Curt Joa, Singer Songwriter

The sun is shining on his plastic chair 

A rolled up Cuban on his lip 

Worn out eyes look through the salty air 

Out to another cargo ship 

And to the south, the pastel condos rise 

As if to form a solid wall 

My gosh it seems like just a month or two ago 

That there was nothing there at all.

He hears another wave a-crashing 

And the irony is plain 

Up and down the coast it’s changing 

Changing but still 

That old ocean looks the same 

Made his money selling big machines 

First came down here in sixty-two 

Every year the same old friends would reconvene 

He smiles to think of all the stuff they’d do 

But nowadays there’s only Stuart left 

And Stuart’s moving kind of slow 

He might stop over with a six pack for a gift 

And reminisce on the patio 

Just then another wave goes crashing 

And the irony is plain 

Up and down the coast it’s changing 

Changing but still 

That old ocean looks the same 

He remembers how 

This was a paradise 

Back when Alicia was alive 

The people with him now 

They treat him very nice 

They do his laundry 

And take him out for drives 

And in the car he tends to contemplate 

Florida before there were these walls 

Now every mile, another guarded gate 

With lighted palms and waterfalls 

And there is grumbling in the supermart 

Heads are shaking side to side 

Everybody wants to keep things just the way they were 

On the day they arrived

He hears another wave a-crashing 

And the irony is plain 

Up and down the coast it’s changing 

Changing but still 

That old ocean … 

Up and down the coast it’s changing 

Changing but still 

That old ocean looks the same.

Where are you calling from? 

I can hardly hear you. 

Your voice is soft and weary 

And so far away. 

Missed you all night long insanely. 

Wish I had more sleep, but mainly 

I wish I was 

Where you’re calling from. 

Where are you calling from? 

I can almost see your face 

Looking thru a foggy windshield 

Driving in the rain. 

Checking in some dive motel room 

You should find a better place, still 

I wish I was 

Where you’re calling from. 

Making up just half a bed each morning, 

Looking at a TV show alone, 

I keep trying to tell myself 

To keep my mind on something else 

But every time I hear the telephone, 

I wonder 

Where are you calling from? 

If only I could touch your sleeve 

I’d pull you close and make you promise 

Not to leave again. 

Guess it’s time to say goodnight now 

But as I reach to turn the light out 

I wish I was 

Where you’re calling from.

She would walk around in her coat all day thru the emptiness inside

Just a couple months ago he was standing right over there

But he had blown away like the cottonwood and she didn’t know to where.

He had always been the one to handle their affairs

But now that was all up to her if she could just get down the stairs

So she was putting papers into piles all across the basement floor

When she noticed some old cardboard box she didn’t remember from before 

Full of cocktail napkins and paper scraps, and it did not take her long

To realize that there inside were his unfinished songs. 

He had always wanted to be a songwriter, but it was a distant dream

Oh he would play for her if he finished one, but they were few and far between.

Looking now at this box so full, had she been that out of touch

To know that he was writing with no idea how much? 

But she remembered now he once told her how their position would be strong

If he could only get fifty cent for each unfinished song. 

In a verse about a lonesome walk, she heard footsteps out on the deck

In a line about his trembling breath, she could feel it down her neck

She could hear his voice and touch his skin and she was almost sure

When she read the words “Forever Love” he forever was with her

Oh his mind could go from place to place and he could leave his songs undone

Never would become a star but he had been her morning sun

And they say that it’s a good idea to finish what you start

But there was something in those unfinished songs that got into her heart 

He had left her on a winter night but it would not be so wrong

To say that he come back to her in those unfinished songs.

Life goes on and so does she, it’s a little struggle every day

But the world is little struggles and she’s okay, okay

She remembers him thru her photobooks and his letters in the drawer

And his suit still in the closet and his shoes there on the floor 

But it goes beyond remembering, it’s like he isn’t even gone

Every time she opens up that box of his unfinished songs.

Couple weeks ago I took a trip to the little town where I was raised

The corn was high as the miles slipped by on a clear September day

When I got in, the sun was low, the stores all closed downtown

I looked for someone I might know, but no one was around.

Drove that truck til I ended up on the street where our family lived

The house looked almost miniature but the trees had got so big

I was watching some kids and the game they were playing as I sat while the engine ran

I was just about to pull away when I heard a screen door slam

And I thought I saw me, running thru the yard

Catching up with some friends for one last at bat

Before coming in from the dark

I never can explain it right

Just something in the air that night

But there out in the fading light

I thought I saw me.

Now my memories have a hold on me and I guess they always will

There's a picture so real, sometimes it feels like the past might be happening still

Like if I walked outside and climbed on up into that rusty old truck of mine

And drove just right in the Midwest night, I could almost drive back into time.