Personnel:

Greg Goldman: Guitars, basses, keys, key sequencing, hand percussion, household objects, and drum sequencing.

Andy Goodson: Drum kit on Parenthetic Pearl, Come Down, Pieces of Hurt, Fulfill the Prophet, Anymore, and Dry Land.

Charlie Platt: Drum kit on Big Big Lie.

Adam Darlin: Drum kit on Hiding in a Cloud.

Jim Johanson: Congas and shaker on Hiding in a Cloud.

Sean Redefer: Rhythm guitar on Hiding in a Cloud.

Produced and engineered by Greg Goldman

Second engineer: Andy Goodson

Hiding in a Cloud engineered by Jim Johanson

Recorded and mixed at Cedar Studios, Fayetteville, Arkansas and Athens, Ohio (except track 3)

Track 3 recorded and mixed at the Ohio University Telecommunications Audio Production Studio, Athens, Ohio

Mastered by Greg Goldman at Cedar Studios, Athens, Ohio

All songs written by Greg Goldman

Album cover concept and insert by Brandi Parker

Album cover photo taken by Brandi R. Parker

Andy Goodson appears courtesy of Countstableen Records.

Charlie Platt appears courtesy of his wife.

Special thanks to: Andy and Michelle Goodson, Charlie and Chaddie Platt, Justin Howell, Jim Johanson, Jeff and Sean Redefer, Adam Darlin, the Turners, Brandi Parker, Ryan Baldrachi, Bobby Kinkela, Charlie Campbell, the Ozments, my family, my wonderful supportive friends, and my wife, Liz.

Parenthetic Pearl

She got her life, she takes her time.

She got her own world, and I got mine.

She got her share of wounded pride.

She been way far gone,

and she got the scars to prove it.

And I don’t feel anymore

of this low-down desperation

that I was feeling before

this karmic respiration.

Give me something to lean on,

and I’ll try not to kiss the floor.

I’m waiting, waiting for more.

Far beyond the world? I wonder.

Apologetic girl: below her

promises unfurl.

We’re far along with scarlet tongs.

My parenthetic pearl, live on.

I’m hypnotized, been polarized.

I’m hanging back one step,

but I can’t say why.

And I don’t feel anymore

of the low-down desperation

that I was feeling before

this perquisite elation.

With a reticent sheen on,

I turn as I close the door,

impatient, aching for more.

Far beyond the world? I wonder.

Apologetic girl: below her

promises unfurl.

We’re far along with scarlet tongs.

My parenthetic pearl, live on.

Come Down

You’re lone, and I don’t know why.

You fall like it’s from the sky.

Am I wasting time trying to believe

that your faith is nigh impossible to sheath?

You form the mountain that you’re scaling up,

I believe, I believe.

You’re climbing higher, but you still belong

on the ground, so come on down.

You’ve known for a long, long time

you're part of something bigger.

Is it something I could honestly conceive

to be a basis for this self-adhesive need?

You call the level of your own demise,

I believe, I believe.

You saunter up the cliff and bravely dive

onto the ground, so come on down.

That’s a party.

You’re making part of this and so am I.

But I believe that I believe.

From that thing you’re on it’s just a stride

to the ground, so come on down.

Hiding in a Cloud

Don’t forget this empty nest

is nothing, compared with what you’ve seen,

and happiness is powerless

to stop what you believe from coming clean.

In daze on your way to heaven

or someplace in between.

Too far to go; the pot of gold

is way too out of reach to keep you sold.

And you’ve found that somewhere else will almost do.

Pieces of your life just bring you down,

and you’ve forgotten what you are when you can

throw aside these useless, idle vows,

and take a look around at what’s been leading you

nowhere but home.

Far away another day is waiting

to bring you from your cloud.

And while you’re gone, it passes on

to someone who is ready to come down.

And you think you’ve found the best place to hide out.

Pieces of your life still bring you down,

and you’ve forgotten what you are when you can

throw aside these useless, idle vows,

and take a look around at what’s been leading you

nowhere but home.

The Pride Piece

I’ve got no time to talk right now;

it’s early, and I’m late.

But I can say that I’m aching and cold.

It’s a new low: discomfited,

I prostitute my veins.

And on the way, I trip over my heart.

Don’t believe it! He’s only halfway gone.

Part of the reason he’s discontented is hope.

Oh, yeah.

You’re sitting down. The one you love

is just behind the wall.

She’s leaving soon, but still you don’t call.

And when she’s gone, you cross your arms,

try to see her face.

Is this the one? Are you the best judge?

It’s hard to see when both of your eyes are closed.

Pardon me, but are you still waiting for hope?

Well, open your face and look!

Adding up all your reasons,

I find the fault in reasoning.

Out of your total pieces,

I find you fall to pieces

only when I tamper with this one.

Don’t you think it’s time you made your home?

Of all the people who claim to have seen your soul,

you are the one who knows.

Pieces of Hurt

The stars were falling through clouds of rain.

The wharf was shining from the freshly layered paint.

And I laid me down, and you placed your head on me.

My only thought was how for once we seemed so free.

But you did not say will haunt me all my days.

The world was open. The skies were red.

