From The Recordings Html

Written by Ryan Naismith
Vocals, Acoustic Guitar, Harmonica - Ryan Naismith
Drums - Glenn Milchem
Pedal Steel - Jimmy Bowskill
Bass, Electric Guitar, Organ, Tambourine - Tim Vesely
Produced/Engineered by Tim Vesely
Recorded at The Woodshed, Toronto, Ontario. © 2021

Lyrics

Pocket Full of Stones
Staggered and Hustled out of Tulsa,
Dusty, Busted all alone.
Cut my thirst and fed my hunger,
But never quite felt like home.

Followed my thumb to Johnson City,
Where I bid that truck goodbye.
Felt my burdens getting heavy,
So I drank my pockets dry.

Places and names pass like milestones,
In the ragged path of worn boot heels,
She heard me scream in my microphone, (she said)
Man, you sound just the way I feel.
Chorus:
With tattered shoes and worn blues,
And a pocket full of stones.
V2:
Roses and thorns cover her arm,
She called it her Garden of Eden,
And it hid the jagged scars,
Her old man gave her when she was leavin’

She was just passing through,
Blew the engine in her pickup truck.
Now it’s been about a year or two,
And starting fresh feels more like being stuck.

Chorus:
With tattered shoes and worn blues,
And a pocket full of stones.
Some you win, some you lose,
Some you should have known.
Bridge:
Somewhere between wine and whiskey,
She said there ain’t nothin’ here I can’t leave,
It’s a thousand miles to Corpus Christie
Be my joker I’ll be your thief,
Wearing our sins upon our sleeve.
Chorus:
With tattered shoes and worn blues,
And a pocket full of stones.