Get all 3 PJ Brunson releases available on Bandcamp and save 35%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of The Other Side (Part 1) EP, Home to Me, and Come Hell or High Water.
1. |
Big Rocket
03:54
|
|||
|
Big Rocket
Chorus
I’ll tie myself to a big rocket
Gonna do it before I get old
Shoot myself over the rainbow
I gotta find that big pot of gold
I ain’t got the time to work on this day job
I can’t live on minimum wage
I think it’s time to write a new story
Open a new book, start a new page
I can’t wait no more watching my front door
For Dick and Ed to bring me a check
When I go out I’ll carry my cell phone
Why, they can even call me collect
Chorus
I’ve got a pocket full of lottery tickets
A four-leaf clover inside my shoe
My lucky rabbit’s foot hung on my key ring
My time for winning’s way overdue
It’s time I found my own fame and fortune
Gonna do it, beg, borrow or steal
I hope the Devil’s wearing his beeper
I’ll call him up, say “Let’s make a deal”
Chorus
I ain’t got the time to work on this day job
I can’t live on minimum wage
I think it’s time to write a new story
Open a new book, start a new page
Chorus
Lyrics: Jim "Cotton" Brindle. Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
2. |
Passion
04:48
|
|||
|
Passion
I watched you throw your suitcase
Into your old Thunderbird
I stood behind the front screen door
And didn’t say a word
You drove out of our driveway
Down the road and out of sight
Have I the only empty heart
In an empty home tonight
Chorus
When the passion burns away
There’s nothing left but ashes
No promise for another day
There was nothing more that I could do
There was nothing more to say
Nothing that would ever make you
Stay anyway
Our love was once a raging fire
Filled with passion and desire
A flame that burned as hot as steel
One that never would expire
But the flame it slowly dwindled
Until there was not a spark
Just a memory of its former self
Like a shadow in the dark
Chorus
Bridge
Could we have made it different
Found some new fuel for the flame
In another time, another place
Would it still have been the same?
By now you’re on the four-lane
Driving fast and heading South
As I pour myself a tall one
And wash the empty from my mouth
Two empty eyes stare back at me
From the mirror, by the light
Have I the only empty heart
In an empty home tonight
Chorus
Lyrics: Jim "Cotton" Brindle. Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
3. |
Free to Choose
03:25
|
|||
|
Free to Choose
See the lightning, hear the thunder
Smell the early signs of rain
See the darkness rolling over
Reach for freedom, touch the pain
And I feel so like a prisoner
In a cell that has no bars
If I don’t lift this burden soon
I’ll never reach the stars
Chorus
And I’ve come upon a crossroad
Where the street signs have no name
Win or lose
I’m free to choose
There’s no one else to blame
There are lines out there for crossing
For some would bar my way
And they will test my judgment
I’ll have nothing more to say
I’ll be clear in my decisions
When I’ve finally made my mind
And the shoe, it would feel different
If their feet were put in mine
Chorus
Standing at this crossroad
I must listen to my heart
But the sound of other voices
Overshadows every thought
Now this road that I am travelling
I must walk it all alone
No one else can tell me what is right
And what is wrong
Chorus
See the lightning, hear the thunder
Smell the early signs of rain
See the darkness rolling over
Reach for freedom, touch the pain
Lyrics: Jim "Cotton" Brindle. Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
4. |
Maggie's Eyes
04:51
|
|||
|
Maggie’s Eyes
When Maggie lets her hair down
Really comes as no surprise
That a man could lose his sanity
From just looking in her eyes
Maggie’s eyes seem to sing you
A lonesome lullaby
Chorus
And the rain comes ’cross the water
And the wind is in the trees
And the strain of Maggie’s lullaby
Is borne upon the breeze
Maggie’s eyes can paint a picture
In tones of blue and green
That take him to streams and meadows
In a place he’s never seen
And they seem to draw him in
And wrap him in a dream
Chorus
And when Maggie’s feeling troubled
As people sometimes can
He holds her in his arms
Till he can make her whole again
It’s his plan to forge a bond
Her blues cannot withstand
Chorus
Lyrics: Jim "Cotton' Brindle. Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
5. |
Night Train
04:31
|
|||
|
Night Train
Not far from Heaven
And not far from Asheville
In the Blue Ridge Mountains
Among the tall pines
I yearn for my lover
Who's run off for Nashville
He's waiting at the station for that Southern train line
Chorus:
So night train
Night train
Go slowly round the bend
Roll slower than the
Whip-or-will flies
Hank said it first
Let me say it again
I'm so lonesome I could cry
The bees use the flowers
To make their sweet honey
It's a giving and taking
That's not meant to last
Well I've given and you've taken
My reason for living
When that train leaves the station
It's all in the past
Chorus