The willows hanged their heads; obeisance to the dead.

And we drove on through like envoys to the sun.

My head was cloudy but I let myself sink down.

Who I was that day is a million miles away.

Well, I’ve tried to understand where we diverged,

and all I’ve found are pieces of hurt

underneath my skin, and where I lay my head;

I know it sounds absurd,

but I know the answer’s there.

I just can’t untie my hands.

And so I make my way down sagging stairs,

onto the sidewalk, where I come to and stare

at the craze sky, and the hold it puts on me

reminds me sharply of the world I cannot see.

Well, what I did not know seems so central now.

But I’ve tried to understand where we diverged,

and all I’ve found are pieces of hurt.

Underneath my skin, where I lay my head;

I know it sounds absurd,

but I know the answer’s there.

I just can’t untie my hands.

Big Big Lie

So. Falling down?

Guess that’s the way it worked out.

Awfully dull.

I fritter the time in a vault. It’s gone.

Don’t believe all the things that you hear;

by default, it’s all roses now.

Star-crossed and all,

I still got a head full of stones.

Stop me now,

before I wipe out on the car.

Who you think you are?

You act like you’re some kind of god,

like it’s all roses now.

Feel like a solid wall, I’m tired of it all,

a waste of a good brain.

Can’t help all the things that make me a freak,

that make me question all my thoughts.

For a long, long time,

I’ll bury my head in the yard,

stark and slight,

and run into things.

Who we are is a sham.

Tear it apart and you’re left with

your fear and your love.

And it’s all roses now.

Fulfill the Prophet

Hang your keys on the door and be gone.

You know a lot? Well, I know more, and you’re wrong.

The more I see the more I know the more I think

you’re liable to fail, and I

got my own suspicions.

Don’t you think you’re coming on too strong?

Don’t you think your tone could use some work?

Don’t you want to take it all back,

every single thing that you’ve said?

Don’t you think you’re human,

‘cause you’re wrong.

You’re a sad, sad, pathetic excuse for a man.

You’re a martyr to yourself, no one else.

The more I see the more I know the more I think

you’re liable to fail, and I

got my own opinions.

What’d I tell you the day I took you on?

What’d you think, I’d let it all just go?

What was that you said when you were

putting yourself together again?

What’d you think, you’re human?

Because you’re wrong.

Dry Land

“Why? Why?” you ask me between

every line that I read in you.

I reply with a nod.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll take what I can

and I’ll make up the rest

I’ll be fine, fine, fine.”

Try. Try to carry this thing with you.

I’ll be here trying to cry, cry, cry.

Time. Time to swallow my fear;

I can’t see my way clear to be kind, kind, kind.

I know you’ve outshined me:

I’m blind from the glare.

Lie. Lie. Say what you think

that I wanted to hear,

pacify my fears.

I, I’ve been trying to believe

that this squall in your mind

will subside with time.

I’m not dramatizing. I’ve got you for that.

Come on, give an indication.

Say that you hear me, say that you hear me.

Come on give me just one sign that you’re

still here with me, still here beside me.

Come on, feel my reservations.

I’m not ready to dive in. I’m not ready to dive in.

Come on, let me walk you back to dry land.

Double lines, lines we walked in between,

made the two of us feel unified.

Time, time hasn’t shown me a way

to make sense of the fact we untied, tied, and untied.

“Why? Why?” I guess that the only way

I can respond is to sigh, take a breath, and say:

“You see, you’ve outshined me.

I’m blind from the glare,

So come on, give an indication.

Say that you hear me, say that you hear me.

Come on give me just one sign that you’re

still here with me, still here beside me.

Come on, feel my reservations.

I’m not ready to dive in. I’m not ready to dive in.

Come on, let me walk you back to dry land.”

Anymore

There were days when you were lonesome,

when I was off somewhere alone.

But I have tried, and I can’t make sense

of the way you chose to show me I was wrong.

For a while I thought I’d handle

the specks of images that’d come,

but every time I catch your likeness

I feel I’m falling in a hole.

I don’t want for you to hurt me anymore.

I don’t want for you to own me.

I don’t want for you to hurt me anymore.

I’m sorry.

Pardon me if I’m presumptuous,

but it has overcome my life.

Recurrent thoughts of you beside me,

and every time, I say goodbye.

I don’t want for you to hurt me anymore.

I don’t want for you to own me.

I don’t want for you to hurt me anymore.

I’m sorry.

The Judgment of the Loam

“One Sunday afternoon,

I said to my illustrious friends,”

he told himself alone on the lawn,

“‘I’d sooner waste away

than chase the moon each night and day,

guessing where to run when it’s down.’”

And all he could recall of what the said to him

was, “Sow what you own and love who you are,

and don’t be afraid of the clouds in your heart,

because love will teach you all you need to know.”

And while he pondered on,

he felt nudge of Myoclon,

so he stumbled to his feet and was gone.

And when he’d sauntered off,

the place where he had laid him down

glimmered with the crux of his thoughts,

and upward sprang the progeny in stalks.

The vines thrust out, entwined in themselves,

encumbered by no one, divine in accord.

All could see the judgment of the loam:

You sow what you are.