“The Tower” - a song about landscape
Landscape in the sense of perspective. Co-written with Vietnam veteran Pete Winnen.
Story Pairing
This is a song born from Project D.R.E.W., a humanitarian program in Avon Lake that pairs a veteran and a songwriter on a Saturday morning. The two sit for a couple hours, the veteran sharing their story, the songwriter sharing their craft, and 24 hours later the writer comes back with a song that pays tribute to that shared experience. It’s one of the most precious things you could hope to be a part of as a songwriter. To be gifted temporary access to another’s shoes is a powerful permission. It’s like holding a new born baby or juggling glass, you know that it’s a precious thing and it takes all of your focus to be present and aware of how you could effect the purity of it.
This space is not where I would regurgitate that story shared, that time has come and gone, and as a steward of his steps, the only thing I will share is the song we wrote together. This page and these words instead will be a little reflecting on the craft and the responsibility I think we have as songwriters.
That responsibility changes depending on approach. There are famous songs that mean something because of their popularity and their participation in life events, those are the ones with a melodic hook or a famous name attached that end up snowballing into a phenomenon. Then there are songs that sit on a bench somewhere looking out over a natural wonder. They soak up the expanse and inside of them hold an infinite amount of depth, but they may never leave that bench. The words were deposited when the creator needed a place to rest, and to shed some of the burden (be it incredibly wonderful or incredibly terrible). All experience has a weight to it regardless of the nature, and songs are often a way to pair down some of that weight, to make sense of accumulation, and then place that powerful package neatly and quietly off to the side, where the next person in need make place a ear to it. Those are the kind of songs I personally like to write. They are beyond important in the moment, without them support structures will buckle and break. Once created they are available for reflection and may find an additional use in the future when another person can use them as blueprints to shed some of their own burdens. Writing those songs demands a different sort of attention from the creator. You aren’t making them to create steps to the next one, you are making them to create a seat where you and the listener can be reminded of what peace feels like.
I was recently at a songwriters conference this weekend with a focus on folk music, and had many a conversation about writing. I personally get pulled away from the writing part too often, when I have to focus on marketing and booking and maintenance and gear and all of the hats that you have when operating a business. That said, my business is built around songs, and to not give those songs the attention they deserve is a misuse of my time and it’s a disservice as well as a lie to the people that come to me for songs. Listening is the secret weapon of a songwriter. It’s what will get you back on track faster than anything. To cut out the noise, to find the environment where you feel the most free, and listen. Observe. Feel. Think, taste, see, smell, reflect, imagine… it’s all an incredible grouping of building blocks that go into this craft. The combination of all these potential inspirations make for limitless anchor points that others can tether themselves to. Most of the beautiful songs that get made every day see very little in the way of “popularity”, but when written from the foundation of need instead of want, then they are being pulled into existence to make the world better bit by bit, not make the world distracted mass by mass.
A lot of rambling and stream of thought on this musing. There’s been a lot of emotions running through me lately. I don’t know if it’s increased comfort with emotion as I age, or if it’s me finding myself in heavier situations with the looming world issues in my peripherals, but either way I am finding I can dig a little deeper into songwriting lately, and that’s fine by me.
Song Structure
Capo 5-7 range
Verse: G / Em / Am / D
Chorus: G / Am / C / D
Voice Memos
Notebook Page
May 2025
Lyrics
All aboard the flying Tiger, say goodbye to california
Pack your bags, ship your rags, this place will surly morn ya
St James in the rearview, the mimes all cry farewell
Wheels touch down in Bien Hoa, that’s a different kind of hell
These jungles hum a lullaby, the kind that splits your skin
Shoots like it was breathing, then you never breath again
I’m stepping over brothers, asleep in bags of black
No matter how much salt they have, they're still not coming back
If I climb up to the tower, call me back down
Didn’t ask to come here swinging, no part of this is mine
Didn’t ask to walk these steps, one exposed rung at a time
If I’m looking down from higher, a berserker on my brow
The guns already smoking before I get to asking how
If I climb up to the tower, don’t forget me
If I climb up to the tower, call me back down
Waking from a fitful sleep, I lost my issued kit
I crawl into a Khe Sanh trench, right before the rockets hit
As the smoke is slowly clearing they hand me a crimson vest
And sigh, He don’t need it no more, a life wasted like the rest
The ones that dropped looked just like boys, legs splintered like pine
The chaplains pray it mattered, but I never bought that line
Names carved into bunkers, rattled in your gut
We saw the ground they died for, knew we lost too much
If I climb up to the tower, call me back down
Didn’t ask to come here swinging, no part of this is mine
Didn’t ask to walk these steps, one exposed rung at a time
If I’m looking down from higher, a berserker on my brow
The guns already smoking before I get to asking how
If I climb up to the tower, don’t forget me
If I climb up to the tower, call me back down
I drank it in like whiskey, smoked it into air
Slept inside a thundercloud, and woke up gasping there
I made it through the fire, so a short timer is me
Back to the states in silence, back to a university
I see platoons on campus, they march and spread their fear
The spirit of the bayonet, that forked tongue in their ear
Surely all this knowledge, should minimize the harm
Then 4 people are dying and the bloods back on my arms
If I climb up to the tower, call me back down
Didn’t ask to come here swinging, no part of this is mine
Didn’t ask to walk these steps, one exposed rung at a time
If I’m looking down from higher, a berserker on my brow
The guns already smoking before I get to asking how
If I climb up to the tower, don’t forget me
If I climb up to the tower, call me back down
Told her in some sterile room, our counselors taking notes
All the things I’d done and seen, the ghosts gripping at my throat
I braced to feel her pull away, to see me the way I feared
She just held me like a promise, whispered I love you through the tears
I don’t mind your silence, or the way you sometimes shake
It’s all of you I’m here for, it’s all of you I’ll take
Let me pull you from your pillar, pick you up from the floor
You came back to me, more than most could of hoped for
If you climb up to the tower I wont forget you
If you climb up to the tower I’ll call you down
If you climb up to the tower I wont forget you
If you climb up to the tower I’ll call you down