Live at Telequana Tavern
- In Memory
- Rusted Tracks
- Again (Open to the Sun)
- Holy Fire
- Young Man with a Big Dream
- Irish American Blessing
- Take My Silence
- The Homer Beach
- That Old Heartache
- Lighthouse
- Urban Cowgirl Elevator Ride
- In Time
Migration
- The Cuckoo
- That Old Heartache
- El Pajaro y la Flor
- Irish American Blessing
- End of Days
- Sing Me to Dreaming
- Rusted Tracks
- Homer Beach
- Top of the Mountain
- Take My Silence
- In Time
- Homecoming
In Alphabetical Order by Song Title
Again (Open to the Sun)
Raindrops are falling. My heart is calling to you, my love.
Skies may be gray. My lips might not say anything much.
But beyond the clouds, the sun shines just as strong.
And behind my silence, I have loved you all along.
Now the time has come to open to the sun.
Along come the fears, the sadness and the tears of disappointments past.
Wish you could help me send them off and then be free at last.
But the walls ‘round my heart are heavy and old.
I wish you could dissolve them, but I know you have your own.
Tell me, how does one open to the sun?
Should I kiss you slow? Then will you know all I long to say?
Should I gaze at you with my soul in view? Then will you stay?
We’ve got everything to tell, and nothing left to hide.
We’ll open to the sun once this rain subsides.
Once we’ve come undone, we’ll open to the sun.
[written by Heather Stewart]
El Pajaro y la Flor
El pájaro vuela toda la noche. Se guía por la luna,
the bird flies all night, guided by the moon,
su compañera en oscuridad que se parece eterna.
his companion in darkness that seems to go on forever.
Aquí, hay tranquilidad, entre las estrellas.
Here, there is peace amid the stars.
El escucha al ritmo del corazón y las alas.
He listens to the rhythm of his heart and of his wings.
Vuela conmigo, amor, a través del desierto,
Fly with me, love, across the desert,
encima de las montañas, al más allá, al cielo.
above the mountains, to the world beyond, to heaven/the sky.
El pájaro ve una flor radiante en la valle.
The bird sees a brilliant flower in the valley.
Por la luz temprana y por su mirada, ella se illumine.
She is illuminated by the early morning light and by his gaze.
El descansa y de los labios de la flor bebe el rocio,
He rests and drinks the dew from the flower’s lips,
entonces continua de viaje y canta como volando:
then continues on his journey, singing as he flies:
Vuela conmigo, amor, a través del desierto,
Fly with me, love, across the desert,
encima de las montañas, al más allá, al cielo.
above the mountains, to the world beyond, to heaven/the sky.
La flor se abri por el día en la luz más intensa.
The flower opens during the day, in the most intense light.
Por la noche, ella se dobla los pétalos y espera.
At night, she folds her petals and waits.
Por la luz temprana, ella se hace pesada
In the early light, she becomes heavy
con el agua de vida y espera… espera…
with the water of life and waits… waits…
espera… espera… espera… espera…
waits… waits… waits… waits…
La época de las lluvias viene y se va.
The rainy season comes and goes,
y para que dormir la flor se dobla.
and in order to sleep, the flower bends over.
Se promete despertarse como pájaro
She promises that she will awaken as a bird
con las alas y la voz para que cantar:
with wings and a voice to sing:
Vuela conmigo, amor, a través del desierto,
Fly with me, love, across the desert,
encima de las montañas, al más allá, al cielo.
above the mountains, to the world beyond, to heaven/the sky.
Vuela conmigo, amor, a través del desierto,
Fly with me, love, across the desert,
encima de las montañas, al más allá, y al cielo.
above the mountains, to the world beyond, and to heaven/the sky.
[written by Heather Stewart]
End of Days
Place one foot before the other, my love.
You don’t know where you’re going or how long the road is.
Place one foot before the other, my love.
I will be waiting for you ‘round the bend.
Place one foot before the other, my sweet.
I know you might be tired, and the road might be steep.
Place one foot before the other, my sweet.
I will be singing for you until the end of days.
Place your trust in the heart, my love.
Your head has got you lying, though you stubbornly keep trying.
Place your trust in the heart, my love.
I can come through for you only then.
Place your trust in the heart, my sweet.
I know you might be scared, for that rabbit hole is deep.
Place your trust in the heart, my sweet.
I will be here for you until the end of days.
Place your hand in mine, my love.
You think you walk alone, but you’ve never been more wrong.
Place your hand in mine, my love.
I stand beside you, your quiet friend.
