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

time & love © 2001

MY BACK YARD
I’ve been sittin’ in my back yard watching time go by.
Just a couple of minutes ago, I believe I saw it fly.
Now, I’ve been checking out the time to see, just what it might have in store for me.
I used to be part of all the goin’s on, but I got in a race with a couple of rats,
And you know, I believe they won.
So I reckon I’ll just reconnoiter a while, or maybe do a little ruminating.
Or maybe I’ll just put all that off and think about procrastinating. (yodel)
Well. I just heard my telephone ring…I heard it quit.
That darn thing seems such a long ways away, and I didn’t want to answer it.
My doorbell’s broke and the front door’s stuck. Those latter day saint boys are out of luck.
In case of any real emergency, the neighbors’ cats and my good friends,
they know where to look for me.
I’ll be sittin’ in my back yard, watching the grass grow tall.
And if that should be too much of a strain, well I won’t do a single thing at all. (yodel)
I want to be like Henry David Thoreau, sit by the pond and listen to the algae grow.
Hang out with poets and philosophize, get tight with nature and economize.
Observe the sun as it moves from east to west. Then, write in my journal and take a rest. (yodel)
Yes, I am the sort that likes to watch wet paint dry, but that would mean I’d have to paint.
I used to get some pretty wild ideas, but I’m learning how to show restraint.
Now, I may seem like a so-and-so to busy folks always on the go.
Well, they’ve got their business, and I too have mine.
If you look a little closer you will notice that I’m busy changing my paradigm.
So, I’ll be sittin’ in my back yard, doin’ what I don’t and what I do do do,
And I hope you’ll come on by some time and do it with me or not do it too.

LOVE AND TIME
I need your love, well I don’t need your admiration. Need your love, and just a little inspiration.
I don’t need approval criticism or a dime. I need a whole lot of loving and a little bit of time.
I saw a woman in the street one day. She didn’t have a lot of money, but she had a lot to say about the
past and politics and precious men that she had known.
She said, “You better watch out for the seeds you’ve sown.”
‘Cause you need love, well you don’t need infatuation. You need love, and just a little fascination.
You don’t need approval, criticism or a dime. You need a whole lot of lovin’ and a little bit of time.
So don’t tell me what you want to find out unless you say what you intend to do.
‘Cause I’m not gonna be your stepping-stone, and I intend to be in love with you.
‘Cause I need love, well I don’t need an education. I need love, and just a little information.
I don’t need approval criticism or a dime. I need a whole lot of lovin’ and a little bit of time.
‘I’m talkin’ love, well there’s a little obligation. Love…and a lot of dedication,
but it’s something that we’re all worthy of. I’m talking time…time and love.
I saw a baby crying in the street. He was old enough to understand and much too young to speak about
the present and the future and life that he might live.
I didn’t know if I could take it, but I knew I had to give.
‘Cause he needs love. I know because he’s no pretender. He needs love.
I’m the receiver and the sender.
He don’t need approval, criticism or a dime. He needs a whole lot of loving and my time.
So don’t tell me that you got it bad unless you tell me you can get it good.
‘Cause like a woman and a baby and a grown up man
you got to learn to love the things you should.
I’m talking love, well you don’t need a reputation. You need love, and just a healthy inclination.
You don’t need approval, criticism or a dime…and if it’s love you’ve got I’ve got time…yes I do!

