Eric Erickson - The Heart of an American

Except as Indicated, all songs written by Eric Erickson

A Lucky Son of a Gun

How lucky can I be? How fortunate am I?
I’ve managed to stake out my little corner of the sky
You can’t buy no tickets to the lottery I’ve won
I guess I’m just a lucky son of a gun

CHORUS:
I’m a lucky son of a gun
My hurting days are over
And my blues are on the run
I’m a lucky son of a gun

I wake up every morning to a gorgeous, smiling face
My hope, my home, my happiness have all fallen into place
I’d like to take full credit but some luck is just pure dumb
I guess I’m just a lucky son of a gun

I’ve had my share pain and heartaches, that’s for sure
But half the world would give the world for the problems I endure
Son of a gun

The future’s laid before me, the past on the shelf
I’m satisfied completely with the hand I’ve dealt myself
You won’t find a more contented man under the sun
What do you call that?
A lucky son of a gun

E², vocals—vocals, acoustic guitars, hand claps, synth bass, glockenspiel
Pete Levin—piano
Sam Zucchini—drums
Matt Nakoa—electric guitars
Cindy Cashdollar—pedal steel guitar

THE POTTER

I see that the pitcher in blue caught your eye,
The one on the middle shelf
The work that’s on display all at eye level,
Those pieces, I made myself
The ones in the corner were done by a friend,
I sell them here on consignment
Together, we watch as the folks come and go
In my voluntary confinement

I got no pension, I got no savings,
I got no retirement plan
I hold my future right here in my hands

Marie and I opened the shop years ago,
We figured our fortune to make
But the hours and the tedium soon wore her down,
She took all she could take
Now each night at seven I turn out the lights
And head up the stairs for a meal
Spending the evening in fine solitude,
Alone with my thoughts and my wheel

I got no pension, I got no savings,
I got no retirement plan
I mold my future right here I with my hands

I studied law one semester
I stayed ‘til I had my fill
But as always, I heeded the calling
Of the clay and the glaze and the kiln

Now, you’re up for the weekend and come through my door,
Spending as much as you care
To take back a present to give to a friend
Or forget in a closet somewhere
Thanks for your patronage, thanks for your cash,
Thank you for hearing my story
Now I will return to my pots and my bowls,
Counting up my inventory

I got no pension, no I got no savings,
I got no retirement plans
I hold my future right here in my hands

Right here in my hands

E²—vocals, acoustic guitar, synth bass
Pete Levin—piano, accordion
Sam Zucchini—drum
Larry Parker—fiddles

ANOTHER SONG ABOUT THE MOON

Can you handle one more song about the moon
Can you stand to hear that story once again
How our hero found his true love in the month of June
Like a script from an old movie way back when

Well, it started with a glance and then a smile
Then progressed to idle chat across a meal
Then they played it coy and cagey for a little while
‘Til a midnight moonlight stroll secured the deal

From here on out, details are sketchy
Corroborating evidence is rare
Developments were witnessed by a lone observer
Lingering above the air

Nowadays, our couple thrives
Through compliments and compromising
Two minds work together
And two pulses quicken at the sight
Of a full moon rising

Did it come about through planning and desire
The way the pieces fit together well so soon?
Was it chance, simple happenstance?
Was it meant to be?
Or is it just another song about the moon?

I think it’s just another song about the moon

E²—vocals, acoustic guitar, synth bass, drums and strings
Pete Levin—piano, melodica

SPINNING MY WHEELS

(Eric Erickson, James Taylor)

The hinge fell off the gate again
The deer will eat for free
Just tack that on the list of chores that’s hanging over me
The cardinal builds her nest again
I know just how she feels
Spinning her wheels

I made a vow—I’d take the bike out
Every Summer day
It gathers dust out in the shed
And now it’s Labor Day
No one here can understand
The chagrin my grin conceals
Not spinning my wheels

Regrets are piling up
My time is winding down
I’m feeling so fed up
I’m feeling so beat down

Every night, I haul my gear
Strap on my axe and then
I’m paid good money to play “Fire and Rain”
Again and again and again
While on “The Voice” contestants dream
Of scoring record deals
Me, I’m spinning my wheels

E²—vocals, acoustic guitar, synth bass
Pete Levin—Fender Rhodes
Sam Zucchini—drums, bongos
Matt Nakoa—electric guitar
Cindy Cashdollar—dobro

THE RETURN OF THE LIGHT

Oh, the ground is full of promise, and the sky is full of blue
And I know these days of darkness are nearly through
I have seen this place before. Yes, I come here all the year
And today there’s surely something special here.

CHORUS:
So here’s to a time of renewal
Here’s to the time when the day conquers night
Here’s to the promise the future fulfills
Here’s to the return of the light
Here’s to the return of the light

As we join in fond remembrance of the ones who came before
We will share their songs and stories together once more
Let us gather ‘round the table, spread about with bounty grand
And renew the ties that bind us to the land

CHORUS

Now we live upon a circle. It never starts, it doesn’t end
Yes, and on this day, the season begins again
So let’s raise our glasses higher with good spirit and good cheer
And we’ll drink a toast to the coming of the year

CHORUS

E²—vocals, acoustic guitar, synth bass
Pete Levin—Fender Rhodes
Abby Newton—cello
Ellen Reitemeyer—vocals

THE HEART OF AN AMERICAN

When liberty is ceded to seedy, needy fools who’ve
Sold their souls
When appeals to hearts and minds
Reveal nothing to find but gaping holes
When truth gives way to lying
Something’s surely dying
In the heart of an American

When history is whitewashed
And vanishes from sight before your face
And whole communities are sidelined
And banished from the classroom
In disgrace
When frustrations get to churning
Something’s set to burning
In the heart of an American

When wealth is concentrated
And greed is celebrated by the few
And the ones who have created
Those riches are separated
From their fair due
With the seeds of outrage sowing
Something fierce is growing
In the heart of an American

E²—vocals, acoustic guitar
Pete Levin—piano, bass