Get all 8 Bill Davie releases available on Bandcamp and save 20%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Night Sky, Raise Your Heart/Bill Davie LIVE, The Water Dance, Lifelike, Gravity, Phobia Robes, Write At The Light, and The Lunatic Cafe.
1. |
How Long You Gonna Wait?
03:39
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HOW LONG YOU GONNA WAIT?
© Bill Davie
You’re waiting for the perfect moment.
A time when she least expects it.
You’re gonna finally tell her how you really feel.
Chorus:
How long you gonna wait for the right word?
How long you gonna wait for the right time?
Gonna starve while you’re waiting on the harvest moon?
How long you gonna (wait?)
Waiting for the ride that might not come.
Waiting for the day you don’t feel dumb.
Waiting in the rain is fine for some.
How long you gonna wait?
You’re waiting til you think she’s ready.
You’re waiting til the market’s steady.
You’re waiting til the kids are out of school.
You’re waiting til you get a haircut.
You’re waiting til you lose that ten pounds.
You’re waiting til you deal with all your shit.
How long you gonna wait?
(Chorus)
You’re waiting for the next reunion,
though they happen only once every ten years.
Still, you never want to feel that you spoke too soon.
How long you gonna . . . ?
You’re waiting for the hip replacement.
And when you’re done with the physical therapy.
And you can finally walk without that cane.
How long you gonna wait?
(Chorus/first verse)
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2. |
The Only Magic I Know
03:31
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THE ONLY MAGIC I KNOW
© Bill Davie
One in a series of self-conscious boys
schooled on The Island Of Misfit Toys.
You’ll find in my pockets the tricks I employ
for the only magic I know.
My Dad had a few moves and taught them to me.
He’d let me sit-in and to sing harmony.
I’d follow his fingers wherever they’d lead,
into the only magic I know.
None of my teachers were ever aware
of amazed concentration and wide-open stare.
They took me spelunking as if on a dare,
into the only magic I know.
It can get dark in here
on the way to the light,
and it’s sparse in here
when there’s nothing to write,
and if you park in here,
then there’s no end in sight, I know . . . (repeat)
So why am I still standing out here on these boards
scratching these vocals and strumming these chords?
There’s a girl in the front row who never looks bored
by the only magic I know,
by the only magic I know,
by the only magic I know.
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3. |
Will You Come Away?
02:40
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WILL YOU COME AWAY?
© Bill Davie
And will you come away with me,
oh Diane my darling?
Will you come away with me
to lie on the verge of the salty sea,
and to know it's where we're meant to be,
oh Diane my darling?
And shall I wear a suit of black,
oh Diane my darling?
And shall I wear a suit of black
to walk with the friends who won't come back,
and to finally make my peace with that,
oh Diane my darling?
And will they dig a proper grave,
oh Diane my darling?
And will they dig a proper grave
near to the drum of the breaking wave?
And will the grandkids all behave,
oh Diane my darling?
And will they sing a song I wrote,
oh Diane my darling?
And will they sing a song I wrote,
they found in the pocket of a threadbare coat,
and then fold it up into a paper boat,
oh Diane my darling?
And will they shed a grateful tear,
oh Diane my darling?
And will they shed a grateful tear
for the rough old sea that brought us here,
and then raise a glass to the coming year,
oh Diane my darling?
And will you come away with me,
oh Diane my darling?
Will you come away with me
to lie on the verge of the salty sea,
and to know it's where we're meant to be,
oh Diane my darling?
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4. |
Summer Island
03:17
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SUMMER ISLAND
© Bill Davie
Heartbreak me back to Summer Island.
Map in my mind, the Puget Sound.
Replay those memories like movies.
Restore each frame of dewy ground.
Now that my good work’s growing weary,
and my relations growing wings,
I will not feel so old and dreary
if I can re-collect these things.
Heartstrings that sing on Summer Island
around a fire of salted wood.
I hear those melodies receding.
I’d run to catch them if I could.
Before the photos fade completely
and all our gardens turn to stones,
these friends I’d serenade discreetly
to press more love into their bones.
Heart warm me home to Summer Island
where my first flare for words was lit.
These crooked lines are just a remnant
of how she fed and tended it.
Now that my good work’s growing weary,
and my relations growing wings,
I will not feel so old and dreary
if I can re-collect these things.
Heartbreak me back to Summer Island.
Map in my mind, the Puget Sound.
Replay those memories like movies.
Restore each frame of dewy ground.
Replay those memories like movies.
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5. |
Stump Town
03:21
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STUMP TOWN
© Bill Davie
The day they took the maple tree
I poured the coffee strong.
I sat down at the window
near where it had stood so long.
The pen was on the paper
the sun was on the ground
it heated up my strings until
they had to make a sound.
Will their singing bring it back?
The green is falling down
and the clearing’s getting wider
here in Stump Town.
The day they took the maple tree
we killed another lake,
high up on a mountain
near some stuff we had to take.
Now the Mississippi’s crying
and the Colorado too,
they’re calling out their sorrow
which is all that they can do.
