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Songwriting

Debt in the Seed

Note

Aging farmers are the last generation who remember when seed was saved, not licensed; when farming was built on knowledge of land, not contracts and compliance. Today farmers who choose to grow genetically modified seed sign a contract stating that they will not save their seed to grow next year. This seed is protected under intellectual property laws.

Lyrics

Debt in the Seed

Granddad kept kernels in an old seed sack,
The kind of yellow gold you never sell back
He’d hold a handful up against the light,
And see a hundred years of farmin’ right.
He’d say, “This seed remembers every flood we crossed,
Every early freeze, every penny lost.”

But I’m standin’ at the loadin’ dock today,
Tradin’ a hundred years of memory away.
Buyin’ my life inside a plastic bag,
With a barcode sticker and a warnin’ tag.

     And it breaks your heart to sow what you don’t own,
     To watch a miracle turn into a loan.
     The rain falls free upon the leaf,
     But what’s inside is a thief.
     It’s a hollow harvest,
     It’s a sterile breed,
     The devil’s in the paper,
     And the debt is in the seed.

A black sedan rolled up the gravel drive,
A vulture checkin’ if the carcass is alive.
They took a sample of the life I sweat to grow,
Told me it was somethin’ I wasn’t allowed to know.
They said the patent is woven into the grain,
And I’m just a tenant for the sun and the rain.
I looked at my hands, all scarred and brown,
Feelin’ like a stranger in my own hometown.

     Repeat Chorus

Now Grandad is buried in this hill,
He gave his bones to make the soil still.
But the ground is changin’, it’s turnin’ cold,
It only wakes up for the chemicals it’s told.
It’s hooked on the poison, it’s lost its way,
It doesn’t recognize the prayers I pray.
One year of glory, then it turns to stone,
Leavin’ me standin’ in the field alone.

     Yeah, it breaks your heart to sow what you don’t own,
     To watch a miracle turn into a loan.
     The rain falls free upon the leaf,
     But what’s inside is a thief.
     It’s a hollow harvest,
     It’s a sterile breed,
     The devil’s in the paper,
     And the debt is in the seed.

Writer: J. Ryan Johnson (BMI)
Copyright: © 2026 J. Ryan Johnson. All rights reserved.
Phone: +1 (407) 902-5419
Email: hello [at] tenthirtyam [dot] org

Songwriter Note

I am a songwriter and a musician, but I'm not confident that I have the voice that's needed to inhabit these verses.

My hope is that these words eventually find an artist and storyteller to help me breathe life into them. If that collaboration never comes, I may record them myself rather than let them settle into silence.

Until then, they remain as they were born: quiet reflections on the grit, grace, and shadows just north of the county line.

Cross to Bear

Trigger Warning

This piece includes themes of depression. Please proceed with care.

Lyrics

Cross to Bear

I don’t know when the gray
Started seepin’ in the room
Or when this house we built
Started feelin’ like a tomb
It ain’t nothin’ that you did
Baby, your heart is true and gold
But there’s a winter in my bones
That just won’t let go of the cold
I look for a reason
But the reason isn’t there
Just a shadow in the corner
And a heavy, stale air

     Oh
     The more I know
     The less I feel
     The devil tells a lie
     That starts to sound real
     So please let me go
     Save yourself the prayer
     This ain’t your fault, darlin’
     It’s just my cross to bear

I ain’t slept in days
But I ain’t really been awake
I’m watchin’ you try to give
Love I don’t know how to take
I wanna go down to the river
And let the water wash me clean
But the mud on my soul
Is the thickest you’ve ever seen
I’m still the man you married
Somewhere underneath this rust
But I’m fightin’ a war inside
And we’re chokin’ on the dust

     Well
     The more I know
     The less I feel
     The devil tells a lie
     That starts to sound real
     So please let me go
     Save yourself the prayer
     This ain’t your fault, darlin’
     It’s just my cross to bear

If I get quiet
Don’t mistake it for peace
I’m just countin’ the demons
That refuse to leave
You deserve a sunrise
Not this endless shade I cast
You can’t heal the future
When I’m buried in the past

I wake up tired of wakin’
Tired of puttin’ on the boots
Whatever grows in this garden
Has got poison in the roots
I trace your name on the sheet
While you’re sleepin’ sound
I’m a heavy wooden anchor
Draggin’ both of us down
And even an angel gets tired
Of holdin’ up a ghost
And hurtin’ the one you love
Is what hurts the most

     Yeah
     The more I know
     The less I feel
     The devil tells a lie
     That starts to sound real
     So please let me go
     There’s nothing left to repair
     It ain’t your weight to carry
     It’s my cross to bear.

