Details:
Build your own guitars. Find your own voice. Write your own songs. Grow your own food, And buy lots of records.
Under the dark skies on an Alabama farm, inside a house built with his own hands, Riley relentlessly un-Yielding churns poignant poetry into teasing tales, and looms them into the ever-twisting fabric of musical illusion.
The Luthier bleats:
"A mighty oak strains upon a cliff. Roots like white knuckles, as he wonders if he should hold on -"
"''Cause she was so fine, so damn fine... but she was somebody else''s wife."
"Now there are six lanes buzzin'' by, and cars are just a blurr. And there''s a concrete ditch full of cigarette butts,
where the cool waters were,"
Enjoy my 2nd CD.
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