Quiet Desperation

Quiet Desperation

Up at the five, out by the six
I beat the rush hour, I know all the tricks
I sleep in the traffic while the rest of you play
Don't you worry about it, my truck knows the way

Now I'm forty-nine and I'm feelin' old
Used to be I'd look down and I could stare at my toes
Now I can't see past the mortgage, I'm actin' my age
Am I worth any more than the shit I am paid
I used to look through my dreams
Now it's the bars of this cage

And the mass of men
Lead their lives
In quiet desperation
Jus' lookin' to hide
Down in the dark
Jus' waitin' to die
Be quiet
Listen, you can hear it
Be quiet
Listen, you can hear it

I used to travel a road made of bricks colored gold
And I could do anything, 'til I put it on hold
Oh, where did that record and that best-seller go?
If the truth was known, it'd never get told

Now, I'm tired like a train pullin' up a steep grade
And the light in the tunnel is beginning to fade
And I drink even more than I ever did
And it's on the way home, 'stead of just now and then
And I don't ask for help and I can't shout it out
I just lay here and drown
In my soul

And the mass of men
Lead their lives
In quiet desperation
Jus' lookin' to hide
Down in the dark
Jus' waitin' to die
Be quiet
Listen, you can hear it
Be quiet
Listen you can hear it

Up at the five, out by the six
I beat the rush hour, I know all the tricks

© D. Dain, 1996.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

My favorite Christmas song -- I have accented the verses I use in red. I like to sing the first three verses. The forth verse is lyrically weak in relation to the others and the fifth verse, while very good, in my mind detracts from the strongest lyrical point of the song, which is the end of the third verse.

Bruce Cockburn has the best recording of this song, on his "Bruce Cockburn Christmas".

The slight pause before and after the word "still" rings that "Bell In My Chest" every time.

And, there is still time. For now.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

Lyrics by Phillips Brooks, 1835-1893.
Music by Lewis Redner, 1830-1908. (The tune is named simply "St. Louis")

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.

For Christ is born of Mary,
And gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth!
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him, still
The dear Christ enters in.

Where children pure and happy
Pray to the blessed Child,
Where misery cries out to thee,
Son of the mother mild;
Where charity stands watching
And faith holds wide the door,
The dark night wakes, the glory breaks,
And Christmas comes once more.

O holy Child of Bethlehem!
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us to-day.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel

My Best Friend

Merle (Chalky) Pittman was a Veteran of the Korean War, a Mailman in every sense of the word, and in the end, dignity personified; a remarkably composed, gracious and mercifully understanding friend.

My Best Friend

My best friend was a mailman
Through rain and sleet and snow
God chose to take him early
So let us look at what we know

Seems delivery times are much improved
And the service is so very smooth
The mail is hardly ever late
So let’s call this an even trade

He'd quit smokin’ 20 years ago
Then they said he got the bug
He was kinda proud it was so rare
They said the only cure was prayer

Seems grace and mercy are conveyed
By a Higher Power far above harm’s way
And there’s not life enough to understand
And not a lot of faith on hand

My father had this theory
That the chosen should be tested so
That the ones spared, not scarred by pain and loss
Are the ones God does not know
- He does not know

Still, delivery times are much improved
And the service is so very smooth
The mail is hardly ever late
So let’s call this an even trade

My best friend was a mailman
Through rain and sleet and snow
God chose to take him early
So let us look at what we know

My best friend was a mailman
Through rain and sleet and snow
- that’s all I know

© D. Dain, 1997.

Winter's Hand

A song for my earthly Father.


Winter’s Hand

I’ve seen Winter’s Hand a-creepin’
‘cross my Father’s brow
And I know that certain things have changed between us
But I’m not certain now just when and how

And if I did not have that certain hope of Glory
And I did not know just where I’ll be
I fear despair would overtake me
With Winter’s Hand so close to me

But, there is a beauty buried in that sorrow
Though we may not think it very plain to see
It takes a hold upon the souls
Of those who do believe
And it throws us toward the Promised Land
It pushes, drives and binds
These fragile ties together
In a song of the sublime


Sometimes I feel it reaching out to me
And though all of Nature screams against it
I cannot help but want to leave

For there is a beauty buried in that sorrow
Though we may not think it very plain to see
It takes a hold upon the souls
Of those who do believe
That we are more than just mere numbers
More than Chance can think upon much less conceive
And we are who we are
And He is who He is
And Winter’s Hand just sets us free

Winter’s Hand
Oh, Winter’s Hand
Just sets us free….

© D. Dain, 1998.

Lord....

How much do we really love?

Lord....

Lord, where we goin'?
Do I really want to go?
How do I handle knowin'
Jus' Who is in control?

I bite the hands that love me
Cut 'em off to save my soul
Keep my head down, screw my friends
Mosy back on to the fold


Oh, It only finds You early
Only Blesses chosen ones
Most times you miss that Train to Glory
Shot thru by Destination's Gun


No oil left to light the lamp
So thirsty that it hurts
We read it all, we left it lay
And now we pay the curse

And I cast my lot so long ago
The choice was bound to stone
Desparate blood is in my eye
Not the kind that can atone

And Lord, it's gettin' warm down here
The course is almost run
Horsemen crest the ridge above
Look down on what we've done

Mark my forehead, mark my hands
Mark my soul's march to Mt. Doom
Mark the Word and slam the door
The Inn has no more room


Lord, where we goin'?
Do I really want'a go?
How do I handle knowin'
Jus' Who is in control?

I bite the hands that love me
Cut 'em off to save my soul
Keep my head down, screw my friends
Mosy back on to the fold


Oh, It only finds You early
Only Blesses chosen ones
Most times you miss that Train to Glory
Shot thru by Destination's Gun


Megiddo and a White Throne waitin'
And then Your Golden Eye
All my fault and all my failing
All my love and all a lie

© D. Dain, 2006.

Train Thing

This is an old one.


Train Thing

I saw her on the 4th Street Bridge that overlooks the freight yards
And a hundred directions and the choices are so hard
She was standin’ at the railing, with a grey wind at her back
I said "I always find you here" - she looked away and softly laughed
Then she motioned toward the weeds that are always there beside the tracks
And she said “The lies can grow so high, that love can never make it back.”

And I said, “It’s just a train thing.
You jus’ got a thing for trains.”
It's just a train thing
And we held hands and made our way on home

Well, the metaphor escaped me and I took comfort in the fact
That stability could mean much more than a rusty, old, train track
Her daddy was a preacher man, she grew up singin’ in the choir
With a voice that gently slit your soul, then set your brain on fire
Maybe I’m a little slow, it sure took some time to see
Maybe even then she knew her train would someday leave

And it’s just a train thing
She’ jus' got a thing for trains
It's just a train thing
And I made my way on home

Now I come down to the 4th Street Bridge that overlooks the freight yards
And a hundred directions and the choices are so hard
And I hold on to that railing and the life that's at my back
Sometimes I see her here and I always hear her laugh
And I look over the weeds that have covered all the tracks
And know the lies can grow so high that love may never make it back

And it’s just a train thing
I jus’ got a thing for trains
Oh, it’s just a train thing
And we hold hands and make my way on home

© Daniel Dain, 1996.