THE EARTH IS TURNING
The earth is turning. You wouldn’t notice. Seems like we walk on level ground.
Times are changing. Go with the flow. It could be what goes around will come around.
I remember that apartment up above the antique shop.
We’d have our dinner, read the paper, and walk the dog around the block.
We’d point to Venus, whisper our wishes, make love and sleep the night with ease.
We didn’t notice angles and spaces…45 degrees.
You got a full time job at Penney’s when I got pregnant with Marie.
We bought that starter out on Fourth St. It seemed like paradise to me.
I’d slip out the back door; scan the horizon: the waning moon, the Pleiades.
There’s something moving, must be an airplane…90 degrees.
How ‘bout Columbus, searching for spices. He sailed right over the rim.
Missed all the edges, chasms and fissures. Was he afraid of falling in?
Well now Marie’s gone off to college. I don’t think Andy never will.
You’ve got the business and the yard work. I’ve got the house and hours to fill.
I ‘ll draw the curtains. It sure is cloudy. There are no stars that I can see.
Your back is to me, your shoulders bending…180 degrees.
I like this place; we have our own rooms. They serve us one meal every day.
We’ve got the car. You kids can visit. I think it’s going to be O.K.
Look out the window, just past that flagpole. The North Star’s bright as it can be.
I twist my ring. It’s a nervous habit…360 degrees.
Will the circle be unbroken? Will it really come round full?
Is the turning a revolution, or are we holding still?

WHO BLUES
You’re searching for the meaning, trying to find the truth,
the reason that you’re breathing, the quintessential you.
But it feels like changing tires on a car that’s passing through.
You’ve got the Who are you, who do you think you are, are you who you are blues.
There’s nothin wrong with changing; there’s nothin wrong with same.
You can analyze or let it go. Nobody is to blame.
It’s just sometimes it gets confusing. What do you think, what should you do?
You’ve got the Who are you, who do you think you are, are you who you are blues.
If you could paint a picture of your spirit and your soul,
would you paint a verdant valley or a dry dust bowl?
Would you paint it beautiful? Would you paint it true? Well truth is beauty and beauty is truth.
You’re beautiful, yes you!
“Now that sounds pretty good,” you say, and so you take a chance.
Declare your power. Step up to bat. Come out! Dare to advance.
But then hear them saying, “What right does that one have to move?”
They give you the Who are you, who do you think you are, are you who you are blues.
You keep on movin, honey. You settle in that groove.
But trust the ones who love you most to make your pathway smooth.
You be the one you want to be, but please, be careful who you listen to.
When you’ve got the Who are you; who do you think you are; are you who you are blues.
Now when you paint that picture of your spirit and your soul,
I hope you’ll paint a verdant valley not a dry dust bowl?
I hope you paint it beautiful, because beautiful is true.
Yes, truth is beauty and beauty is truth. You’re beautiful, yes you!
Well now you’ve got the gist of it; you’re cookin’; you’re alive.
Get on with what it’s all about. No need to fake and jive.
You’ve got the goods to do it. You got the righteous attitude
To lose the Who are you; who do you think you are; are you who you are blues.
Now, you’re gonna double back sometimes. It will feel just like the start:
a broken dream or promise, a tom up plan or heart.
But remember you can make it. You’ve got the right; you’ve paid your dues.
To lose the Who are you; who do you think you are; are you who you are blues.
Now you know that you can make it. Just keep a can do attitude.
To lose the who are you? (I think you’re beautiful!)
Who do you think you are? (I hope you know you’re beautiful!)
Who are you? Who do you think you are? You’re beautiful…blues.

CRY BABY
Long time, no sunshine has come out to guide you. Happiness hides under rock heavy heart.
Light’s there, somewhere, fighting to find you, but the sword of a warrior won’t shine in the dark.
All colors gray. Words you would say sink into silence and drown in their weight.
So, cry, baby, cry, and let your tears wash you. They’re going to water the seeds in your soul.
People who love you have faith enough for you, so baby cry ‘til your own can take hold.
Cry ‘til your faith can take hold.
You pace, retrace steps you have taken. Where do they start? Where do they lead?
Smiling, frowning, feelings you’re faking. Where is your truth and the proof that you need?
Your borders yield. Your wound revealed. Your battles are lost and won, your broken healed.
So baby, cry, aloud and abandoned. Some will resist, some will watch, some will pray.
Cry baby cry, and let your tears wash you, but don’t let them wash you away.
No, don’t let them wash you away.

