Lyrics

THE POTTER
(Eric Erickson)

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

© 2024 Ardith Music (BMI)

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