Writer: J. Ryan Johnson (BMI)
Copyright: © 2025 J. Ryan Johnson. All rights reserved.
Phone: +1 (407) 902-5419
Email: hello [at] tenthirtyam [dot] org

Songwriter Note

I am a songwriter and a musician, but I'm not confident that I have the voice that's needed to inhabit these verses.

My hope is that these words eventually find an artist and storyteller to help me breathe life into them. If that collaboration never comes, I may record them myself rather than let them settle into silence.

Until then, they remain as they were born: quiet reflections on the grit, grace, and shadows just north of the county line.

Don't Spin It in Reverse

Lyrics

Don't Spin It in Reverse

When the needle drops down on an old 45
It stirs up memories I’ve been keepin inside
An old man says, “Spin it the other way ’round,
You’ll get back everything you lost in this damn town.”

The room starts laughing, but I stay still
Watching that record turn until
The crackle ain’t static, it’s boots in the hall
The ice in my whiskey’s a fist through the wall

     They all want another chance somehow
     I don’t need one now

     Let the sad song play till the last note’s gone
     Leave what’s buried where it’s been this long
     That old Ford can rust where the fence rows curve
     That hound can sleep where the red dirt serves
     She can stay where the years have laid her
     Mercy’s a hard thing to come by, neighbor
     I paid too much for the life I’ve earned
     Don’t spin it in reverse

If the groove ran backward, I’d wake in the rain
Three miles from town with ’shine in my veins
Back in a house where the windows shook
Reading tomorrow in one hard look
Coffee gone cold on a chipped-up plate
That screen door snapped like a heart would break
She paid in hurt, and I paid in shame
Nobody wins in that kinda game

     Repeat Chorus

Funny what folks’ll wish back home
A truck, a dog, a girl they’ve known
But every mile between then and now
Cost more than I could tell you how
The past we lost wasn’t meant to stay
It let us go so we could live today

     So let the sad song play till the last note’s gone
     Leave what’s buried where it’s been this long
     That old Ford can rust where the fence rows curve
     That hound can sleep where the red dirt serves
     You can have the miracle if that’s what you’re after
     I’ve finally learned the sound of laughter
     I paid too much for the life I’ve earned
     Don’t spin it in reverse
     Yeah, don’t spin it in reverse

Writer: J. Ryan Johnson (BMI)
Copyright: © 2026 J. Ryan Johnson. All rights reserved.
Phone: +1 (407) 902-5419
Email: hello [at] tenthirtyam [dot] org

Songwriter Note

I am a songwriter and a musician, but I'm not confident that I have the voice that's needed to inhabit these verses.

My hope is that these words eventually find an artist and storyteller to help me breathe life into them. If that collaboration never comes, I may record them myself rather than let them settle into silence.

Until then, they remain as they were born: quiet reflections on the grit, grace, and shadows just north of the county line.

Oh, Adeline

An original murder ballad, inspired by the traditional folk songs “Poor Ellen Smith” and “Two Sisters”

Trigger Warning

This piece includes themes of drowning, death, guilt, and implied violence. Please proceed with care.

