Slow, the Summer Burned

Matthew Francis Andersen

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  1. 1 A Working Radio 04:55 Info
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  2. 2 La Zorra 03:28 Info
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  3. 3 Slow, the Summer Burned 04:44 Info
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  4. 4 Golden Glass 03:04 Info
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  5. 5 Last Resort 03:54 Info
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  6. 6 Icy Village 03:16 Info
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  7. 7 The Devil Lives in Kansas 04:33 Info
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  8. 8 Dust 03:17 Info
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Blue Line

Matthew Francis Andersen

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Produced by Ryan Joseph Anderson. Engineered by Michael Sharp. Mixed and Mastered by Mac McNabb at Oxford Audio in Austin, TX. All songs written by Matthew Francis Andersen.

Matthew Francis Andersen: Vocals and Acoustic Guitar.

Ryan Joseph Anderson: Electric Guitar, Mandolin, Acoustic Guitar, Background Vocals.

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  1. 1 Blue Line 04:41
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  2. 2 Honeyhole 04:20
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  3. 3 A Working Radio 04:23
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  4. 4 Quite a Life 04:36
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  5. 5 I Don't Wonder If I Saw You ('Cause I Did) 03:37
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  6. 6 The Catalyst 02:49
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  7. 7 Sunrise 03:49
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Blue Line

I can't remember the month of December
But I know your favorite song
And the charcoal scarf wrapped around your neck
That you wore all season long
I can't remember the sound of your voice
But I remember your laugh like I remember the rain
And the potholes thumping and the manholes snapping
Like the rhythm of the Blue Line train

And the potholes thumping and the manholes snapping
Like the rhythm of the Blue Line train

I can recall all the pages you read me
In the back of my brother's car
We shared cigarettes and your eyes were as tired
As the paint on the passing barns
Crossing the river would only deliver
A worn out verse from a worn out name
But I listened and stared and pretended I cared
Neath the pop of the roof in the rain

We shared cigarettes and your eyes were as tired
As the paint on the passing barns

Somewhere 'tween the stateline and shorelines of jackpines
The prairies just ran out of grass
The trumpets lay still all alone on the hill
And the creeks found a shallow path
Now the birches lay bare and the cold winter air
Steals the breath straight out of your lungs
The night pulls the heat like a thread from the street
And the Blue Line bangs like a drum

Somewhere 'tween the stateline and shorelines of jackpines
The prairies just ran out of grass

And the potholes thumping and the manholes snapping
Like the rhythm of the Blue Line train

Honeyhole

I gotta bucket fulla minnows
I'm heading for the honeyhole
Trees are on fire
In a burning ball of red and gold
I gotta bucket fulla minnows
I'm heading for the honeyhole

Hook 'em in the head
Jig 'em up n down in the weeds
Drag 'em on the bottom
Pitch 'em in the shallow trees
Hook 'em in the head
Jig 'em up n down in the weeds

I got an Evinrude motor
Gassed and ready to go
My hand upon the tiller
She's hummin like never before
I got an Evinrude motor
Gassed and ready to go

I got a Camel cigarette
Hanging right from my lips
In a little bit of wind
Its kinda hard to get her lit
I got a Camel cigarette
Hanging right from my lips

If the game warden's lookin'
Dontcha tell him where I might be found
I was with his daughter
And now he's tearing up the town
If the game warden's looking
Dontcha tell him where I might be found

I gotta bucket fulla minnows
I'm heading for the honeyhole
Trees are on fire
In a burning ball of red and gold
I gotta bucket fulla minnows
I'm heading for the honeyhole

A Working Radio

Daylight racing
Across the ceiling
And the down the kitchen floor
Sunset shone
Across them dark eyes
Through a crack in the door

She rolled over
Talked about her plans
To go back to Omaha
She could work there
And could take care
Of her brother and her pa

Oh, my life for the highway
And a working radio
Oh, my life for them brown eyes
They're all I'll ever know

The dying ember
Was last December
As I rolled into town
Snow came down
Like silver coffins
Waiting to take some stranger under ground

The wind blew cold there
In Nebraska
Like it never blew before
But the numbers
That she gave me
Were not on any door

Oh, my life for the highway
And a working radio
Oh, my life for them brown eyes
They're all I'll ever know

Quite a Life

Margo Mae McClelland
Was a bullet with a name
So many tried to dodge her
But loved her just the same

She put a pin in romance
Never was a wife
Broken down in many ways
From living quite a life

She'd tell you to go to hell
And make it sound so nice
Howling at the moon in tune
And shooting perfect dice

She'd take any dealer
In a game of stud or draw
She could win a pool room
And never rack a ball

Weekdays after service in the church yard
Lays her flowers at Madonna's feet
But evenings after nine
A jug handle of wine
A little grace and good hard living sure do pass the time

The nightengale of the neighborhood
In a cottage of a home
Anyone could call her on
The corner store pay phone

She could turn Milwaukee
Into a ghostly town
They made all the beer they could
She'd drank it right down

A Catholic school refugee
With a confirmation name
At a party full of sailors
She'd put 'em all to shame

If a rainbow was a hotel
She'd stay on the top floor
Chain smoke in a bathrobe
And never shut the door

Weekdays after service in the church yard
Lays her flowers at Madonna's feet
But evenings after nine
A jug handle of wine
A little grace and good hard living sure do pass the time

Some say Mother Nature works with her left hand
Some say Davy Crockett never wore a hat
But if you can say beguiling then you are bound to fall
If you don't love her like I do, you knew not her at all

Margo Mae McClelland
Was a bullet with a name
So many tried to dodge her
But loved her just the same

She put a pin in romance
Never was a wife
Broken down in many ways
From living quite a life

I Don't Wonder If I Saw You ('Cause I Did)

Sunrise