the confessor
Released 1985 

Problems :: I Broke My Leg :: Bubble :: Slow Dancing :: 15 Years :: The Confessor :: Rosewood Bitters :: Good Man Down :: Dear John

Lyrics Courtesy of Jessica Noser

“Problems” by Joe Walsh/W. Arbuckle

Hey now, did you make a problem?
Didn’t want to solve.
Until you do you do, that’s the thing about them,
Still got them, problems.

Seems so small, they can tower over you.
Pile up, build a wall,
Around you, surround you, oh and how.
When you finally think they’re through,
So they follow, follow?
I wonder who can solve my problem.
Oh how about them?

Problems can wait,
Problems get solved
Problems relate,
Problems revolve around tense situations,
Tense situations left unresolved.
Something comes up, you get involved.
In justifications of foreign relations that have nothing to do,
No nothing at all with the problem.

Hey now did you ever have one,
Have a problem?
That you could not solve.
What did you do about them?
What did you do?
Did you try and close your eyes?
Put the blame on someone else?
But the problem follows you around and round,
Up and down until it takes up all your time.
Til it starts to bother you, til you start to lose your mind.
Your problems, they love it when you do they do too.

Problems that wait, never get solved.
Problems relate to and problems revolve around tense situations,
Tense situations, left unresolved.
When something comes up and got you involved with contradiction,
Fictional frictions that have nothing to do, no nothing at all with the problem.

Hey now, did you ever have one? Have a problem that you could not solve?
That’s the thing about them, problems.

“I Broke My Leg” by Joe Walsh

I met my baby in a shopping mall.
In a shopping mall.
I asked my baby for her number,
In case I called her up, in case I called her up.
I called my baby on the telephone,
I said, “Hello” on the telephone.
I took my baby to the movies,
Sat in the front row.
Got her some popcorn, bought her some bon bons.
We sat in the front row.
I took my baby out to dinner,
A table just for two, a table just for two.
I took my baby to Las Vegas,
Chartered a private plane.
We took some naps, we shot some crap,
Chartered a private plane.
I took her shopping, next thing I know,
I took my baby to Aspen,
I broke my leg, she fell in love.
I broke my leg,
I got a letter from my ex-baby today, nice.

“Bubbles” by Joe Walsh

Floating on a bubble while the world goes down the drain.
Somebody pulled the plug, the dirty dishes still remain.
And when the bubble bursts that’s the worst for those who play dirty games.
While the world goes down the drain, down the drain.

Floating on a bubble, slipping on the soap,
Standing in the tub insane.
While the world goes down the drain.
And that’s the rub, reality is so hard to explain.
Meanwhile the world goes down the drain, down the drain.

So I’m floating on a bubble while the world goes down the drain.
Slipping on the soap, running out of rope,
But all and all I can’t complain,
And that’s the rub according to the rules of the game.
The world’s going down the drain,
When the bubble bursts you might as well drink the cork and pop the champagne.
When the bubble bursts, the world goes down the drain.


“Slow Dancing” by Loz Netto

I catch your reflection though smoke-filled eyes.
Begin my inspection I watch you.
Your smooth syncopation,
You synthesize the beat and the vibration.
There’s something about you, your sultry ways
That gives me a shiver.
Your style’s so enticing, you wear it well
Completely inviting I watch you.

Chorus:
If I smiled at you would you walk my way?
Would you have this dance with me?
Slow dancing, slow dancing, just you and me.

Those smooth operators prove their lives in anticipation.
Craft emulator of dark designs in fascination.
(Chorus)

“15 Years” by Joe Walsh

Fifteen years of rock and roll,
Fifteen years on the road.
(Can you turn up my guitar a little bit)
Fifteen years my guitar and me,
Played every song we know.
Fifteen years in a row.
I was a young man I used to be but I still can rock and roll.

Fifteen years been good to me,
Fifteen in a row.

Look through the crowd for the folks I know,
Fifteen years on the road.
Fifteen years they have stood by me,
Fifteen in a row.
If it’s a show they want, it’s a show they’ll see here we go.
Fifteen books, fifteen years of old,
Then I hit some luck,
Spent it all on rock and roll, booze, sex, and drugs.
God bless the roadies and god bless me.
 

“The Confessor” by Joe Walsh

If you look at your reflection in the bottom of a well,
What you see is only on the surface.
When you try to see the meaning hidden underneath,
The measure of the depth can be deceiving.
The bottom has a rocky reputation.

You can feel it in the distance, the deeper down you stare.
From up above it's hard to see but you know it when you're there.
On the bottom words are shallow, on the surface talk is cheap.
You can only judge the distance by the company you keep.
In the eyes of the Confessor.

In the eyes of the Confessor,
There's no place you can hide.
You can't hide from the eyes (of the Confessor)
Don't you even try.
In the eyes of the Confessor
You can't tell a lie,
You cannot tell a lie (to the Confessor)
Strip you down to size,
Naked as the day that you were born,
Naked as the day that you were born.

Take all the trauma, drama, comments,
The guilt and doubt and shame.
The what if's and if only's,
The shackles and the chains,
The violence and aggression,
The pettiness and scorn,
The jealousy and hatred,
The tempest and discord,
And give it up!
 

“Rosewood Bitters” by Michael Stanley


So many roads to walk,
 

I guess that’s how it goes.

So many words to talk,

No one really knows.

The ways to say the meaning,

For the meaning of the name.

Here I am Lord walking down the road.

And I’m on my own again,

With the Rosewood Bitters.


Too much going on today,

Hard to draw the line.

Can’t see too long this way,

Just who finds the time.

Prisoners of the moment, I know it don’t seem right.

Here I am Lord one more for the road,

Good night I mean good night.



And the Rosewood Bitters wake me with a smile in the morning.

And the Rosewood Bitters help me with the times I feel blue.



“Good Man Down” by Joe Walsh/Waddy Wachtel


Well a good man’s getting hard to find these days but there still a few around.

A whole world looks up to a good man, It’s hard to keep him down.

So if you’re going out looking for a good, good time,

But the boys all turn into clowns,

Focus your attention, don’t forget to mention,

No don’t forget to mention that the boys just love it when you dish it out.

Easy with the ones you’ve found.

And your wind up toys keep you busy for awhile until a good man comes around.


Well you can yell and scream, treat them mean, beat them up with words,

Throw them in the face you say. Do this, do that what it is, where it’s at, anything to get you your way.

And you change your mood, cop an attitude, take them to the cleaners.

Just because you’re steaming, just because you’re hot,

Just because all the boys stop talking when you raise your voice.

Your temper ends up on the ground, you don’t mean nothing to a good man.

It’s hard to keep a good man down, down, down, down.

Well it’s hard to keep a good man down.


Go to war, slam doors, have a fit, throw shit, use every little trick you’ve found.

It don’t mean nothing to a good man,

Just because all the boys start shaking when the dishes fly,

Tremble as they crawl on the ground.

Well it’s hard to keep a good,

Hard to keep a good man down.

Yes it’s hard to keep a good man down.



“Dear John” by Joe Walsh


I started out to write you this letter,

But it ended up another song.

I am sorry that the news can’t be better, dear John.

When we started out I thought we were different,

We ended up exactly the same.

So in order to protect the innocent,

The names have been changed.

I just got to get back to my music, to my music.

And I know that we both promised forever,

Forever didn’t last that long.

Maybe someday I will write you a letter,

Until then at least I wrote you this song, dear John.

I just got to get back my music, and all the things that go along with the job.


And lying in bed with the room spinning round,

It’s the price that you pay when you’re on the way down,

It’s the price that you pay.

Sincerely yours...