Archive for the 'Mark Heard' Category

21
Apr
07

Lonely Moon

Another Mark Heard favorite.

Our world doesn’t offer hope, despite what they say. Without a God who is ever present, I think this would describe me. I am thankful that I am not an “orphan,” living “by the light of the lonely moon.”

LONELY MOON
by Mark Heard.

Was a child and a newcomer to the ways of the world
Eyes ablaze with the light of high noon
Just to love and to be loved was all he wanted
By the light of the lonely moon

They taught him to capture and tame wild pathos
Sold him distractions and made every day seem the same
Caught the Holy Ghost lurking in his cellar and threw Him out
Leaving just a lonely name

Soon they took everything that he lived for
So he asked them to please take his life too
They denied him existence but they let him live
In a lonely room

He would suckle at the bosom of Mother Earth
But his experience poisons that thought
He falls prey somehow
To the silence of the deep-space dark
Of this lonely blue rock

Now his path is lit only by the light of falling stars
The embers fall to scorch and cut his face
He wants to believe in his unbelief
In a lonely place

But they buried his conscience
Near to the grave of God
Sealed his soul up in a tomb of tears
And they scattered his ashes East of Eden someplace
On a lonely breeze

Was a child and a newcomer to the ways of the world
Eyes ablaze with the light of high noon
Just to love and to be loved was all he needed
By the light of the lonely moon
By the light of the lonely moon

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26
Mar
07

Is it any Wonder

This is for my friend Danny, who has a thing for skulls, and Casey, who likes to dream. 😉

Mark Heard was ahead of his time and understood where our culture was headed. The video is obviously older, it’s from his 1987 album, iDeOLA: Tribal Opera. It’s a great commentary on a society based on the assumption of evolution and that there is no God.

IS IT ANY WONDER
by Mark Heard

“i had a dream, it was a mystery
i dreamed of science and of history
i dreamed that since we stood up out of the dust
we formed our words on lips of beauty and trust
i should’ve known better than that
i should’ve known better than that
everything looks different in the morning

is it any wonder
is it any wonder
is it any wonder we dare to live in our dreams
is it any wonder
is it any wonder
is it any wonder we scare ourselves with our screams

i had a dream, it was a comedy
i dreamed i made a documentary
i looked in closets for the skeleton bones
i found them empty save for measures of gold
i should’ve known better than that
i should’ve known better than that
everything looks different in the morning”

20
Mar
07

Everyday Freight

Just listening to this song this morning. I find Mark Heard‘s songs so relevant to this season of my life.

These lines describe how I feel this morning.

“Ever try to carry water in a basket
Ever try to carry fire in your hand
Ever try to take on the weight of the everyday freight
Til you find that you’re too weak to stand”

from Mark Heard‘s song Rise from the Ruins from the album Dry Bones Dance

15
Mar
07

Ode to an Orphan

Playboy_June_1993In commenting on the 20th century Malcolm Muggeridge said, “If God is dead, somebody is going to have to take his place. It will be megalomania or erotomania, the drive for power or the drive for pleasure, the clenched fist or the phallus, Hitler or Hugh Heffner.” My premise is that Anna Nicole Smith was the epitome of an Orphan of God; living in a culture that has shaken it’s fist at an Almighty God. It’s tragic . . . I agree with Mike, from Mike’s Blog.

“Here is a woman who was filthy rich. Her net worth was somewhere around 400 million, yet she still couldn’t get away from the pain in her life. She turned to drugs, materialism, escapism, and other isms’s to find comfort for her wounded soul. Anna Nicole is a metaphor of the psyche of many in America today: we are desperately seeking to be loved and accepted yet frustrated when we discover that money, wealth and power aren’t enough.”

Anna Nicole had everything that we are being sold. There has got to be more!

I like Diana Butler Bass‘s comments from God’s Politics:
“But lack of respect does not create stable identity – as was obvious with Anna Nicole’s problems with illness, depression, and drugs. Both justice and peace proved elusive. In her final interview, she told the reporter that everyone she knew had “stolen a piece” of her. She died alone in a casino hotel, with her final taped conversation a tortured reflection of the confident sexual icon she attempted to be.”

It’s tragic and it reminds me of Mark Heard’ssong, “Orphans of God” which I quoted in my first post:

“But they have packaged our virtue in cellulose dreams
And sold us the remnants ’til our pockets are clean
‘Til our hopes fall ’round our feet
Like the dust and dead leaves
And we end up looking like what we believe”
from Mark Heard’s song Orphans of God

So, here’s to an “orphan” of our age who was born Vickie Lynn Hogan and died Anna Nicole Smith.

May the God Who is There save us from ourselves.

22
Feb
07

Sand Paper Eyes

I love the word pictures in this song.

Today, I am particularly feeling “these sandpaper eyes and the way they rub the luster from what is seen.”

O, that I might see a glimpse of your glory!

“WORRY TOO MUCH”
by Mark Heard.

    It’s the demolition derby
    It’s the sport of the hunt
    Proud tribe in full war-dance
    It’s the slow smile that the bully gives the runt
    It’s the force of inertia
    It’s the lack of constraint
    It’s the children out playing in the rock garden
    All dolled-up in black hats and war paint

      Sometimes it feels like bars of steel
      I cannot bend with my hands
      Oh-I worry too much
      Somebody told me that I worry too much

        It’s these sandpaper eyes
        It’s the way they rub the lustre from what is seen
        It’s the way we tell ourselves that all these things are normal
        Till we can’t remember what we mean
        It’s the flicker of our flames
        It’s the friction born of living
        It’s the way we beat a hot retreat
        And heave our smoking guns into the river

          Sometimes it feels like bars of steel
          I cannot bend with my hands
          Oh-I worry too much
          Somebody told me that I worry too much

            It’s the quick-step march of history
            The vanity of nations
            It’s the way there’ll be no muffled drums
            To mark the passage of my generation
            It’s the children of my children
            It’s the lambs born in innocence
            It’s wondering if the good I know
            Will last to be seen by the eyes of the little ones

              Sometimes it feels like bars of steel
              I cannot bend with my hands
              Oh-I worry too much
              Somebody told me that I worry too much

              09
              Jan
              07

              The Orphans of God

              THE ORPHANS OF GOD

              by Mark Heard, From the album Satellite Sky

              I will rise from my bed with a question again
              As I work to inherit the restless wind
              The view from my window is cold and obscene
              I want to touch what my eyes haven’t seen

              But they have packaged our virtue in cellulose dreams
              And sold us the remnants ’til our pockets are clean
              ‘Til our hopes fall ’round our feet
              Like the dust and dead leaves
              And we end up looking like what we believe

              We are soot-covered urchins running wild and unshod
              We will always be remembered as the orphans of God
              They will dig up these ruins and make flutes of our bones
              And blow a hymn to the memory of the orphans of God

              Like bees in a bottle we are flying at fate
              Beating our wings against the walls of this place
              Unaware that the struggle is the blood of the proof
              In choosing to believe the unbelievable truth

              But they have captured our siblings and rendered them mute
              They’ve disputed our lineage and poisoned our roots
              We have bought from the brokers who have broken their oaths
              And we’re out on the streets with a lump in our throats

              We are soot-covered urchins running wild and unshod
              We will always be remembered as the orphans of God
              They will dig up these ruins
              And make flutes of our bones
              And blow a hymn to the memory of the orphans of God