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  1. Indiana

From the recordings As Eden Lay In Darkness and Hard To Find

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A song about Will Geer who was a very principled actor. He famously played Grandpa Walton. He was a good friend of Woody Guthrie. The song also concerns itself with the way life determines that, as you get older, there are more wakes than weddings. We sometimes find that the only reason we return to the place we were brought up is for a funeral.

Vocal: Tom Fairnie
Harmony vocal: Jane Fairnie, Karen Dietz
Guitar: Tom Fairnie
Percussion: Vincent Gall
Fretless Bass: Tom Janssen
Pedal Steel Guitar: Alastair Taylor
Mandolin: Andrew Taylor

Lyrics

Indiana

It’s a long way to Indiana
But I can feel its sweet rain
On the wind across the great lake
Burning cold on my face
Pain will always take you back
Memories will call you home
Rain will run right through a thunder crack
And hearts will open for their own, for their own

One day, someday, I’ll sit and wonder
If I’ll ever hear his name
He had a voice cracked like fire
And Indiana was the flame
Pain will always take you back
Memories will call you home
Rain will run right through a thunder crack
And hearts will open for their own, for their own

Rivers have always run through this land
Between the wild fragrant pines
The wildest blue, the whitest water
Indiana’s red bloodlines
Pain will always take you back
Memories will call you home
Rain will run right through a thunder crack
And hearts will open for their own, for their own

It’s a long way to Indiana
And it’s a dark dried-up road
A slow cortege that winds through this state
Like old familiar blood
Pain will always take you back
Memories will call you home
Rain will run right through a thunder crack
And hearts will open for their own, for their own


© Indiana; words & music by Tom Fairnie 08/03/04

The coldest wind I’ve ever felt
Is in my face today
And again the old ones
Are at the door
Carrying babes
And tear-stained memories
As if the ocean in a shell,
These words are far away
This pain reminds
And sweeps the shore,
That aches yet breaks
On death’s nativity.


A Lover’s Lot & All Hallows...© Bob Shields 2010