These are lyrics to the original songs on Patricia Pettinga’s albums.
(Songs are by Patricia Pettinga, P2 Productions—BMI, *except where noted)

Old, New, Borrowed, Blue © 2006

I have no wisdom. I am no child. I am a falling angel searching for a smile,
a way to find my way between the past and now, into the future with love to teach me how.
Old, new, borrowed, blue, all that is hopeful and all that is true.
reflections on the water, moonshine, stories we’ve been told, blue, borrowed, new, old.
Life is a mystery, a miracle, a river ever flowing and a mountain still.
Life is a single breath that carries flesh and bone, at once a harvest and seed that must be sown.
We all are angels. We fall; we fly, blessed and broken beings bound by earth and sky,
traveling together here across the land and sea, past, present, future of all humanity.
So as I live here, and move and breathe, may I be mindful of the things I take and leave.
May I be grateful for the gifts that I may find. May I know kindness and so, in turn, be kind.

Somebody dropped and airplane, lives falling out of the sky.
Nobody knew that morning how far the fear was gonna fly.
A-bombs and car bombs and bomber jet planes…people and petrol and passions in flames.
Oh beautiful for spacious skies I’ll never see the same.
Money turned to dust. In whom do we trust? There are lives falling out of the sky.
In some lonesome valley somebody’s spirit walks alone.
Innocent and guilty, somebody’s never coming home.
Mothers and brothers and sisters and sons…prophets and presidents and gods blessing guns.
We’re gonna blow our own kind—our will be done—to kingdom come.
Bodies turned to dust. Who we gonna trust? Somebody’s spirit walks alone.
I hear angels crying. They feel millions dying. They want no more violence.
No more bleeding…fighting…fleeing…children starving…leaders lying…No more violence.
Forgive our debts and debtors. Give all this day their daily needs,
wisdom and compassion…something to salt these hateful seeds.
Healing and holding and hearts open wide…seeing and sharing and stemming this tide.
Loving and learning ‘til we realize: We all fall and we all rise.
Dust returns to dust. Life a sacred trust. Give all this day their daily needs.
No more violence.

Life is full of circumstance and changes fair and grim,
and every moment’s better spent with family and friend.
When deeds are done and words alone no understanding bring, we hold hands in a circle and we sing.
We hold hands in a circle and we sing, yes we sing.
We sing our joy and sorrow, our pleasure and our pain.
And from our hearts beyond the heavens our incantations ring,
when we hold hands in a circle and we sing.
And when the loved one passes on, the singing helps us mourn.
And singing helps us celebrate when babies new are born.
And when the lovers take their vows and join in marrying, we hold hands in a circle and we sing.
When the nations go to war, and people disagree,
and folks all ‘round the world are sick with fear and poverty.
I know deep in my heart that it would be a healing thing, if we’d hold hands in a circle and we’d sing.
We’d look into each other’s eyes and see our own selves there,
and feel the pulse of life that all us living beings share.
We’d share our joys and sorrows, our pleasure and our pain If we held hands in a circle and we sang.

CELEBRATING IN THE SKY (in memory of Mike Mobey)
This isn’t meant to be a sad song, even though it might sound that way.
Might be a little melancholy; sometimes melancholy’s got to be O.K.
‘Cause you have gone and crossed over, and you have left us all behind.
We are the ones who have to say good bye. But while we’re feeling lonely, missing your company,
we know you’re celebrating in the sky.
Feelin’ good was easy now when you sang Bobby McGee, Bangin’ crazy on the bass in anybody’s key.
Take a load off Annie, and oh wee ride me high…somewhere celebrating in the sky.
There are those who say you’re still among us. Sometimes it just don’t feel that way.
Here on the earth we’re only human; sometimes being human’s got to be O.K.
But you are there with the angels, working out your next go round.
You reach out sometimes to comfort us, when we can hear you laughing, big man, big mind, big heart,
Stirring up a celebration in the sky.
We never did much like that brand of Scotch you drank; we’re gonna drink some anyway.
Sometimes we might just drink a little bit too much; sometimes drinking too much gotta be O.K.
We will drink it to remember, and we will drink it to forget.
We will drink it ‘til we feel our spirits fly, laughing with our loved ones, our friends and families,
Celebrating just like you are in the sky.
This wasn’t meant to be a sad song

