Song: Church Bells


Church Bells

Getting up early at the crack of Dawn
Make my way to the corner down the street
Papers in a bundle, donuts on a Sunday
A little boy on an Indiana day
Folding his papers, holes in his jeans
Learning what it takes to make his way

Walking down the road to my old school
The Nuns are gone and the seats are so small
Remembering Becky as I walk down the hall
Half expecting to see Darlene Doll.
These are the faces those are the places, In a time gone by.
When people knew my name.

This is my home town in a quiet way
With the sweet smell of dew on a humid Summer day
Just the way I left it with all my friends
in a sleepy little town on a river bend
In a time long ago when I was always to blame
When all the neighbors used to know my name.

Fishing at the river at a snails pace
Listening for the bells at the Pastor’s place
Sitting in the park, up all night
Hanging out with Tommies, waiting for a bite
These are my home praises I like to sing
While I sit on the bank, listening to the church bells ring.

I don’t often get back to see them today
I don’t see the monarch on the milkweed, it’s just too far away.
But the winds upon the plains
Still beckon back to me
And on a sleepy Sunday morning when the church bells ring
I go back to Indiana and a little boy sings.


Song Background!

One day I was thinking of my friends back home. The CD my friend, Tommy Thompson, put out, was sitting on my desk like always. I started to think about my brothers and sisters and friends back home and thought; I'm going to write a song about my home town.

That's it.

But there of course is quite a bit more. These are the major memories I had growing up. Certainly not all of them, but these are the memories I pull from most often. I think about all these people, on a regular basis. I wonder what they are doing and remember back to a time when they knew me.

I left right after finishing my undergraduate degree at Purdue University and hit the road. I did not stop until I was deep in Colorado. Another very long story.

But I miss my old home town, and the quiet ways. I miss the haze of humidity in the air and the constant buzzing of insects. I do not miss the mosquitoes.

But at times, I miss the people desperately.

What I would give to play guitars with Tommy and Lee Madison again.