Lyrics

Oh, Adeline

We walked where the sycamores shade the old track
With a heavy gray sky riding low on our backs
She talked of a ticket, I spoke of the land
How the past is a shackle folks won’t understand
The river ran quiet, the moon low and thin
I swore to my Savior I’d bring her back in

     Oh, Adeline
     The river took your breath away
     Oh, Adeline
     There’s a price that I’ll pay
     The slate is slick, the water’s black
     And there’s no trail to lead us back
     Poor Adeline
     I’ve crossed that heavy, dark line

One step on the edge where the slate turned to slick
The air went to static, the silence turned thick
The ground gave a shudder and gave to the stream
A crack in the night, a tear in a dream
I shouted her name to the heavy black air
But the river was hungry and she wasn’t there

     Repeat Chorus

The law found a shoe in the mud by the bend
Said my story starts ragged and won’t find an end
I tell ’em I loved her, I swear that I stayed
I show ’em the river, the bed that it made
But late in the night when the house settles low
I hear that dark water and know what I know

If guilt is a mountain, I’m lost on the peak
If sin is a language, it’s all that I speak
Don’t call it murder, that’s a label, a lie
Call it a moment that simply passed by
I never pushed her, I made no demand
I just didn’t tighten the grip of my hand

     Repeat Chorus

Writer: J. Ryan Johnson (BMI)
Copyright: © 2026 J. Ryan Johnson. All rights reserved.
Phone: +1 (407) 902-5419
Email: hello [at] tenthirtyam [dot] org

Songwriter Note

I am a songwriter and a musician, but I'm not confident that I have the voice that's needed to inhabit these verses.

My hope is that these words eventually find an artist and storyteller to help me breathe life into them. If that collaboration never comes, I may record them myself rather than let them settle into silence.

Until then, they remain as they were born: quiet reflections on the grit, grace, and shadows just north of the county line.

For It All

Lyrics

For It All

The radiator’s humming
The lights are turned down low
I’m leaning on the counter
Watching headlights on the road
There’s a pair of my boots
And the mail I haven’t read
By their faded crayon drawings
Hanging on by a thread
I’m pacing in my mind
They’re sleeping down the hall
I’m carrying this weight in silence
Knowing I’ve hit a wall

     I don’t say it
     I just carry it around
     Like the dirt in the floorboards
     And the rain that won’t come down
     I love them more than living
     But some days I disappear
     Struggling to be the man they need
     Still looking for me here

She asks me if I’m tired
I say, “Baby, I’m alright”
But there’s tired in my body
And there’s tired in this fight
There's a kind that comes from working
Another comes from fear
Of the monsters at my doorway
That I won't let get too near
But I can’t always stop my temper
I don’t always hold my tongue
And I pray they don't just remember
All the times I’ve come undone

     Repeat Chorus

I don’t cry where they can see me
I never fall apart in the light
I just hug them in the doorway
And I make it through the night
I hope they know I love them
When my hands and heart are tired
But underneath the man they need
There’s another child inside

     Repeat Chorus

But when the house gets quiet
And I’m standing in this hall
I listen to them dreaming
And thank God for it all

Writer: J. Ryan Johnson (BMI)
Copyright: © 2026 J. Ryan Johnson. All rights reserved.
Phone: +1 (407) 902-5419
Email: hello [at] tenthirtyam [dot] org

Songwriter Note

I am a songwriter and a musician, but I'm not confident that I have the voice that's needed to inhabit these verses.

My hope is that these words eventually find an artist and storyteller to help me breathe life into them. If that collaboration never comes, I may record them myself rather than let them settle into silence.

Until then, they remain as they were born: quiet reflections on the grit, grace, and shadows just north of the county line.

Farmer's Daughter

Reflection

Published alongside Field After Field, Song After Song, a reflection on the long Saturday drives my dad, my brother, and I made across Southwest Georgia in the 1990s, checking rain gauges for a local peanut company. From field to field and county to county, all while 90s country music poured through the open windows of an old truck and carried us through the heat, dust, backroads, and memory of those days.