Thatso and the Dancer had a fight one night.
Nobody noticed ‘cause the show went right.
But later in the morning with the sun still down, Thatso had a breakfast and the dancer left town.
We wondered…did she float a loan, or is she floatin’ free?
Or, is she floatin’ down that river where her friends can’t see.
Suzie and her boyfriend always good to lend a hand
had a room in all their houses for the Dancer and the Man.
They couldn’t quite believe it when she up and left alone,
until she went and called ‘em from a cold pay phone.
She said, “Thatso’s a loud mouth fool actin’ like he know enough to break the rule.”
She was always a step behind in a shadow while he spoke his mind.
She got her a room full of mirrors in the middle of a sun-belt clime.
There were no shadows there, just only light and time.
She got her a new pair of slippers and a brand new dance routine,
the kinda dancin’ that Thatso had never seen.
She stayed away for six month, hiding out beneath the light.
It took a little doing, but she got the timing right.
She knew she wouldn’t go back to the way it used to be,
but she wanted back with Thatso just to try the company.
We wondered…is she goin’ mad, or is she comin’ clean?
Or, is she getting’ close to thinkin’ she’s a movie queen.
No change is small change. That’s just what you see.
You got to keep changing. Each change is who you might be.
Thatso and the dancer are a team again today,
and one of them or other seems to be a different way.
We don’t quite understand it, but we know it for a fact:
Thatso never left us and the Dancer’s never looking back.

When the gild is off the lily and the bloom is off the rose,
and the shine has left the silver and the gold.
When a sail lies still and empty on a sea without a wind, will you be my friend again?
Will you be my friend again? Will you be my friend?
There are flowers in the garden of this love we still can tend, if you’ll be my friend again.
I have felt the gloom of loneliness while walking with the crowd,
and the chill of distance standing on my own.
If we draw near to the fire, we can see where we have been, and you’ll be my friend again.
Passions ebb and passions flow. And the winds of change, they blow.
Let those planets spin and roll. You are still the north star of my soul.
And we’ve traveled over many years, together with good hope,
and worn a pathway to each other’s heart.
If we’ve trampled in our thoughtlessness, there’s time to make amends, if you’ll be my friend again.

Spend my life workin’ seven to three. That kinda life ain’t livin’ to me.
Nine to five or three to eleven, ain’t nuthin’ but workin’ now twenty four seven.
They say that time is money but it just ain’t true. No, it’s one or the other ‘cause you can’t have two.
You got the time you ain’t got the money. You got the money you ain’t got time.
It’s a little bit sad and a little bit funny. Make me laugh out loud, lay down cryin’.
You got the money you ain’t got time.
I once knew a man who was free as the wind. Guess the information hadn’t gotten to him.
Then he fell in love, said, “Honey, will you marry me?” She said, “No, ‘cause you can’t afford to carry me.
You’re lots of fun, and you look real good, but I got a lot a questions ‘bout your livelihood.”
Mama’s little baby love shortnin’ shortnin’. Mama’s little baby love shortnin’ bread.
Work in the evenin’. Work in the mornin’ just to feed those children some shortnin’ bread.
Next time around I think I wanna be a flower, laughin’ and a singin’ in the sweet rain shower.
Or maybe sprout wings like a bird or a butterfly, knowin’ what to do, but never really knowin’ why.
But I’m not a plant or an animal no – so it’s one, two, three – back to work I go.
Three, six, nine, drank a little wine, dreamed I went to heaven on a streetcar line.
Everyone was happy. Everything was fine, didn’t need no money and we had a lot of time.
Didn’t need no money and all we had was time.
Woke up in the morning with an achin’ head. I wasn’t in heaven. I was in my bed.
Looked at the clock and it said 6 0, so oh, oh, oh back to work I go.