Bobryanmusic.com: The Tracks

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Not sure where these things come from; these stories and songs. With any of us, I suppose, they come from the million fragments of memory and impression that float around in our soul, our spirit, our unconcious mind...Pictures of childhood; the long, slow days; the open-ended time...

Written for one of the "Wordmeister" plays staged by Open Door @ Nite (Later, Sharkey Productions.) I believe my character, David Austin, sang it as the opening of "Return of the Wordmeisters" just before Mike and Stew started cursing each other over the tape recorder. Lights up!

Pieces of cherry wood; bare grey vines;
seagulls crying in the clouds
out over Thunder Bay,
in the failing light.
Whispering radios; cold steel skies;
hearing a voice call out my name;
every sound a sweet surprise
and a warm delight.

Traces of water on the sand;
something like silk against my hand.
People and places in a stream,
everything racing like a dream.
All the pictures and the words
come together into stories — back behind my eyes.
All the faces and the names
come together into stories — back behind my eyes.

Pictures of childhood; the long, slow days;
the open-ended time;
the way the climbing trees swayed
in the easy wind.
Puddles and paper boats; all day rain;
a crisp October breeze.
The flaming leaves go dancing down,
down through the memories.

People and places in a stream,
everything racing like a dream.
Traces of water on the sand;
something like silk against my hand.
All the pictures and the words
come together into stories — back behind my eyes.
All the faces and the names
come together into stories — back behind my eyes.