Place your hand in mine, my sweet.
I’ll lead you to the ocean where all our rivers meet.
Place your hand in mine, my sweet.
Let me walk with you until the end of days,
always, until the end of days.
[written by Heather Stewart]
Holy Fire
She’s a hustler with a voice like honey,
Her smile in his heart, her eyes on the money.
Her love’s a game, she plays what she’s dealt.
She won’t tip her hand; she goes down to the felt.
These are the people that he meets when he’s living a lie, he’s living a lie.
These are the faces that he greets with his halfhearted smile, his halfhearted smile.
Oh-oh-oh come back to me my dear, reluctant lover.
Let your fear take its leave. We’ve too much more to discover.
Oh-oh-oh come back to me. Let your blue flame burn brighter.
Spread your anger at my feet. Burn it clean, holy fire.
He’s a player with a heart of gold.
Deal the cards now, before he’s out cold.
He likes them young, beautiful and flighty.
Hold ‘em tight, then let go lightly.
These are the people that she meets when she’s living a lie, she’s living a lie.
These are the faces that she greets with her halfhearted smile, her halfhearted smile.
Oh-oh-oh come back to me my dear, reluctant lover.
Let your fear take its leave. We’ve too much more to discover.
Oh-oh-oh come back to me. Let your blue flame burn brighter.
Spread your anger at my feet. Burn it clean, holy fire.
We look for love in hidden places in cringing faces, in tear-stained eyes.
We build it up with wishful stories, with twisted mores, with open lies.
Oh-oh-oh come back to me my dear, reluctant lover.
Let your fear take its leave. We’ve too much more to discover.
Oh-oh-oh come back to me. Let your blue flame burn brighter.
Spread your anger at my feet. Burn it clean, holy fire.
Burn it clean, burn it higher. Burn it clean, holy fire.
[written by Heather Stewart]
Homecoming
There’s a bird in these mountains calling to its mate.
As it soars overhead, I hear it cry:
Am I too late? Am I too late?
Am I too late? Am I too late?
There’s a tree in these rocky hills, growing where no tree should be.
I see it and I think of you. I smile and I sing:
You’re not too late. You’re not too late.
You’re not too late. You’re not too late.
Oh, the wind will blow us on, but if our roots here are strong
We will return to the place we call home.
We will return. We will come home.
There’s a tree fallen ‘cross the trail. It’s slippery with moss,
and bigger than I know how to climb. My mind is at a loss.
Do I go on? Do I go on?
Do I go on? Do I go on?
There’s a creek in this valley that flows all year long
From glaciers big enough to feed it. They seem to say:
Keep going on. Keep going on.
Keep going on. Keep going on.
Oh, with every twist and turn, the road will bring us to the great unknown,
but we will never forget our dearest home.
We will remember. We will come home.
There’s a place where the road ends. Then the trail ends, too.
Nothing left but snowy peaks to climb until I’m through.
Will I find you? Will I find you?
Will I find you? Will I find you?
Like a fire burning somewhere, warm and bright.
I think of you as I tread through the long days and nights.
I will find you. I will find you.
I will find you. I will find you.
Oh, we say we’re headed somewhere, but we’ve truly always been there.
We are the place that we call home.
We are home. We are home.
We are home. We are home.
We are home. We are home.
[written by Heather Stewart]
Homer Beach
Here I stand upon the shore, a million stones beneath me,
each a story yet untold, countless lifetimes sleeping.
Here I stand beneath a sky streaked with clouds of gray.
It stretches farther than my mind begins to comprehend.
A whipping wind urges me, rips fear from my frame,
a carrion feast for those that feed on the bygone bits of me.
Before me lies a pale blue sea, the water cold and deep.
I will build a sturdy boat to safely carry me
beyond the sea, to mountain peaks that wait to be traversed.
Among their snowy creases, I will wend a course.
A whipping wind urges me, rips fear from my frame,
a carrion feast for those that feed on the bygone bits of me.
The path is long and beautiful, in all directions goes.
The path is long and beautiful, in all directions goes.
The path is long, so long. The path is long, so long.
The path is long and beautiful, in all directions goes.
[written by Heather Stewart]
In Memory
There once lived a man whose eyes were flecked with gold.
He graced me with the light of his bright unending soul.
When darkness lay upon him, it crushed him to the bone.
He was broken. He was shattered in ways I couldn’t know.
When all is said and done, when all our games are played,
When all our rivers run to an ocean so vast,
It just goes on and on, and on and on,
and on and on, and on and on, and on and on…
We will meet again and know ourselves as one.
