Personnel:

Greg Goldman: All guitars, basses, keys, key sequencing, hand percussion, and drum sequencing; balalaika on Concession Stand, and drum kit on Last Chance.

Andy Goodson: Drum kit on Nowhere, Bad Brakes, and Different.

Charlie Platt: Drum kit on Really You and Calliope.

Justin Howell: Drum kit on Concession Stand, Stick To It, and Two Stories Taller.

Produced and engineered by Greg Goldman

Second Engineer: Andy Goodson

Recorded and mixed at Cedar Studios, Fayetteville, Arkansas and Athens, Ohio

Mastered by Greg Goldman at Cedar Studios in Athens, Ohio

All songs written by Greg Goldman

Album cover concept/all graphic design by Brandi R. Parker

Album cover photo taken by Brandi R. Parker

Andy Goodson appears courtesy of Countstableen Records

Charlie Platt appears courtesy of his wife

Thanks to Andy & Michelle Goodson, Charlie & Chaddie Platt, Justin Howell, the Turners, Brandi R. Parker, Ryan Baldrachi, Bobby Kinkela, Charlie Campbell, the Ozments, my family, my wonderful supportive parents, and my wife, Liz.

Really You

I formed a sentence from the silence.

I fall in lilies and let down my hair.

I can’t be someone I’ve seen

walking down the street.

I can’t be something I feel

without checking with the rest of me.

I can’t believe it

Is that really you?

I can’t believe it

Are you really home?

I felt the prison I forced inside me.

I sense the presence of the last Calliope.

I can’t believe what I’ve seen

wandering around my head.

I can’t believe what I’ve been,

walking around half-dead.

I can’t believe it

Is that really you?

I can’t believe it

Are you really home?

This is the last time I’ll take you there,

and watch you become your own -

This is the last time I’ll take you there,

and watch you become your own someone.

Nowhere

Here I’ve got another chance to make it.

Did you ever believe

that I’d get here alive and in one piece?

The hopes we shared have all been shaken.

Well, I’m not sure,

but it seems like there’s more we haven’t seen,

if this is real.

All this is nowhere – it gets us nowhere.

It gets us torn.

And I believe you could be happy

if you’d just let it go,

dream of the world you haven’t seen.

Too late to play the part you wrote me.

And it’s, “Simmer down!

I can’t wait around for you to see

the whole time it wasn’t me.”

All this is nowhere – it gets us nowhere.

It gets us torn.

Top of the peak and I can see from here for miles

and I believe it isn’t something you could ever

get your hands on

and it’s something good, and something real,

and can’t you let me have my bit of sun

without contending that it’s ending

and you can’t be part of me?

All this is nowhere – it gets us nowhere.

It gets us torn.

Calliope

Come on, Calliope, I need you to come,

to teach me the song and help me sing along.

Come on, Calliope, they all think I’m fine,

but I know it’s time to untangle my mind.

But I’m afraid that I won’t know what to do,

and the words will take flight in my head.

On the ground, where I sit within my world,

the worms will find their food.

I’m on the outside now, seemingly strong.

But watch for a while, and I’ll be falling down.

I’m amazed that I made it out alive

each time that I’ve taken your hand.

But I’m away, and I wanna get back again,

and get on with my life.

Come on, Calliope, I need you to come,

to teach me the song and help me sing along.

Concession Stand

“I said it right.”

“I let it out.”

These are hardly phrases

you will ever hear from me.

I’m out there, alright:

I’m in the hole!

And there’s hardly a man, woman, or child

who doesn’t know where I’ve been.

But I don’t leave you all with a bad

taste in your mouth after all?

I expected to be the one to lose control.

I don’t expect you to be the ones to let it go.

I thank my stars I’m on my way.

And if I can make a difference,

it’s only because you made it so.

I feel obliged to pay my way,

but if I can take assistance,

I’ll be the richest man of all.

And I say such things to let you

study my face for a while,

expecting to hear me say it’s all a joke.

I won’t expect you to be the ones to let it go.

Stick To It

There she goes again inside her own

often troubled head, and off alone.

I would leave her to it

if I thought that she’d come home before the fall.

On the way to offer up my bones

to the last few rays of October sun,

I feel as though I’m moving

inside a vast and hollowed block of stone.

I’ve heard enough.

I’m done with all I’m doing.

I’ve had it all,

and I am sticking to it

because I feel the way that I’ve always felt for you,

and I’ve had it all.