LAUGHING WATER
There’s no room left in this town for somebody else’s sin.
We’re closing off the waterways, now darkness trickles in.
The process is polluted, politics petty and small.
We’re snapping at the center, and we’re the wrecking ball.
There used to be the eagle, the wolf and the buffalo.
Now, we worship their images and ride upon their bones.
The forests are on fire and the mountains falling down.
There’s no reason for dreaming or for dancing in this town.
What would all the ancients say if they could see us now?
They called it laughing water. Who is laughing? Who is laughing? Who is left to teach us how?
We’re running from the city streets. We’re running from the farms.
We’re bearing wandering children, fearful hearts and heavy arms.
We sleep walk in the daytime, and we lie, blind, in the night.
We’re scared of tricks. We’re scared of truth. We’re scared to stand and fight.
Will ashes fall instead of rain? Will food no longer grow?
Will no one know which way the killing winds are gonna blow?
It’s going once, it’s going twice. It’s gone. Let’s say goodbye.
When somebody else’s sin comes in this town is gonna die.
What would all the ancients say if they could see us now?
They called it laughing water. Who is laughing? Who is laughing? Who is left to teach us how?
Down in the caves of being, they are breathing with our lungs.
They’re walking in our footsteps and they’re talking in our tongues.
They’re listening with our ears and molding memory with our hands.
They’re crying out in voices only memory understands.
They’re crying in the rocks, and they are crying from the sky.
Their crying fills our rivers and their crying fills our eyes.
They’re crying out the past, the present and what will become.
Their spirits rise inside our bones. Our heartbeat is their drum.
What do all the ancients say when they look at us now.
They called it laughing water. Who is laughing? Who is laughing? Who is left to teach us how?

CARRY MY HEART
You want my heart. What will you do? If I place it in your hand, would you hold it tight? Would
you make a fist? Would you squeeze it dry? Would you let it go? Would you lock it up in a tiny place, and
would you call that love. Would you listen, hear me say:
Carry my heart like water. Carry my heart like fire. Carry my heart like the air that you breath or
a hand full of sand on the shore. Carry my heart like color. Carry my heart like white. Carry my heart like
dawning or dark, or a star as it falls in the sky. Carry my heart.
It beats like butterfly wings. Sometimes I feel it boom. It beats when it is broken. It will beat until
I’m gone. It bears my blood. I wonder if you would…carry my heart.
Your hand is strong. My heart is too strong to be held in your hand, what about your heart. Could
you hold it there? Would it be too hard? Could I hold yours too? Could I open up? Could I let it in? Am I
strong enough? Strong enough to listen, hear you say:
Carry my heart like diamond. Carry my heart like stone. Carry it like things buried and bright, like
rubies or roots or like bone. Carry my heart like hunger. Carry my heart like meat. Carry it like desire
satisfied, like forests or trees or one seed. Carry your heart.
You tell me that it beats like butterfly wings. Sometimes you feel it boom. It beats when it is
broken. It will beat until you are gone. It bears your blood. I wonder if I could…carry your heart. Carry a heart.

I’LL STAY
Tell me a story of arms that can hold me and carry my troubles away.
Substance and spirit, I’ll know when I’m near it, and when I am near it, I’ll stay.
It may be the clouds coming down for a rest; it may be the sea rising up.
May be the feel of the wind in the rushes, the sound of a songbird in love.
Plant me a tree on the side of a mountain that climbs to the top of my dreams.
Shine me a moon and a sun to remember that nothing is quite as it seems.
Though time may be stardust and space may be home to a million lost memories and more,
Show me the bud on a sapling in springtime, and I’ll know what living is for.
Speak me a word that is pure as a gold piece and bright as a child’s laughing eye.
Right as the rain on the fields and the roof tops, and strong as a shout or sigh.
Ride me a pony that gallops away to a place lonely hearts realize.
Show me a vision of heaven while I’m living, and I’ll have no reason to die.
Tell me a story of arms that can hold me and carry my troubles away.
Substance and spirit, I’ll know when I’m near it, and when I am near it, I’ll stay.