Will their singing bring it back?
The green is falling down
and the clearing’s getting wider
here in Stump Town.
The day they took the maple tree
the poet passed away.
He sat down at the window
just like any other day.
The pen was on the paper
and the crows were on the fence.
They gathered in their hundreds
for some noisy reverence.
Will their singing bring him back?
The green is falling down
and the clearing’s getting wider
here in Stump Town.
Does our singing set us free,
to sell the soul inside the tree,
to sell whatever hope we see?
Is that what’s to be?
Is that what’s to be?
The day they took the maple tree
I dreamed about my kids.
They were pulling out my notebook
from the place I kept it hid.
And there amid the failures
and the wrinkled sheets of rain,
my pen was on the paper
in the shape of this refrain.
Did my singing bring it back?
the green is falling down
and the clearing’s getting wider
here in Stump Town
(repeat)
Did our singing bring it back?
Will our singing bring it back?
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6. |
The Sun In The Windows
03:17
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THE SUN IN THE WINDOWS
© Bill Davie
Now the sun’s staring in through the windows,
And he’s circling the house as he goes,
And he’s not trying to make any trouble
He’s just doing his job I suppose.
And pain like a three a.m. phone call,
The doctors say it’s all in your head.
And pain like a road map of Paris
With Quasimodo hiding under the bed.
Chorus:
And it’s the same sad story
with the same dead (bad, sad) end,
and if we don’t want things to go down like that
then we’ll have to work together again.
We’ll have to work together.
Now the sun’s staring in through the windows,
And he’s circling the house as he goes,
And he’s not trying to cause a commotion,
He’s just doing his job I suppose.
And you’re waiting to be further disabled
By torches and pitchforks and tar,
With feathers driven down from Nebraska,
And chicken shit all over the car,
(Chorus)
We’ll have to work together
put our heads together
Now the sun’s staring in through the windows,
And he’s circling the house as he goes,
And he’s not trying to hurt anybody,
He’s just doing his job I suppose.
And you don’t mean to sound so pathetic,
But there’s serious things to discuss,
Like how hatred has tainted the water
Both outside and inside of us.
(Chorus)
put our hearts together.
Remember how to work together.
put our hands together.
Remember how to work together.
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7. |
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MAN WITH A TWO-HEADED HEART
© Bill Davie
There’s a man with a two-headed heart down there
standing by the road in his underwear.
He’s making quite a scene but he doesn’t seem to care.
The man with a two-headed heart’s down there.
There’s a man with a two-headed heart close by,
looking out for love ‘cause he doesn’t want to die.
Pointing with his thumb toward the southern sky.
The man with a two-headed heart’s close by.
There’s a man with a two-headed heart I met
standing by the eaves so we wouldn’t get wet.
“I don’t know where I’m going, but I’ll get there yet,”
said the man with a two-headed heart I met.
There’s a man with a two-headed heart outside.
He’s been there all day but he hasn’t got a ride.
His thumb is sagging but his smile is wide.
The man with a two-headed heart’s outside
There’s a man with a two-headed heart in here.
He looked a little lonely so I offered him a beer.
Says he’s got to go when the road is clear.
The man with a two-headed heart’s in here.
(repeat first verse)
down there, down there
close by, close by
outside,
in here, in here.
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8. |
Father's Day
04:48
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FATHER’S DAY
© Bill Davie
Where is the son?
I've been searching all day
down an intricate network of roads
where he's likely to stray.
Where it's spoken in eyes
and printed in skin,
the infinite network of cells
that connects me to him.
Where is the son?
Where is the son?
Is he driving away
with a claw at the tip of his tongue
so there's nothing to say?
With a heart full of hands
that are aching for touch
and a head full of innocent fears
about feeling too much?
Where is the son?
Where is the son?
I guess everyone knows
the pull between a man and a boy,
how it swells as he grows.
And the pivotal scene,
they let go of the rope.
All the words and the plans are released
leaving only the hope.
Where is the son?
Where is the son?
He's still living in me,
with pages of unanswered questions
he no longer sees.
So he passes them on
without thinking of cost,
in the hope that the echoes of blood
will replace what is lost.
Where is the son?
Where is the son?
Here is the son.
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9. |
The Blue Spruce Motel
02:59
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THE BLUE SPRUCE MOTEL
© Bill Davie
Motel coffee
in a styrofoam cup.
Laid down real late,
gotta get up.
Visiting the children,
the old man’s back.
Ashes on the asphalt
of a two lane track.
Singing, “Remember me.”
Friends are scattered
between these hills.
Mountain heat waves,
river’s chills.
Cool that forehead,
stretch that back.
Time is precious,
it's time we lack.
Singing, “Remember me.”
Singing, “Please remember me.”
Motel coffee
clears my head,
better than a barroom
or a motel bed.
Bedside bible
in an empty drawer.
Lay my clean shirts
on a motel floor.
Little bitty Jesus
in a little bitty room.
Little bit lonely;
gotta head back soon.
Take a boy to breakfast,
take a girl to lunch.