Lyrics

Farmer's Daughter

Sun’s dippin’ down like a fishing lure
Cruisin’ in the country where the air is pure
I’m pulling up slow in a beat-up Ford
She’s hoppin’ in saying, “Thank the Lord!”
She’s got those cutoffs on and a tan-line smile
Saying, “Hey baby, let’s drive a while…”
Don’t need a map, don’t need a plan
Just a touch of her hand and the night just began

The preacher’s still talkin’ ‘bout the promised land
But I got a little piece of it holdin’ my hand
Yeah we’re lockin’ it in, we’re shiftin’ it down
Leavin’ the lights of this sleepy-eyed town

     Seminole Wind over muddy water
     Ridin’ with a Wild One, the farmer’s daughter
     Under that big bright Neon Moon
     Blasting Chattahoochee to a backbeat boom
     Friends in Low Places raising ’em high
     Baby Likes to Rock It shaking the sky
     Young, dumb, a little Dust On the Bottle
     Time Marches On, no throttle

Check the rearview, yeah the dust is high
Like a Georgia storm in the July sky
She’s got her boots on the dash, singin’ every word
Prettiest harmony I ever heard
We’re crankin’ up the radio, yeah we’re ready to go
Taking it fast while we’re living it slow
Ain’t nothing changed since ’94
‘cept the speakers hit a little bit more

The preacher’s still talking ‘bout the promised land
But I got a little piece of it on her left hand
Yeah we’re lockin’ it in, we’re shiftin’ it down
Still the talk of this sleepy-eyed town

     Repeat Chorus

We killed the engine by the riverside
Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide
She’s tasting sweeter than muscadine wine
Yeah, I’m gonna love her for a long, long time
Radio hummin’ low, holdin’ us tight
She’s leanin’ on me, feels so right
Yeah, the static is fuzzy, but the feeling is clear
It’s always a Friday night when we’re out here

     Repeat Chorus

Writer: J. Ryan Johnson (BMI)
Copyright: © 2026 J. Ryan Johnson. All rights reserved.
Phone: +1 (407) 902-5419
Email: hello [at] tenthirtyam [dot] org

Songwriter Note

I am a songwriter and a musician, but I'm not confident that I have the voice that's needed to inhabit these verses.

My hope is that these words eventually find an artist and storyteller to help me breathe life into them. If that collaboration never comes, I may record them myself rather than let them settle into silence.

Until then, they remain as they were born: quiet reflections on the grit, grace, and shadows just north of the county line.

I'll Be Damned

Reflection

Some roads don't take you anywhere new; the ones that drag you back to what you can't forget.

For me, that’s the haunted stretch of State Road 39 that pulls away just north of the Miller County line, past my Grandaddy’s broken fences and the hard-baked clay ruts. It's where the world closes in around the pines and pastures, and you're just waiting to see what the afternoon is going to break next.

I never had the luxury of romanticizing this place. I was raised to be useful to a land that looks peaceful on a postcard but cuts deep when you’re trapped inside it. Where the stench of diesel and manure hangs heavy, and hardship settles onto your shoulders the same way the red dirt stains your boot seams.

These songs are how I drag those memories into the light.

They're written for the folks who carry the weight in total silence, only to get up tomorrow and do it all over again.

Lyrics

I'll Be Damned

Morning breaks like bad news
Over land that never speaks
Wind moves through the dead rows
Like it’s lookin’ for relief
Daddy’s boots by the back door
Dirt already on my hands
I was barely old enough
To know the weight of this damn land

     It’ll feed you, it’ll fight you
     Make you curse and make you pray
     And every year I tell myself
     This’ll be the year I walk away

     This is where the strong stay silent
     And the weak don’t last too long
     Where hope is just a habit
     And quittin’ feels too wrong
     Yeah, the roots go deep and the debt is steep
     And the devil holds my hand
     If I’m leavin’, I’ll be bleedin’
     If I’m stayin’, I’ll be damned

Iron breaks in the July heat
Right when the rain is runnin’ late
Banker’s callin’, diesel’s climbin’
Staring down an open gate
Old men nod across the fence line
Knowin’ what I just can’t say
You don’t choose this kind of livin’
It just bleeds into your veins

     Repeat Pre-Chorus

     Repeat Chorus

Red dust settled on the dash
Sweat dryin’ on my shirt
Yeah, every road around here
Starts and ends in dirt
You can tell yourself a story
But the ground don’t care at all
It just holds what we leave it
When our names quit gettin’ called

     Repeat Chorus

Writer: J. Ryan Johnson (BMI)
Copyright: © 2026 J. Ryan Johnson. All rights reserved.
Phone: +1 (407) 902-5419
Email: hello [at] tenthirtyam [dot] org

Songwriter Note

I am a songwriter and a musician, but I'm not confident that I have the voice that's needed to inhabit these verses.