Oh, all the pretty horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put that man back together again.
An angel came softly to his bed in the night.
She bade him leave his body and join her in the light.
When all is said and done, when all our games are played,
When all our rivers run to an ocean so vast,
It just goes on and on, and on and on,
and on and on, and on and on, and on and on…
We will meet again and know ourselves as one.
Oh, I hope he took her hand. I pray he had the strength
To walk with her to something more than nothing in the end.
If wishes were flares, beacons in the night,
I’d wish that man to heaven who graced me with his light.
When all is said and done, when all our games are played,
When all our rivers run to an ocean so vast,
It just goes on and on, and on and on,
and on and on, and on and on, and on and on…
We will meet again and know ourselves as one.
We will meet again and know ourselves as one.
[written by Heather Stewart]
In Time
He looks at her in her favorite dress.
She looks away, her heart a mess.
They said goodbye, but no one quite knows why.
Her life with him was too much too soon.
She ran away ‘though she loved him true.
She needed time to herself for a while.
She longs to be with him again,
a fresh new start, the pain to end,
and all the things that had gone wrong set right.
This is not a noose hanging ‘round our necks.
This is not a crime that we can’t forget.
This is not a wound that can’t be healed in time.
This is just the swing of a pendulum.
We went too far; now we’ve come undone.
But we’ll find the solid middle ground in time.
Time can be a prison. Time can be a thief.
When time collapses in our hearts, oh the sweet relief!
In time, in time. In time, in time.
A man is standing holding out his hand.
He sees himself in this strange young man
who reaches out and says, “It’s been too long.”
His son is home after twenty years.
His face is hard from holding back the tears
of a lifetime spent trying to be strong.
The son looks back at his old man,
wonders what their life might have been,
and what comes now, after he’s been gone.
This is not a noose hanging ‘round our necks.
This is not a crime that we can’t forget.
This is not a wound that can’t be healed in time.
This is just the swing of a pendulum.
We went too far; now we’ve come undone.
But we’ll find the solid middle ground in time.
Time can be a prison. Time can be a thief.
When time collapses in our hearts, oh the sweet relief!
In time, in time. In time, in time.
Two old women walking down a road,
too much grief has left them bitter and cold.
They stand on either side of thick barbed wire.
They lost their children to a bloody war.
They no longer know what they’re fighting for,
But the anger lies too deep to be denied.
At the border where the soldiers stand,
guns on backs or in the hand,
the women stare into each other’s eyes.
This is not a noose hanging ‘round our necks.
This is not a crime that we can’t forget.
This is not a wound that can’t be healed in time.
This is just the swing of a pendulum.
We went too far; now we’ve come undone.
But we’ll find the solid middle ground in time.
Time can be a prison. Time can be a thief.
When time collapses in our hearts, oh the sweet relief!
In time, in time. In time, in time.
[written by Heather Stewart]
Irish American Blessing
Raindrops are falling on my windowpane today.
The world outside is calling, but I think that it can wait.
I think that it can wait. I know that it can wait.
The sitting chair is empty, but a ghost of you remains.
Your photo hanging on the wall smiles at me again.
Smile at me again. Won’t you smile at me again?
I know the road you’ve taken is right for you, my friend.
I trust that it will bring you home to me in the end.
May the road rise to meet you. May the wind blow at your back.
‘Til we meet again, God hold you in the palm of his hand.
I am still here staring at the space you left behind.
While you’re out wayfaring, do you hear me in your mind?
Do you see me in your mind? Do you feel me in your mind?
Rain has washed my windows. I can see the world outside.
I miss you, but it’s time to go and live my own life,
live my own life, love my own life.
I know the road you’ve taken is right for you, my friend.
I trust that it will bring you home to me in the end.
May the road rise to meet you. May the wind blow at your back.
‘Til we meet again, God hold you in the palm of his hand.
May the road rise to meet you. May the wind blow at your back.
‘Til we meet again, God hold you in the palm of his hand.
May the sun shine warm upon you.
May the joys be pure that surround you.
May all your dreams come true.
May your wishes bring you home soon.
[written by Heather Stewart]
Lighthouse
The ground is cold. The night is dark. The air is stale here by the hearth.
I should be drinking and forgetting, but my stubborn heart won’t let me.
I dream of you in a foreign land, deep blue water, golden sand.
Flowers bloom and worries die in your sturdy arms tonight.
I stand on the shore, watch the tide rolling on,
light the top of this house, wait for you.
