As I wandered,...
sometimes I had a great notion
to sing new songs
as I walked from town to town.
Just Like a Bird
Just like a bird is bound to the sky,
the fish is bound to the sea.
Just like a tree is bound to the earth,
we all struggle ... to be free.Can't be free 'til we're all free.
Guess I'll be me 'til then.
To spark a life is no small thing,
just learnin' to play again.And again ... and again, I say enjoy!
Enjoy this day, my friend.
Walk on the earth,
swim in the sea,
soar with the bird on the w i i i i i n n g.
Soar with the bird on the wing.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .No Longer Troubled
I'm no longer troubled by space and time.
World's created outside my mind.
They're just another love of mine.
There's really nothing to it.
We're just going through it.
So let your heart be like the sun,
shine alike on everyone.
Let your heart be like the s u u u n,
shine alike on e v e r y o o o n n n e.Now there's been so many things said and done.
I'm sure I'm not the only one,
having wondered who and where and what I am,
found myself lost in space 'n' time,
world's created outside my mind,
feeling it's all rather quite sublime,
just learnin' to shine-on in other's minds.There's really nothing to it.
We're just going through it.
So let your heart be like the sun,
shine alike on everyone.
Let your heart be like the sun,
shine alike on e v e r y o o o n n n e.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Purge Yourself of the Devil, Darling
Purge yourself of the devil, darling,
I don't need your blues.
It's about time you decided how you're going to choose.
Say whatever you need to darling,
you've got nothing to lose.
I'm just a sweetheart, sugar ragga-daddy,
I don't care which way you choose.
I'm just a sweetheart, sugar ragga-daddy,
I don't care which way you go.
But I ain't gonna spend my life now bringing you up again,
ain't gonna bring my knees to the earth for every time you’ve sinned.
I may be a sweetheart, sugar ragga-daddy, but you ain't gonna take me in.Unhm, mmmhnm, unhm, mmmhnm,
no way mama, mmmmmm mmmhm ...
I'm through with the bluesSo purge yourself of the devil, darling,
join me and my jazz band.
This sweetheart, sugar ragga-daddy's gonna get too fine to stand,
Just s i i i i i n n n nn g i ng jazz, man ... just s i i i n g i n' jazz,
just s i i i n g i n' jazz, .... I'm through with the blues.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Little Women, Lots of Time
Little women, lots of time,
I don't particularly care for moonshine,
I'd rather study the sky to make myself high,
be with that woman, live in the kitchen
to get by.What does it matter if you've been baptized in fire,
drown in water, raped by the farmer's daughter,
if you don't know who you are?Better study the sky to make yourself high,
be with that woman, live in the kitchen
to get by.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Oh My Mind
Oh my mind love the Lord, oh my mind.
Oh my mind love the Lord, oh my mind.Oh my mind love the Lord,
oh my mind love the Lord,
oh my mind love the Lord,
oh my heart ...Oh my heart feel the LOve, oh my heart.
Oh my heart feel the LOve, oh my heart.Oh my heart feel the LOve,
oh my heart feel the LOve
oh my heart feel the LOve,
oh my mind ...[...]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .I'm so glad I'm not dead
Weecha tietie tammerie hora neeka hora neeka heynay heynay nooeye.
Weecha tietie tammerie hora neeka hora neeka heynay heynay nooeye.Water water spirt running 'round my head, I'm so glad that I'm not dead.
Water water spirt running 'round my head, I'm so glad that I'm not dead.[...]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I remember cool jazz master Dave Brubeck talking about getting cadence for his jazz tunes from ancient Roman army marches. There is something about the human stride that makes a good strong measure for a beat in music. The walking stride from the heart — and the beat goes on.
My “Walking Songs” grew from the beat of my alter-ego, danYello’s feet as he walked along highways and byways with a 70 pound rucksack on his back. The songs were refined and effectively recorded in memory by insistent repetition. Repeated over and over as danYello covered ground, ditties become fragments and fragments (some borrowed, some new) extended into my songs.
These smokin’ spoken a capella versions are not intended to actually be music, rather merely a suggestion of how danYello might carry the tune.
For more tales from the road, see: danYello Seas: reminisces of an intensely laid-back wandering hippie | 2011