MP3 Powell (The Polite Rebel) - Replevin
Debut solo album from The Polite Rebel. A lyrically driven eleven track experience that awakens the soul of Woody and the spirit of Townes. Depicts the life of a young American in times of war and financial hardship using honesty, wit, and dark undertones
11 MP3 Songs in this album (48:01) !
Related styles: Folk: Alternative Folk, Rock: Americana, Type: Lyrical
People who are interested in Bob Dylan John Prine Townes Van Zandt should consider this download.
It came in quick and plagued us all. It altered our vision, sweated on our sweat, and suddenly the rodeo clowns were not so entertaining because sympathy had become empathy. Dreams became rummage sales. Time became gone as gone became found. Elusive took sick and threw up in the open. Engines spat and poets stuttered. Wallets were sold by stationary cowboys too broke for horsepower. Tombstones were shopped in classified ads and bought by children too soon. The obituaries broke the bank on the papers and the ink bled out the eyes of the subsisted soldiers still battling the bull. Statues went unrecognized. Wings were clipped by shears of silence as songs were sung by only the brave. This was the worst we had ever seen it…I mean it.
Scarecrow brooms swept through saloons. “It’s too hard to sweep around too many feet”, cried the lifeguards of the watering holes as they traded their towels and ordered a life on the rocks. When off in the distance a tone crept up into our bones like a northern wind sent from home. We remembered it. Barely. But we remembered it.
The world fell silent, with the exception of some elderly lungs that shook in the corner. We put down our half empty glasses, our eyes swam through the smoke, and settled on a frail man enveloped by herringbone. He laid himself down on the hard wood floor and pulled a weathered accordion from a tattered case. He gave the accordion a rest on his chest and sucked a deep breath so powerful it was as if he was inhaling a bit out of all of us. His fragile fingers began melting the keys and as his mouth split our lives changed. He sang…
We all have seen troubles
We all have made tries
We all should notice
That I used we’s not I’s
Comfort in confusion
And solace in the sad
Content with the current
Dwell not on things we had
For when this dust settles
And the stories all told
It will be this moment
That turns the font bold
The old man placed his instrument back into its case. From his eyes he wiped the tears and saluted us all. Stunned we sat as the vintage messenger slid out the side as if he were a paper peddler . As he approached the shoulder refusing to stop, he battled the bull while ignoring the crimson light. He had made it to the middle of the cross when he was met by a thunderous horn played by the driver of a speeding 18 wheeler. The trucker slammed his brakes as we watched in terror out the window, the old man bowed his head and crouched down his frame. The truck just missed him, passed right over him, and continued on its way. The massive machine had ripped the hat from his head yet never scratched the man. The messenger gathered his fedora and accordion as he pressed him self from the pavement. He then turned to us all as he smiled and said…
“I am a five foot man
That once wished to be seven
I request no Replevin”