From the recording Road Of Man


Around Here © 2018 Eric Ramsey and Eric Ramsey Music

Holes in the streets, holes in the windows
Shot full of holes, the bones of this old town
Ghosts in the alleys, rust in the hearts
Of the few decent folks left around
Down the street we used to hear laughing children on the playground
Over by the elementary school
And the rattle, clank and clack of that noonday freight out of Dayton
You could set your watch by it, the old timers knew

Those laughing children all grew up and moved away, or went to war
Which is what usually happens if you're poor and otherwise adrift
Those who returned mostly came back in pieces
Their bodies and their minds and souls bereft
Now how do you tell a young person who’s come home to the only home they've known
Fresh back from some modern day hell
That there’s no work no proposition no future around here
No future - oh, but by the way - thanks for answering the bell

Weeds get higher all the time
Each day another hill to climb
No one out there has any time for us around here

We had a visitor once, few years ago
Some old red-faced fat man come down from Washington DC
Didn’t look to me like he’d ever missed too many meals
While some folks’ kids around here didn’t have enough to eat
Well he went on and on and on about the changes that were coming
If we’d just be patient and bide our time
We all heard between his words, though, something he never came right out and said
Which was: You’ll get yours when I get mine
Then he rode off in his big black Buick
Tires hissing like god’s own serpent on the greasy street
And we all knew as we watched those taillights disappear into the distance
That we’d just been left to our own fate

Weeds get higher all the time
Each day another hill to climb
No one out there gives a dime to us around here

Home prices and interest rates aren’t the only things depressed around here
Hell, just poke your head into any of the tatty neighborhood bars
You can pretty much always find another unhappy soul to let you express your opinion
As long as you promise to listen to theirs
For the price of a pitcher, or two, and maybe a game of pool
You can articulate, gesticulate, vituperate and pretty much hate everything that’s happening in your life
But everyone around here tends to agree that it’s better this way than going home
Kicking the dog and fighting with your wife
I’d like to tell you all that this tale has a happy ending
Some theatrically inspired uplifting denouement
I‘m afraid you’ll have to come up with your own happy ending, to your satisfaction
Because I can’t

Weeds get higher all the time, each day’s another hill to climb
No one out there gives a damn about us around here