The Bearer of Bad News

by Andy Shauf

supported by
/
  • Immediate download of 11-track album in the high-quality format of your choice (MP3, FLAC, and more), plus unlimited mobile access using the free Bandcamp listening app.

     $10 USD  or more

     

  • The Bearer of Bad News - Limited Edition LP
    Record/Vinyl

    The Bearer of Bad News Limited Edition LP. Signed and numbered by Andy.

    Includes immediate download of 11-track album in the high-quality format of your choice (MP3, FLAC, and more), plus unlimited mobile access using the free Bandcamp listening app.

    Sold Out

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.

about

The Bearer of Bad News was written, recorded, and performed by Andy Shauf at home between 2008 and 2012.

www.andyshauf.com

℗ © 2012 Andy Shauf (SOCAN)
Shuffling Feet Records

credits

released 06 November 2012
Produced and engineered by Andy Shauf.
All instruments performed and arranged by Andy Shauf.
Drums on 'You're Out Wasting' performed by Avery Kissick.
Mixed and mastered by Jonathan Anderson.

tags

license

all rights reserved

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist
Track Name: Hometown Hero
hometown hero flexing his charm
with a borderline joke to the guys at the bar,
and they slap their knees like they've not heard it before.
thirty-five years old wearing his badge,
nickname for life on the shoulder of his bomber
that he wears as the coach of the high school team.

he lights his cigarette
and says, "man these things will kill me someday"
raises his glass and says, "here's to hoping"

hometown hero flexing his arm
with a five-yard pass to the end of the bar
he says, "I'll be right back I'm just gonna go grab another pack."
walks one block to the all-night station
and steps into a situation.
there's a man with a gun pointed at the nervous clerk.

and before he could think,
he was tackling the gunman
who hit his head and was knocked unconscious.

the clerk relieved said, "oh my god
you're a hero man and you should stick around
'til the cops get here, maybe you'll make the morning news."
but the hometown hero rose to hit feet,
tossed him the gun and said, "thanks, but I've gotta run
I'll take a pack of camel lights and be on my way."

he stepped outside the door,
heard the sirens in the distance
lit his cigarette
and said, "man these things will kill me someday"
exhaled smoke and said, "here's to hoping"
Track Name: Drink My Rivers
light sleeper
easy dreamer
do you dream of me
when I'm far away
do I drift further every day
when I drink my rivers, drag my feet, and drown in my dreams
it's not as bad as it seems.

dig deeper
daylight dreamer
I'll try to dream of you
when you're
far away
when you seem further every day
I'll drink my rivers, drag my feet, and drown in my dreams
it's not as bad as it seems.

light sleeper
easy dreamer
when you dream of me
am I far away
do I inch closer every day
do I drink my rivers, drag my feet, and drown in my dreams
is it as bad as it seems?
Track Name: I'm Not Falling Asleep
when will I ever be safe from myself
if the danger all lies between heaven and hell?
when I close my eyes, I'm not falling asleep,
I am opening drawers, I am sifting through papers.

please stay a while, I'm not falling asleep.
Track Name: Covered In Dust
spin my tires
start my fires
I will wade on through.
castle red
I'll be dead
long before you.
I will die a poor man
covered in dust,
dreaming of you.

tip toes
plain clothes
I am a closed hand.
chipped brow
somehow,
I hope you understand.
I will die a poor man
covered in dust,
dreaming of you.
Track Name: Wendell Walker
Wendell Walker was a friend of mine.
we'd stain our teeth in the summertime,
and with lips of purple, the winter would roll
past the boarded windows into our souls
and shake our weary bones.

now this past winter was the coldest in years.
it's hard to explain if you've never lived here,
but it locks your doors and starts your mind
thinking in circles just to pass the time,
and breaks your weary heart.

now Wendell Walker was a man of God,
but he didn't care much for his sober mind,
and when the cold mixed in he was turned around
heard the voice of God and the angels sound
a message just for him:

my son, my son, she is the devil's child
won't you save her while you can
cut down the other man.

now Wendell Walker was a friend of mine,
but he married too young in the summertime.
their hearts weren't ripe so they fell apart
and I found myself with a joyful heart
as our secret lives began.

we found our moments in between the hours,
when Wendell Walker drove his car to town.
but one day he found a letter that I wrote for her
on the top of her dresser and in his winter mind
he heard the voice of God say:

my son, my son, she is the devil's child
won't you save her while you can
cut down the other man.

with the voice of the lord ringing in his ears
and the note to his wife that confirmed his fears,
he sat down on the edge of the bed
read the letter again to see who'd sent it
but it was signed 'forever yours'.

he stood up slow like he'd just been hit.
walked into the kitchen where his wife was sitting
he said, "my mother called on the telephone
she says she needs some help so I'll be back in the morning"
and he grabbed his heavy coat.

my phone rang while I was watching the news.
she said the house was ours to cure these winter blues.
so I made my way, and we turned the blinds
and Wendell walked in just in time
to see our secret die and say:

my son, my son I'm gonna have to cut you down.
he pointed his rifle to my eyes
but his hesitating hands
were shaking from the cold.
so I pushed his gun away,
just as he found his strength.
and the bullet kissed her lips
and I cried:

my god, my god what have I done?
and he reloaded his gun,
and he put it in his mouth.
and I stood in the room that I'd created.
Track Name: You're Out Wasting
the bearer of bad news is talking to the breeze.
floating forth a message, hiding in the trees.
the weary voice inside you is darker in the night.
the healing hand, the morning light.

while you're out wasting time with the right guy.

tell the early morning that I am on my way.
send to him my greetings for happy holidays.
spend my open eyes on the things I left behind.
my sturdy feet and my hopeful life.

while you're out wasting time with the right guy.

the rich man counts his money and holds it in the light,
folds the ends together and keeps it by his side.
he counts his every blessing heaped upon our heads,
and tells us to remember them.

while you're out wasting time with the right guy.
Track Name: The Man On Stage
I am the man on stage slurring your favourite songs.
making up a few of the words as I go along.
taking the edge off of me
is a necessity when I'm singing these words that I no longer mean.

