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Now all of the people were gathered around down by the steeple in the center of the town to witness the hanging of dirty old Joe Brown, that preacher man who drank that whiskey shot his woman down; the executioner – cowl on his head, to hide-away an ancient face of restless nights in bed, is summoned to the gallows to earn himself some bread and hang his beloved preacher man until he’s limp and dead; the people cried and spit and whistled, them hearts was black as coal; the executioner wondered who now was gonna save his soul; the mayor took his hat off, said this man has got to go – them people need an example, come on now feed him to the crows; well he stepped to the lever – let me tell you what he done, he reached inside his waistcoat and pulled him out his gun, and he said, “Don’t you forget now just how the West was won” and he shot that mayor in his head and he rode-off into the sun; the moral of this story is he lived without regret – when asked about that day, he’ll say, “My boy don’t you forget” then he’ll crack himself a smile and he’ll light a cigarette, and he’ll say, “I’m the fucking law, my friend” and that’s as good as you’re gonna get
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2. |
What's My Name
05:45
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What’s my name I can’t remember my name, blew into town with a couple of dollars and I’m broke again; let her go bought a bottle and I’m half way to hell; caught red handed, contraband opinion, black-out, woke-on up in the iron hotel; Move-along move, spare a dollar for a child of man? The huddled masses are crowded in the welfare offices seeking the lamp of the golden door
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3. |
HWY
03:58
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Getting me up, rule the center of the road; You can take me there but I’m never satisfied, let’s go where animal is law; I’m out on the fringe; I’m not not your savior but I will be tonight, but tomorrow you’re on your own; holy roller/thought controller; holy motors/motel soldier/easy rider/freedom fighter
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4. |
I'm Coming Home
06:31
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I’m on an isle, I can see for miles and miles, and I’ve been so high I can’t see the ground; Cannibals broadcast coast-to-coast, now I’m host to the holy ghost, and I still don’t know what we’re fighting for; don’t lock the door ‘cause I’m coming home
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5. |
District Lines
09:21
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Blessed are the ones who receive the sun see the kingdom of snakes is risen fro the ground, (a place to go to know the dead) but nothing gets me high like the chalk silhouette of these district lines; poke me ‘cause I must be sleeping; look at all these fiend pouring into the streets dodging heat from the sharks in the alley way (sirens rapture at their feast), but I get high off the chalk silhouette of these district lines; poke me ‘cause I must be dreaming; prison blues, new recruits, school is out for you, we’re sewn between the lining with needles burnt and shared; I am the landscape, I am landfill, I am full, this district is red; we’re people who don’t realize when the sirens cry it’s the din of an empire; build it higher
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6. |
Epoch
02:23
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I saw the atheist death at the needles edge the final fleeting thoughts of the godless man upon the grave while peering out of this cathedral of flesh; a darker contrition, secret stigmatic of the devil, refuting the sins of the father by refusing to fight their wars; to salvage the heart is to recognize it as a native of the body, and to reave the soul is to execute the colonists of the mind; the generation is experiencing a birth in reverse - age of unrest, coliseum of souls, this city is burning, who are the crusaders here? Midnight, anarchist hour – it has been called – everyone can go home now, there will be no revolution tonight. (I caught a glimpse of apocalypse in the reflection on the window of a cop car) yet here I am alone in a bar, writing my will on a cocktail napkin, slouching through seasons celebrating thieves while by back stiffens beneath the burden of capital, with age - though we must stoop to wash our music in the tears
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7. |
Burn it Down
07:05
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Beggar’s night there are stones yet to throw the streets are canals for our wisdom to flow – that moon is king to thieves like we are, yet here we’ve arrived; the writing is bold and it’s high on the wall, the avenue ends where the rambler falls – chaos is the flower of the night: watch it all burn down! We’ve stolen fire, language of the poets, to soothe the harlequin soul; Lovers escape, apocalypse rise, the war machine eats as the immigrant cries – these cops are drunk as me and the lobby is full of expensive opinions; we’ve stolen fire, diseases on the radio, to soothe the harlequin soul; Attention all you people out there in radio land – we have your propaganda machine surrounded; We have penetrated your airwaves to inform you that your democracy is counterfeit; the mannequin kings would love us to argue over whose lives matter while payola pours from every speaker and screen; but the pantomime is just a sleight of hand, for if you’re not feeling represented, then it’s time to go out into the streets and represent yourself; so folks, in coming times – things may get strange, but I just want you to remember one thing – when the man is at your door, be cool baby – be real cool; you can escape hell if you don’t believe it, I know you see there’s no truth and god is dead, burn all the liars and burn all the steeples, burn all the priests and decrees that god has spread
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8. |
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High in the Sierras among the neon sands, three lovers went-a-riding looking for a fix and a room for the night; I’m going down to the Loving Cup baby, thoughts tremble beneath a wearied prayer; baptize my bondage in that whiskey, I’m gonna howl with the haunted there (those Moondogs sure do know how to take care of a brother now, don’t they) Turn back you cannibals – repent and you shall become the trees, this snow has got us fevered – save us from these starved arms, love obscene in a renegade city, a furied voice, alive, escaped, midnight, locked-out in the lobby, naked and so afraid, you see we burned an angel in that room – entwined she bled, she lashed me with her dying flail and ourselves we made to sleep for our sins to hide, she resurrected on a Sunday morning, rose through time like fissured ice, her gift was one last communion, O sweet ecstasy in flesh, lithely, she parted the silent snowfall, then to forsake the depraved, she drove-off into the pale and left me here – left me here to die, die; Hitchhiker nowhere – everybody passed me by, now I’m at the station waiting for my line, got me out in Oakland, now I’m sleeping in the cold
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9. |
Ride
05:44
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I’ve been working hard I’ve been waiting so long clear your schedule because when I get back we’re gonna get it going we’re gonna ride I’m gonna cover you in my sweat and spit and hair and now you’re gonna learn a thing or two but I’m gonna be the one to take you there Light that cigarette let that smoke rise I’m not finished yet I ain’t gonna stop ‘til I get enough
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10. |
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Carry your cross to the top of the hill, am I being detained, Crucified in a crimson sky, Whore of Babylon enticing the beast, contrite in the calm of the night; Wake me up with your cold and worry, blood from my head I can hardly see, chains around my wrists and ankles, momma told me love is free; the gutter waits for girls like you – the gallows wait for guys like me; I don’t care what the neighbors say, I know what I want and you got what I need; You can be the victim now with a gun, retribution in your hands, how’d I arrest myself, now calling the defendant to the stand to testify; I don’t have all of this time to be wasting, I love you so much it makes me sick, legal documents and medical papers, all you haters can suck my dick; you’re the only one for me; oh baby I know that you love me; the beast that watched itself age was never meant to see the cage; hollowed men, broken lives become institutionalized; I am institutionalized
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The Redlight District Santa Cruz, California
The band is Stephan Sams (vocals), Ravi Lamb (lead guitar), Dan Leitner (keyboards), and Keoki Thompson (drums). Their frenetic live performances blend elements of delta blues, jazz rock, and soul, weaving meticulously embellished, percussive guitar lines with dynamically intricate rock-organ. These provide a backdrop for Sams' baritone croon, which moves from tranquil melody into manic wails. ... more
The Redlight District recommends:
The song writing is flawlessly catchy and it's sung by a cherub.
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