Video musicale

All That Time Allows
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Crediti

PERFORMING ARTISTS
P.F. Sloan
P.F. Sloan
Vocals
Jon Tiven
Jon Tiven
Organ
Fran Kowalski
Fran Kowalski
Background Vocals
Becky Hobbs
Becky Hobbs
Background Vocals
Beth Hooker
Beth Hooker
Background Vocals
Garry Tallent
Garry Tallent
Electric Bass Guitar
Bruce Bouton
Bruce Bouton
Pedal Steel Guitar
Craig Krampf
Craig Krampf
Drums
Billy Block
Billy Block
Tabla
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Jon Tiven
Jon Tiven
Producer
Jim DeMain
Jim DeMain
Mastering Engineer
Jake Burns
Jake Burns
Mixing Engineer
John Hurley
John Hurley
Recording Engineer
Ben James
Ben James
Assistant Recording Engineer
Fran Kowalski
Fran Kowalski
Mixing Engineer

Testi

I watched it on the TV I learned to cry again today And the newsman said that someone Took their life away And they judge and rate it, evaluate it 'Til there's nothin' else to say What can I say now? All that words allow Dirty little politics as usual Pullin' the wool over people's eyes 'Til the enemy is everybody Who doesn't hold to your view of life We know change happens way too slowly Like it's stuck or even died We all get stuck somewhere Does it mean I don't care? Ah, the miracle, the madness The temperature of the game Times of happiness, unfairness Praise all the finger-raisin' blame There's the inescapable sadness That brings us down to lift us up again What can I do now? All that love allows, all that love allows Mama, Mama, won't believe what I heard Auntie called her in a break of the game She said Jesus spoke to her 'bout the dinin' room table She said he heard depressed that you asked in his name Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama She said Jesus spoke to her about the dinin' room table He said "Why do you worry so? Don't you worry no more" Dreamed I wakened my sense of appreciation In this age of risin' rage Locked in a cage of self-gratification And what passes for the truth today is mostly misinformation You take care tonight Oh, come share your light Ah, there's the miracle, the madness Temperature of the game Times of happiness or unfairness Praise all the middle finger raised in blame There's the inescapable sadness That brings us down to lift us up again What can I do now? All that time allows, all that time allows What can I do now? All that time allows What can I do now? All that time allows And I watched it on the TV I learned to cry again today
Writer(s): P. F. Sloan Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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