I am not a poet, I'm a broken heart
and though you didn't dispute it, I don't really play the part.
I am not dishonest, I'm a lost detail
leaving out the good words to hide my trail.
I am not singing this to comfort you
though my words aren't daggers, I'm just telling the truth
that I am not a poet, I'm a broken heart
and though you didn't dispute it, I don't really play the part.
I am not a poet, I'm a broken heart.
Track Name: Jesus, She's A Good Girl
and so it seems,
I will see you once again
in my dreams.
it's sort of strange,
you only haunt me when I'm trying
to leave you behind.

why you always make me a liar
when I'm trying to tell the truth.
Jesus, she's a good girl
I don't want to hurt her.

the whisperings
in the middle of the morn
liquor rests
upon your words
but still in my slow beating heart
I'm not ashamed.
oh maybe I
in the rising morning light
should be blamed.

why you always call me a liar
when I'm trying to tell the truth.
Jesus, she's a good girl
I don't want to hurt her.
Track Name: Lick Your Wounds
painted doorway, open minded.
creaking stair set take me skyward.
close your blue eyes, kiss my dry lips.
learn my lessons, put your dress on.

light this sidewalk, drunk I stumble.
words from my mouth, hear me mumble.
who am I to fall in something
close to loving, ever hurting.

find my heartbeat drugs and failures.
make your way to cure my senses.
close your blue eyes, kiss my dry lips.
fall in love with my own loneliness.

baby, lick your wounds.
Track Name: Jerry Was A Clerk
me and a couple friends, we had a big idea
about getting money and getting out of here.
we were wide-eyed dreamers of wealth.

we were getting tired of killing time
filling up our heads with cheap wine.
Jerry had a van so we could make our escape.

he would say, 'boys our time has come to live among the privileged ones'.

now it was Jerry's plan but we all agreed
skip town and split the money up evenly.
lay low 'til the winter rolled in.

he said, "I know an old farmer doesn't trust the bank
keeps his money buried out behind his water tank.
he told me once when he was out of his mind".

'oh boys our time has come to live among the privileged ones'

now Jerry had a girl, the only one of us
to ever have one last and so no questions asked
she'd be the fourth one involved.

her name was Mary-Anne and she was nice enough.
always a cashier, only once in love
with Jerry - the dreamer and the clerk.

who said, 'boys our time has come to live among the privileged ones'.

so on that friday night on which we all agreed
we took our shovels and crept out carefully
through the farmyard darker than sin.

the plan went off without a hitch
'til we passed the chicken coop and Mary tripped
turned the hens to sirens in the night.

and when the farmhouse lights turned on,
a warning shot rang out into the dawn.

and we ran like hell for Jerry's van,
but when we arrived we were only three.
and while Jerry's greed fed gas to the engine,
his words showed us a coward we'd never seen.

as he said, "boys our time has come, we're going to save ourselves and live among the privileged ones."
Track Name: My Dear Helen
my dear Helen it's been a while since we've talked.
Charlie and I haven't been up to a whole lot.
he's slowing down a little and my knee's acting up,
yeah we're quite a pair of geezers moving slower than molasses.
you'd be laughing if you saw us, you always loved to tease.

I dug up an old bottle of your raspberry wine,
so I'm slouched out on the porch-swing just taking my time.
my mind keeps turning out these pictures of you,
you were dancing in the kitchen and I was enjoying my view.
oh Charlie was squirming just two steps behind you.

my dear Helen do you remember when you said
that you'd be waiting at the gates so you could sneak me in?
well it sure was funny but it still caught in my throat,
and when I think about it now, it still makes me choke.
and I wonder if those gates would ever open up for me.

Helen my dear, I do have something to tell.
I don't know how to start so I guess I just will.
see, these nights have been hot, it's that muggy sort of air.
doesn't let me get to sleep so I usually just lie there
on top of my quilt with Charlie by my feet.

last night as I laid there frustrated and tired,
I was sat up in my bed by the hens starting wild.
I thought, 'that fox is back again, he's gonna rob me blind.
I don't know how he gets in but I'd better make him fly'.
so I took my leaning rifle out the door.

I fired off a shot aiming far into the heat.
and as soon as it was flying I felt weak in my knees.
I heard shoes turning gravel and then tires spitting rocks.
I heard a gasp for air and my stomach tied in knots.
Charlie started whining with his tail between his legs.
we wandered out slow but my heart was breakin' ribs.
I couldn't hear nothing and there was a girl lying twisted,
my hands were trembling and I felt that she was limp.
her pulse wasn't tapping so I felt sick to my stomach.
Charlie was frozen, so I went for a shovel
and I buried her body, I didn't know what else to do.
if I'd only aimed a little higher if I'd only thought before I fired.
I hope God can forgive me, I hope you forgive me too,
I'm just a tired old man just waiting to join you.
so here I am slouched on this old porch swing,
thinking about heaven, thinking about everything.
so be waiting by those gates, you might need to sneak me in,
I don't know how they feel about us accidental killers.
I don't know how they feel about us tired old men.
I don't know how they feel about us tired, old, murdering men.
I don't know how they feel about us tired, old, murdering men.