It's cold in this cabin
As darkness surrounds me
The owls and the crickets
Seem to mock my dispair
You're down at the depot
With one suitcase standing
When I next hear that whistle
You'll no longer be there
Chorus
Lyrics: Jim Brindle
Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
6. |
Congaree
04:56
|
|||
|
Congaree
Six kids on a riverbank
Cat fishing and skipping stones
It's a poor kid's paradise
A land of Eden all their own
Swimmin' hole in the summertime
A swingin' vine in a tree
There's always something to see and do
Down here on the Congaree
Grandpa's sleeping in a rocking chair
front porch of a four-room shack
Blacktop running through the front yard
A rusted Chrysler in the back
The winds of change haven't blown through here
Since 1963
May be lot longer fore they come again
Down here on the Congaree
Papa's in from the fields again
He's got mud up to his knees
You'd think his harvest would feed the world
But the numbers disagree
Forty acres to plant and plow
A thirteen inch TV
Twenty year-old Cadillac
That's life on the Congaree
Nine people sittin' down for supper
Cornbread and pinto bean
Fatback fried up nice and brown
And a plate of collard greens
Rain pounding on tin roof
Drowns out the voice of poverty
We always seem to make ends meet
Down here on the Congaree
As I lay me down to sleep
I lay my earthly burdens down
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
Till the morning comes around
Cause that's when I'll get up to see
What lies in store for me
There's always something to see and do
Down here on the Congaree
This ain't no issue of black and white
It's just pure geography
The muddy water is colorblind
Down here on the Congaree
Lyrics: Jim Brindle
Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
7. |
Take Me Home
03:49
|
|||
|
Take Me Home
Silver wings flying o’er heartland
Take me home
As fast as only you can
To the only place
Where my heart is free
Where the pace is slower
Than a summer’s day
The southern breeze blows
My blues away
Back with all my friends
I long to be
Chorus
So blow these cobwebs from my brain
Wash them out
Like a gutter in a pouring rain
Take me home big silver plane
Take me home
It seems I’ve been away so long now
I can barely, barely remember how
The Charlotte skyline looks in the setting sun
I promise you, when you get me there
I’ll glue my feet to the Tryon Square
Never more to roam, never more to run
Chorus
In only one more hour as the crow flies
You’ll have me back beneath Carolina skies
The prettiest blue I’ve ever seen
So keep me safe as you take me down
And plant my feet on solid ground
Where I’ll be greeted there
By a queen
Chorus
Lyrics: Jim "Cotton" Brindle
Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
8. |
Empty Fields
05:50
|
|||
|
Empty Fields
I can see the evening sky through the peeling
window frame
It’s dark and cloudy, and it looks like it may rain
This old tin roof will leak, like it has done for years
Still it has sheltered us, and all our dreams and fears
All our fears
This four-room wood frame house is bound to
feel our pain
Those dusty fields out back just have to know
our shame
All the memories pass my eyes, and I can’t
stop the tears
It’s almost dark, and time for leaving’s getting near
Getting near
Chorus
And there’s a cross in the kitchen that says,
“Jesus Saves”
In a home full of memories that we’ll take to our graves
The fields are empty and the wolves are at the door
The plows are rusty, we don’t use them anymore
Anymore
We raised our children here, and fed our family well
But now our luck has changed, and all has gone to hell
This small-time farming has a taste that’s bittersweet
The mortgage overdue, and bills that we can’t meet
We can’t meet
Chorus
The truck is almost full, and we’ll be leaving soon
We’ll take our clothes, the furniture, and the dishes
if there’s room
The pictures, books, and all the other things that
we’ve packed
The Farmers Bank can have the rest, we won’t be
coming back
Not coming back
Chorus
Lyrics: Jim "Cotton" Brindle
Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
9. |
Come Hell or High Water
05:27
|
|||
|
Come Hell or High Water
Open up an old wound
Pour in the salt
It don’t take no genius
To tell it’s my own fault
Wrote myself a letter
Just to lay the blame
It was returned to sender
Everything’s the same
I never knew my daddy
Till he was past his prime
Whole time I was growing up
He was doing time
My mother was no angel
So I’ve been told
She left me on the
courthouse steps
When I was six months old
Chorus
Now I’m down in a valley
And ice is getting thin
But come hell or high water
I’ll hit my peak again
I grew up an aimless child
Never knew a home
Traveled ’round this great land
Always alone
But then you found me
And you took me in
But I was just a bit too wild
And I hit the road again
Chorus
I saw you this morning
Back in this old town
I don’t think you noticed me
The rain was coming down
But I remember sunny skies
And walking by your side
Now I live in shades of gray
Never satisfied
