow did play.
smiles around the table as they talked intimately.

the grief lay all around her. no food, heat, just war.
she looked in the tarnished mirror, her glowing eyes
traveled to a place
where the would drink and dance on dusty florid days.

the little boy sat and polished his shoes
he’d rub them with a cloth so shined he couldn’t lose.
a small green vase for his mom he wished to win,
to bring the life back to the face that’s always been
full of love and live and sparkle lay
a mother’s tear to make her stay.

the sky grew dark, the rain clouds pour,
she wouldn’t see her anymore.
so long ago and far away,
how sweet the fiddled bow did play
smiles around the table as they talked intimately.

the window was open, the daughter was pale
the steam pipes were broken and her hand
froze to the rail.

JULY 6 (Lombardo)

July 6: the end of the world was in sight.
and in Hartford the circus tents glowing if just for one night.
’44: a world torn apart at the seams
but a three-ring performance tonight to a land make-believe.
and all eyes were moving as one
at marvels from far-away lands
but no eyes had noticed the child,
happy just to be there in the stands.
eyes so wild.
working men as honest as summer days long
had been saving for weeks for this night now it finally had come.
times like these can make you forget all that’s lost,
yellow ponies parading as flaming batons skyward tossed.
but no one could ever explain
how everything just fell apart,
how heaven was turned into hell,
or just how a fire could star.

over six thousand people were panicking, screaming,
and clawing their way to the gate.
and by morning the death angel’s toll had reached one-sixty-eight.
families came, a listing of victims they’d read.
all so senseless and tragic this wake of a human stampede.
all but one identified there cold as stone.
all but one had been claimed by their loved ones
and taken back home.
a young girl lay silent and still
as if she were trapped in a dream.
the newspapers posted her face,
a face that nobody had seen.
not a soul.

the photograph taken was printed in papers, Seattle clear to Maine
and no person on earth would admit just to knowing her name.
not a friend, not her school.
playmates gone, neighbors none.
not one clue.

PRAM (Lombardo)

the year has passed like a snake on a lawn
you could reach for its tail and in a moment it’s gone
out from the shadows a dream opens wide
like a light from a star that already has died.
the woman held her daughters’ hands
(a lucky penny in the well)
and sang them songs of distant lands
(the ocean in this hollow shell)
the pram cut loose away it floats.
their song will never reach these boats.

for eighteen years I’ve studied the way
but I see no more clear and my hair is still grey.
if someone asked me just what I have found
I would point to the heavens, I’d point to the ground.
the moonbeams dancing on the lake
(the snow fell silent soft and white)
I’ve heard their sound it’s yours to take
(a halo round the amber light)
the pram cut loose away it floats,
their song will never reach these boats.

I sat upon the master’s chair to wait.
caught in the midnight sky, the moon would silver everything
head up, eyes straight.

the lamplight burning the staircase is steep
and the children are noisy so no one can sleep.
the wind is rising a train whistle moans,
I’m clapping my hands and I’m coming back home.
one room, one bed, one jar, one bowl
(the starlings perched along a wire)
there’s not a single house I know
(the poachers huddled round the fire)
the pram cut loose away it floats.

their sound will never reach these boats.

the grand dream palace as the hour grew late
caught in the midnight sky, the moon would silver everything
head up, eyes straight
(now Lindy wipe that tear away)
head up, eyes straight
(and things won’t always be this grey)
head up, eyes straight
(if you don’t like it we won’t stay)
head up.

UN CANADIEN ERRANT (Traditional, arranged by Mary Ramsey)

un Canadien errant,
banni de ses foyers —
parcourait en pleurant
des pays etranges.

un jour, triste et pensif,
assis au bord des flots.
au courant fugitif
il adressa ces mots:

“si tu vois mon pays,
mon pays malheureux,
va, dis a mes amis
que je me souviens d’eux.

“non, mais en expirant
o mon cher Canada!
mon regard langard languissant
vers toi se portera.”

(TRANSLATION)

an errant Canadien,
banished from his homeland —
weeping, he travels on
wandering through foreign lands.

one sad and pensive day
sat on the river’s bank.
to the evasive currant,
he addressed these words:

“if you should see my home,
my sad, unhappy land,
go, say to all my friends
that I remember them.

“no, but with my last breath,
oh my dear Canada!
my languid glance toward home
shall carry me to you.”