Heat Lightning

some folks surely lead dull and desperate lives

trapped in the roles of husbands and wives

when living together becomes just playing their parts

so far removed from desire and their hearts

but darlin', I need you so much... every time we touch, it's like...

...

heat lightning... searing 'cross a midnight sky...

heat lightning... turning night to day... before my very eyes

...

the atmosphere is electric when we're dancing so slow

senses crackle like static... on an old radio...

babe, when you kiss me... I become a live wire

making love to you sets me soul on fire...

and I need you so much... every time we touch; it's like...

...

heat lightning... searing 'cross a midnight sky...

heat lightning... turning night to day... before my very eyes.

...

come over here, baby, and sit next to me...

we won't waste our evening, just watching T.V. ...

our moments together, they are precious and few

I've been working hard all day, darlin', dreaming of you...

(and I need you so much... every time we touch... it's like...)

...

heat lightning... searing 'cross a midnight sky...

heat lightning... turning night to day before my very eyes...

right before my very eyes.

...

    ... well... this is a 'love song'; if you please... I pulled over by 'The Big Rock' near Okotoks Alberta one night after a gig in some little bar; headed back to catch some winks before rising early to throw hay bales for the heifers and haul grain for the feedlot yearlings... I was young, and I suppose 'in my prime'... working seven days a week from 'cain't  see to cain't see' (as the sharecroppers might tell it) and still finding time to gig the rough little taverns within a reasonable radius, trying to get enough coin together to take woman and child back out 'on the road' in the GMC short bus that was the home on wheels. There was country yet to see, and my chapter as a working cattleman and farm hand was drawing to a close. aspirations of going to agricultural college or auctioneer  school taking back place to the ongoing dream of making my mark in music. I was writing songs in earnest, and aching for more. Luke Wilson was working repairing instruments in Calgary. I stopped in to see him one day as h e was finishing up a repair and set up on Ian Tyson's old Martin D-45 and Luke said: "You can play it if you've got a new song..." I had just finished 'Coyote's Call'... and did it ever sound good on that lovely old guitar.

   

 

 

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