“Hello,” and “Goodbye,”
and feel that punch.
Singing, “Remember me.”
Singing, “Please remember me.”
Talk about tender,
talk about tough.
Talk about money,
how there’s never enough.
Those twenty fingers,
those twenty toes,
got their own directions,
gotta let them go.
got their own directions,
gotta let them go.
Singing, “Remember me.”
Singing, “Please remember me.”
Singing, “Please remember.”
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10. |
The Day I Was Older
02:52
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THE DAY I WAS OLDER
© Bill Davie
The day I was older I thought about Dad,
his cartoon faces and the talks that we had.
I picked up this guitar and played something sad,
and that was the day I was older.
The day I was older I called my best friend.
We spoke of our history and how it might end,
and all the love letters that we’ll never send,
and that was the day I was older.
We don’t talk enough about grace anymore.
Our gratitude sleeps in a box by the door.
We shop to feel better and live in the store,
and fellowship keeps getting colder.
The day I was older was all in my head.
I counted them down and I colored them red.
Then wished like the devil there was more to be said,
but that was the day I was older.
We don’t talk enough about grace anymore.
Our gratitude sleeps in a box by the door.
We shop to feel better and live in the store,
and fellowship keeps getting colder.
The day I was older.
The day I was older
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11. |
Hymn To The Muse
03:15
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HYMN TO THE MUSE
© Bill Davie
Just a few lines of glory
from a cloth pocket man.
He’s walking by the lakeside
with a smooth rock in his hand.
He’s fallen far behind the ones
who ride the public air,
to the place where they’ll be dining
and forget that he is there.
Through doorways that are splintered
he rushes with his pen.
To the diamond mines of poetry
he falls with other men,
and as morning’s rainy echo
strikes a pose for him to see,
he drops down into mercy,
folds his hands and takes a knee.
Just a few lines of glory
from a broken little hole.
That string of ones and zeros
we used to call the soul.
He’s ready to be called out
for the things he couldn’t say.
There were deadfalls on the switchbacks
that he couldn’t clear away.
Through thickets full of needles
he rushes with his pen.
Through the clearcuts of poetry
he hikes with other men,
and as daylight’s redemption
strikes a pose for him to see,
he dips down into thankful,
folds his hands and takes a knee.
Just a few lines of glory
to be read out when he’s gone,
from the secondhand store table
that he built his days upon.
From the dome below his desk lamp
where he last called out to her.
To the trellis of his pages
and what he thought they were.
To the dark he’ll never speak of,
he rushes with his pen.
Toward the sunrise of poetry
he rides with other men,
and if no one ever finds him
or what he tried to be,
may they all stand here and wonder,
fold their hands and take a knee.
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12. |
Old Married Men
03:21
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OLD MARRIED MEN
© Bill Davie
Old men are shadows
of the way things should have been.
On my back porch we gather
to review the “where’s” and “when’s.”
We were not bred for idle time,
yet we don’t feel ill at ease,
‘cause we can dance around the laughing eyes
of the ones we still seem to please
Chorus:
Yeah we’re deep in the third act
close to the fire and the coal sack
like old Abednego and Shadrach
or the moths on the sill
It means we’ve still got the climax
and all the stuff that happens after that.
Exchange the hot for the cold facts,
just like we probably will.
Old men are shadows
of the dreams that made them young.
Our children climb the ladders
while we brace the bottom rungs.
It’s a long day mending fences,
but it pays well in the end,
‘cause we can dance around the laughing eyes
in the arms of our best friends.
(Chorus)
We’ve been made fools by money,
sold that comfort
comes with time.
We been lied to by a system
that was built on other crimes.
We were fooled by the mirror
when it made us look so
trim and young,
Oh, but love never made a fool
of us,
Other than a willing one.
Old men are shadows
of the way things should have been.
On my back porch we gather
to review the “where’s” and “when’s.”
It’s a long day mending fences,
but it pays well in the end,
‘cause we can dance around the laughing eyes
in the arms of our best friends.
(Chorus)
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13. |
Night Sky
03:11
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NIGHT SKY
© Bill Davie
Under the glittering pins of the night sky,
walking alone on a path we have memorized.
They say getting older is not for the meek;
we can testify.
Fooled into thinking our demons would retreat;
they’re still standing by.
Whatever’s left of my time I will give to you.
Promises made in the past never rang so true.
And maybe our way will be testing and cold,
maybe heavenly.
One of us left with just memories to hold;
will you hold me?
You will hold me.
Under the visiting shade of the rising moon,
breeze in a wind chime singing a sad tune.
Silvery cloud like a glimpse of your hair;
this is lyrical.
Strands of our love spreading out on the night air
like a miracle.
Like a miracle.
Under the glittering pins of the night sky.
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Bill Davie Seattle, Washington
Bill Davie began playing and singing when he was three years old. He wrote his first song at age 11. He produced eight recordings of original songs, five self-published books of poetry, and continues to be an active writer and performer at clubs, coffeehouses, colleges, and concert halls in the Pacific Northwest. ... more
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