Roof’s on fire, come to shore. Take me with you when you come
This is not my home anymore.
Your skin is dark; your eyes are bright. Your smile could chase away the night.
I know there’s more I dare not see, but my stubborn soul won’t stop me.
I call to you; you don’t respond. I’m left to wonder what went wrong.
Or maybe all is as it should be, and there is more to our mystery?
I stand on the shore, watch the tide rolling on,
light the top of this house, wait for you.
Roof’s on fire, come to shore. Take me with you when you come
This is not my home anymore.
Frozen wonders don’t escape; instead they melt and drain away.
I should be thankful, and I am, but these stubborn thoughts won’t end.
I dream of better days with you, all the things we didn’t do
all the things we didn’t say, all the time we spent miles and miles away…
I stand on the shore, watch the tide rolling on,
light the top of this house, wait for you.
Roof’s on fire, come to shore. Take me with you when you come
This is not my home anymore.
We’ve miles and miles yet to go, maps of each other yet to know.
When does the sun shine in the heart of darkness? (of darkness)
I stand on the shore, watch the tide rolling on,
light the top of this house, wait for you.
Roof’s on fire, come to shore. Take me with you when you come
This is not my home anymore.
This is not my home anymore.
This is not my home anymore.
[written by Heather Stewart]
Rusted Tracks
I dreamt I stood in a barren land, desert for miles around.
I longed for home, for love, for something to take me from this town.
A train pulled in to a sign that read, “nowhere you want to stay.”
[or “know where you want to stay”]
A man on board waved his cap at me. I climbed aboard as it pulled away.
The railroad conductor pulled out a guitar, plucked those tender strings,
sat me down in the dining car, and this he began to sing:
Let these songs carry you down those rusted tracks,
through all of your grim old ghost towns, though you swore you’d never be back.
One day will bring the end of this old rail line, my friend.
Your destination is the promised land, a new life to begin.
I’m sorry, love, but getting there means going through
things you swore you’d left behind.
As we climbed up mountains high and down through tunnels drilled to hell,
tears came streaming from my eyes. In my anguished mind I yelled,
“Steady this old battered heart. It’s beating more than I can bear!”
Knuckles white and torn apart, lungs grasping at thin air.
The railroad conductor pulled out a guitar, plucked those tender strings,
sat me down in the dining car, and started once again to sing:
Let these songs carry you down those rusted tracks,
through all of your grim old ghost towns, though you swore you’d never be back.
One day will bring the end of this old rail line, my friend.
Your destination is the promised land, a new life to begin.
I’m sorry, love, but getting there means going through
things you swore you’d left behind.
[written by Heather Stewart]
Sing Me to Dreaming
I’ve shared enough houses with strangers and mouses,
the blare of a TV my lullabye tune.
I’m meant for a bed with stars overhead,
a blanket of freedom, and you.
So sing me to dreaming. The cat’s got your meaning,
but your tongue seems to make the words just fine.
What do we need, but our songs, and our dreams,
and the faith that we’ll make it all right? Make it all right? Make it all right?
Through long drives and cold nights, a dark stage with bright lights.
The faces are blurring in the crowd.
There’s so much inside me, been locked up and hiding,
scratching at my skin to get out.
So sing me to dreaming. The cat’s got your meaning,
but your tongue seems to make the words just fine.
What do we need, but our songs, and our dreams,
and the faith that we’ll make it all right? Make it all right? Make it all right?
If home’s where my heart is, it’s gone and departed.
That train left the station long ago.
‘Been talking ‘bout leaving, but words are deceiving.
We’re still here with everyone we know.
So sing me to dreaming. The cat’s got your meaning,
but your tongue seems to make the words just fine.
What do we need, but our songs, and our dreams,
and the faith that we’ll make it all right?
Make it all right? Make it all right?
Make it all right? Make it all right?
[written by Heather Stewart]
Take My Silence
I would write out all the things that I might say to you.
But words could never do my heart justice.
Our eyes and hands say more in a moment
than our minds and tongues will ever know.
The clock is ticking slowly on the wall as I wait.
The seconds flow; they roll along like waves.
The clock is ticking slowly on the wall as I wait.
The seconds flow; they roll along like waves upon the ocean.
If what is to be already is,
then what is there for me to do?
I’ll clear my head of all these questions.
Standing still, I’ll wait for you.
The clock is ticking slowly on the wall as I wait.
The seconds flow; they roll along like waves.
The clock is ticking slowly on the wall as I wait.
The seconds flow; they roll along like waves upon the ocean.