Chorus
Open up an old wound
Pour in the salt
It don’t take no genius
To tell it’s my own fault
Sitting in this motel room
Remembering the scene
Even when I close my eyes
I see everything
Chorus
Lyrics: Jim "Cotton" Brindle
Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
10. |
Marvel Mystery Oil
05:00
|
|||
|
Marvel Mystery Oil
Grandpa was a technical man
A mechanic by trade
He worked on Buicks and Chevrolets
Outside in the shade
Of a big oak tree in the back of his house
When it rained, he worked in the barn
Some of my fondest memories
Are from granddaddy’s farm
Some said he was a genius
The way he made those engines run
But for him it didn’t seem like work
Near as much as fun
But he had a secret weapon
When they asked him he just lied
To everyone but his grandson
In me he did confide
Chorus
“It’s that Marvel Mystery Oil
Cures the ills of your engine’s toils
Ain’t many things that work as well
As that Marvel Mystery Oil”
Now he poured it in their crankcase
And he added it to their gas
And it seemed the more he added
The longer they would last
Sometimes I would help him
I handed him his tools
But when they came to get their car
He’d say, “Remember the rules”
Chorus
Grandpa had an old guitar
And I loved to hear him play
He’d play and sing on the front porch
At the end of every day
And as he played he sipped from a tin cup
That was sitting by his side
When I asked him what was in it
This he would reply
Chorus
But that was a long time ago
Many years now he’s been gone
But my kids still love the stories
About him and his mountain home
And when I pour myself a shot
The kids all want to know
So I tell them the same story
He told me long ago
I say
Chorus
Lyrics: Jim "Cotton" Brindle
Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
11. |
Trinity
04:30
|
|||
|
Trinity
Taxi’s waiting, my suitcase is packed
A new sun is on the rise
Trembling fingers hold your cigarette
I see the fear in your eyes
You’re not happy with the thing I’ve become
Right now neither am I
Let’s find a moment to remember better times
Before we say our good-byes
Chorus
Telegram told me I must be real discreet
Someone will meet me on Washington Street
Repeat
Sante Fe winters are cold, I am told
The mountains are covered with snow
In my heart, winter’s already here
And it feels like it’s forty below
Others will join me, Oppenheimer and the rest
Many more that I should know
All our knowledge will soon culminate
In the deserts of New Mexico
Chorus
The fourth angel destroys Babylon
With fire that rains from the sky
Innocent people may soon realize this fate
With never a chance to ask why
Please forgive me for the things I must do
It’s just my duty, I guess
Let’s just remember the good times we’ve had
Before I am put to the test
Chorus
Telegram told me I must be real discreet
A woman will meet me on Washington Street
Lyrics: Jim "Cotton" Brindle
Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
12. |
San Pedro Moon
02:53
|
|||
|
San Pedro Moon
Sun so hot in the little island town
Fishermen sleep all afternoon
When sun goes down and sand
streets ain’t so hot
They dance with the ladies
Down under the moon
Chorus
So won’t you dance with me down by the seaside
Underneath the San Pedro moon
Blame it on the rum, blame it on the Belikin
Blame it on the night that will end so soon
Before the sun comes I’ll go out in my fishing boat
Throw out my anchor, put my lines down
For grouper, snapper, anything I can catch
To sell to the hotels and cafes in town
Chorus
Big hotels are building on the northern end
Tall white buildings, bright disco bars
With progress go the sleepy little fishing towns
Next they pave the streets, and fill them with cars
Chorus
Lyrics: Jim "Cotton" Brindle
Music: PJ Brunson
|
||||
PJ Brunson Rock Hill, South Carolina
Singer-songwriter-acoustic guitarist and new age pianist-composer based in the Carolinas. PJ's songs embody the best of the new folk genre, while incorporating elements of country and easy listening. The lyrics are meaningful and relatable. The melodies are beautiful. And the songs are delivered in a gentle honest manner with a silky-smooth alto voice often described as "mesmerizing" and "sweet". ... more
If you like PJ Brunson, you may also like:
Whispery indie folk from the UK, “Hard Work” cradles soft and gentle vocal melodies in a nest of acoustic guitars.
go to album
Overvalued Ideas
by Shaking Chains
Charmingly wonky, danceable post-punk from Manchester with a pop heart and the soul of protest folk.
go to album
featured on Bandcamp Radio Jun 10, 2014
go to album
Lovely, delicate acoustic music with rich, narrative lyrics that play out more like short stories than songs.
go to album
Scottish lever harpist Lucie Hendry's pastoral folk-jazz overflows with charm and melody.
go to album
Scott Orr presents an album about death, our planet, and the afterlife through a folky, smooth-jazz lens.
go to album
The Creature That I Call Myself
by Julie Arsenault
featured on Bandcamp Radio Apr 21, 2015
go to album