So we stand and gather up ourselves

underneath the silk that hushes cones,

and it draws us to it

like a vine might draw its water from the soil.

I’ve heard enough.

I’m done with all I’m doing.

I’ve had it all,

and I am sticking to it

because I feel the way that I’ve always felt for you,

and I’ve had it all.

Last Chance

I forget what I wanted to say.

I never say what I’m thinking anyway.

You always hide yourself in worthless visions.

What’s up with me? I don’t know.

I’m alive and I’m helping myself.

You never gave me an answer anyway.

You always set yourself apart from people,

Balling it up in your head.

We belong along with people

homogeneous of mind,

feeding on the vine which keeps our

arbor intertwined.

And you are on a different path, my friend;

you keep it safe within to the bitter end.

The story goes, we were partners in faith

and somewhere after, you folded and gave way

to all the creeping eyes and suspect voices

demanding you wallow in pain.

I tried to tell you, to help you to see it for yourself.

You won’t believe me.

You refuse to heed me.

You won’t concede to me.

Just think of it as your last chance

to turn it around and move on;

you can never come back and change it

once it’s done.

But you are on a different path, my friend.

You keep it safe within you to the bitter end.

Immobile

I wasn’t what you wanted – I forced a change on you.

As far as we had gotten, I knew what I’m to do.

And I think that I’ve been dreaming of

all the things that might do you wrong.

I’m sorry that I folded on you.

And I feel so immobile.

I’m peeling back my heartache after far too long.

I’m angry at the places I’m finding I was wrong.

And I wish that I could say that I

was always acting in the right.

I wish I hadn’t tarnished your view.

And I feel so immobile.

I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I was wrong.

I guess it’s true that patterns can be the death of love.

But I think that I am reeling from

all the things that might do you wrong.

I’m sorry that I folded on you.

And I feel so immobile.

Bad Brakes

I’m not the thing I was when I came here.

I’m falling off the edge of my short pier.

I’m killing myself off with all this cheap beer.

I’m talking about my end like it’s damn near over,

yeah like it’s damn near gone.

Just give me what I want and I’ll thank you.

Just prep me for that jaunt and I’ll leave, too.

Just walk me to the wall and I’ll break through.

It’s not too far to crawl, so I’ll meet you halfway.

Yeah, I’ll meet you there.

Try to find yourself another

hiding place to trust your life to.

Kind enough to hold your tongue

when speaking truth in spiels and haikus.

Time is only short

when there’s some time to watch it flow.

And I forgot that I’m alive.

I always was alone, now I’m with you.

I always wandered home with my retinue.

I always took my blows as they’re issued.

I always fall below where I meant to find myself,

yeah where I meant to be.

Give and thou shall get what you deserve

regardless of your bad brakes.

Where can I find God?

In Aisle 7 with the fat-free corn flakes?

More or less the same when averaged

over several months of heartache.

Some of what you say could make me

sick enough to change.

And I just remembered I’m alive.

Alive! I’m alive? I’m alive!

Different

I belong some-

I belong somewhere

other than this.

For the life of-

For the life of me,

I can’t remember

I can’t remember your name.

Don’t you know that you’re singular?

Don’t you know that you’re something else?

Don’t you know that you’re no one to forget?

I been lonesome.

I been lonesome

for your closeness.

I’m so gutless.

I’m impotent.

Take me from this.

Take me from this mess I made.

Don’t you know that you’re singular?

Don’t you know that you’re something else?

Don’t you know that you’re no one to forget?

I swear this time I’ll make it different.

I swear, I swear, I swear.

Two Stories Taller

He stood before me there,

his eyes saw straight through my brain.

He told me of a way he and I could melt my pain.

And as the rain came down,

my fears, they slipped away.

I was something to him then.

I took Calliope and walked along the shores.

I touched the light and heat, as ancient ones before.

And in the darkness of the light, I saw one more.

He told me what I should not need.

And when the war was over,

and I had chalky nothingness alone,

I thought I was much older.

I thought this place would come to be my home.

Will you save yourself?

To be someone else…

I have more vindiction.

I storied myself high and watched another fall.

I bent to pick him up, but I was much too tall.

And when I’d gone away to walk upon the wall,

I watched steel be torn to shreds.

And when the war was over,

and we had nowhere else to go but home,

I knew I was much older,

and his own grim insanity his home.

Will you save yourself?

To be someone else…

I have more vindiction.