Story Behind The Song

I wrote this when my jaw was wired together after I broke it. I listened a lot since talking was difficult.

Song Description

To many times we forget to see and hear all the things around us,

Lyrics

There are sounds all around us, like the trickling of water,
Like the wind through the windows, that rattles the shades;
Curtains blow open, from the storm that's been drifting,
From North Carolina, up the coast of Maine.

Cat's at the back door, cryin' and scratchin',
Looking for action, and the heart of the day;
The crows are a'screeching, forever searching,
For 'coons on the highway, a place to prey.

And the sounds of people, talking 'bout problems,
Small fleeting moments, that get us engaged;
About the boss that won't tell them, 'bout nothing important,
And it doesn't matter, the pattern's so strange.

And the Listener just listens, to all of the heartache,
To the sounds of the city, the dramas of life.
The Listener rocks slowly, on the porch that is creaking,
Always a'thinking, stays sharp as a knife.

Doctor, oh doctor, my lady don't love me,
She won't lift a finger, when push comes to shove;
It's not what is due me, it's not what I wanted,
I truly need guidance, or help from above.

I can't see beyond me, my world is a'swirling,
I need help to manage, to level my road;
You seem like a kind man, you seem like a wise man,
Give me your wisdom, help ease my load.

And the Listener just listens, to all of the heartache,
To the sounds of the city, the dramas of life.
The Listener rocks slowly, on the porch that is creaking,
Always a'thinking, stays sharp as a knife.

My back has grown weary, my world it is wanton,
This trial of my lifetime, owes me a few;
I really could use, a spark of good fortune,
But since I don't have one, you'll have to do.

I'm getting older, my fingers they fail me,
Go fetch my pillow, to comfort my berth;
Go sugar my coffee, drop off my letter,
Your life is mine now, for what it is worth.

And the Listener just listens, to all of their heartache,
To the sounds of the city, the dramas of life.
The Listener rocks slowly, on the porch that is creaking,
Always a'thinking, stays sharp as a knife.