Take Me Away From This Lonesome Place
Something was wrong, surely, and she had tried to warn him, but how had she known about it? His spirits sank as the elevator rose. By the time he stepped out at the tenth floor, all the vague fears that had haunted him earlier were back again, stronger than ever. Suddenly he wished he had help. But where could he find it? Who was the person he could talk to, and trust? He clenched his small hands and started unhappily down the long, empty corridor.
The very emptiness of the place, at that moment, reminded him how alone and friendless he actually was. Being Ronnie Cleveland, the Blue Boy, made up for a great deal. Other kids had homes and families, and friends and relatives they could count on. He had only the Corporation. It practically owned him.
Not even Gus Woolman, his manager, or Peter Pushkin, his new tutor. He paused a moment, recalling now that there had been no one on guard duty at his dressing room. Suddenly he wondered why not even Peter Pushkin had been there waiting for him. The main one, actually. What you gotta remember, Gus had told Peter, is that Ronnie is a mighty valuable piece of property.
You must never let him out of your sight. Peter Pushkin, a bushy-haired young college teacher with something too icy in his eyes for comfort, had nodded slowly while he fingered an atrocious red goatee. I understand, he had said. Naturally, someone should always be with him just to protect him from the public. But you sound as if there could be trouble from other sources.
Are you afraid of kidnappers? Aw, naw, nothing like that, Gus had replied, almost too quickly. But kooks are everywhere. Your job, besides teaching him, is to keep your eyes open. You gotta be sort of a big brother to him, see? But why? Where was the danger? When had it started? Suddenly he realized that all the wrongness in his life had really begun back at the reformatory, on the day Gus had discovered him.
Sharply in his mind rose a vision of the hated place, so jammed with boys that half of them had to sleep on the floor. But there had been no other spot to put him. But you gotta do exactly as we tell you. That clear? And all he had to do in payment was memorize the accounts Gus and his partner gave him. There was nothing to it. There was the piano, which he speedily learned to play by listening to records, and following that was the excitement in school when it was found he could solve intricate mathematical problems in less time than a machine.
After this experience, Jones quickly figured out music was what he wanted to do. I picked up every single gig I could. First time I stepped on stage; I was 21 and played at a blues club. Ever since that moment I was trying to play all the time. Falling Down m. Camera angles, commentators, panel experts and hit ratios. I thought at that point we had finally lost the plot. My thinking has not changed much.
Streets of the City m. The song has been hanging around in one form or another for some time and I am delighted that I finally got it finished. This was originally called "queuing for a living" but the title never seemed to fit or match the sentiment. Siard and I had a good time with the mandola and high string guitar. I really like this track. Today m.