Take my silence for the gift that it is.
Words could never do this moment justice.
Lying in your arms after years have come and gone,
my heart is breaking with the dawn.
The clock is ticking slowly on the wall as I wait.
The seconds flow; they roll along like waves.
The clock is ticking slowly on the wall as I wait.
The seconds flow; they roll along like waves upon the ocean.
[written by Heather Stewart]
That Old Heartache
Don’t let it poison you, that old heartache.
Let the spell once cast, cast upon you, break.
Sing a song of sorrow. Sing a song of joy.
Sing about tomorrow. Sing about the void
that holds all the promise that yesterday betrayed.
Tell me it was only – for a time – delayed.
Don’t let it poison you, that old heartache.
Let the sleeper deep inside, inside you, wake.
Sing a song of sorrow. Sing a song of joy.
Sing about tomorrow. Sing about the void
that holds all the promise that yesterday betrayed.
Tell me it was only – for a time – delayed.
delayed… delayed… delayed…
Don’t let it poison you, that old heartache.
Let go the old life, a new life make.
Sing a song of sorrow. Sing a song of joy.
Sing about tomorrow. Sing about the void
that holds all the promise that yesterday betrayed.
Tell me it was only – for a time – delayed.
[written by Heather Stewart]
The Cuckoo
Oh the cuckoo, she’s a pretty bird. She warbles when she flies.
She’ll cause you no trouble. She’ll tell you no lies.
Oh, you built your log cabin on a mountain so high,
you can see the world below you as life passes you by.
Oh the cuckoo, she’s a pretty bird. She warbles as she flies.
She never says cuckoo ‘til the fourth day of July.
Love has taught you to be cautious, to keep your heart locked away.
Your independence is like a weapon, keeping heartbreak at bay.
Oh the cuckoo, she’s a pretty bird. She warbles as she flies.
She never says cuckoo ‘til the fourth day of July.
Aren’t you lonely in your cabin on a mountain so high,
far from all those who would love you, if you let them, bye and bye.
Oh the cuckoo, she’s a pretty bird. She warbles as she flies.
She will cause you no trouble. She will tell you no lies.
Coooo-coooooo, Cooooooo-coooooo, Coooo-cooooooo.
[traditional, new verses written by Heather Stewart]
Top of the Mountain
Meet me at the top of the mountain, love.
We’ll stay up late and talk ‘round the fire.
We’ll laugh at all the tales we’ve yet to tell
of dreams and schemes we played so well.
Meet me at the top of the mountain, love.
We’ll make a home of this unlikely heaven.
We’ll watch that fierce and fickle wind blow
leaves and dreams across the fields below.
They dance much the same way we’re moving
across this hardscrabble wooden floor.
The crowd is getting drunker by the minute,
our boots beneath the table, my hand in yours.
We slowly step in circles. The band plays a song,
an ode to this old bar in Somewhere, Alaska.
If you leave before me, I’ll ask you love,
to meet me at the top of the mountain.
Meet me at the top of the mountain.
Meet me at the top.
[written by Heather Stewart]
Urban Cowgirl Elevator Ride
Lift me up to the next floor because I won’t get there on my own.
So tired of climbing, I don’t know where I’m going anymore.
Close the doors while I’m in it. Give me pause for just a minute,
To let my cares and my limitations drain from my imagination.
They don’t all go easy, those worn out pieces of me.
Who am I without my sorrows keeping me company? (keeping me company)
Lord only knows. Lord only knows.
I will ride it, let my fellows stand beside me
In this crazy little world within the world that we know.
When it opens in the next place, I’ll put a smile onto my face,
Step outside into the life that waits for me to claim it as my own.
[written by Heather Stewart]
Young Man with a Big Dream
There’s a young man living in a big town,
left his home, came back again. But this time ‘round, you’d best believe
he’s got a dream bigger than this old broke down machine.
His dream is bigger than this old broke down machine.
He is trying to make somebody proud,
to prove that he’s the kind of man that don’t just hang around.
He’s got a dream bigger than this old broke down machine.
His dream is bigger than this old broke down machine.
He reaches for his pockets and he shakes his fist at God,
feels his empty wallet, and he tells the old devil where to go.
His dream is bigger than this old broke down machine.
He’s got a dream bigger than this old broke down machine.
A cold wind is howling down the streets tonight,
biting everyone it meets, but he’s not going to lose this fight.
His dream is bigger than this old broke down machine.
He’s got a dream bigger than this old broke down machine.
[written by Heather Stewart]
String of Lights 