Fathers, sons and despair.
Hot, unrequited passion.
A rockin' blues tune.
That time at 3 or 4 in the morning, when you break out in a cold sweat, full of regrets.
A simple man, with simple needs.
A puppet revolt.
The confusion of love.
Love, freedom and self-deception.
Seasonal but timeless. I ain't ready for the cold.
Troping toward the light.
An instrumental that sounds like its name.
Leaving behind a cycle of negative behaviors and memories.
Desperate times don't always provide any measures, drastic or otherwise.
Don't let censorship hold you down.
Written for my brother, who always told me to "go with the flow".
John Prine is comfort food for the ears.
Conception of my third child.
Dread of blowback from infinite war.
An instrumental rag.
The title sums it up.
No religion owns any place.
A song for the rest of us.