My hope is that these words eventually find an artist and storyteller to help me breathe life into them. If that collaboration never comes, I may record them myself rather than let them settle into silence.

Until then, they remain as they were born: quiet reflections on the grit, grace, and shadows just north of the county line.

Hay for the Heifers

Reflection

Farm work looks noble from a distance, viewed through the softening lens of years gone by.

But it was just sweat, salt, and the inescapable gravity of a bloodline leading ahead of us on a rusted tractor seat. It was the kind of grit that settled into our joints and became part of our posture, a permanent inheritance.

It was an education in endurance, watching our Grandad’s back silhouette against the suffocating heat haze while my brother and I moved in a wordless, desperate rhythm below, reading each other's every breath because there wasn't room for anything else.

We learned early on that love between us wasn’t spoken. It was thrown, caught, stacked, and suffered through together. Yet, there was a heavy, almost sacred grace found at the barn at dusk, when the Massey finally choked out, the dust began to sink, and the pine shadows stretched long enough to let us finally clear our lungs.

This song is a reminder of those long afternoons left behind, side-by-side.

Lyrics

HAY FOR THE HEIFERS

The sun’s a red eye peeking o’er the Georgia pines
Grandad’s on the seat, keeping everything in line
That Massey belching out the blackest of smoke
If this baler misses ties, boys, it ain't no joke
The peanut vines are cured, they’re gold and dry
We’re kicking up a grit-cloud reaching for the sky

     Baling square bales in the heat and the haze
     Chasing down the harvest in a dusty-red daze
     Stack ‘em on the trailer, keep the corners tight
     Building up a mountain ‘neath the afternoon sky
     It’s hay for the heifers, it’s gold for the herd
     Sweating ‘til we’re finished, Lord, you have my word

That trailer’s getting long and it’s sagging in the middle
The dry vines are humming like a low-tuned fiddle
I’m standing on the edge, catching the bails on the fly
Dust in my throat and a sting in my eye
Grandad shifts a gear, we feel a jerk and a sway
We’re heavy-loaded, headed for the barn today

Back at the barn, the shadows stretching long and lean
The sweetest smelling hay-house that you’ve ever did seen
Back that Massey up, let the iron engine roar
We’ll stack ‘em to the rafters, all the way from the floor
The cows are in the lot and they’re bellerin’ low
They know that candy’s got the winter-time glow

     Repeat Chorus

Yeah, stack ‘em high
Keep 'em square
Oh, that hay is everywhere
It’s hay for the heifers, gold for the herd

Writer: J. Ryan Johnson (BMI)
Copyright: © 2026 J. Ryan Johnson. All rights reserved.
Phone: +1 (407) 902-5419
Email: hello [at] tenthirtyam [dot] org

Songwriter Note

I am a songwriter and a musician, but I'm not confident that I have the voice that's needed to inhabit these verses.

My hope is that these words eventually find an artist and storyteller to help me breathe life into them. If that collaboration never comes, I may record them myself rather than let them settle into silence.

Until then, they remain as they were born: quiet reflections on the grit, grace, and shadows just north of the county line.

Seminole Clay

'73 Alday Murders

The Alday murders didn’t end at the graveside in May 1973. They cast a long shadow over Seminole County, Georgia, forever altering the lives of those left behind and reshaping the community’s very character. Six members of the Alday family were brutally taken at once, leaving their survivors grappling with profound grief and the weight of seeing their family name forever entwined with tragedy. The farm that had sustained generations eventually passed from the family’s hands, a somber reminder of the devastation wrought by the killings.

The murders shattered the sense of rural security that had once prevailed. Neighbors learned to lock their doors with newfound anxiety, and a community accustomed to trust found itself living in a state of suspicion and fear.

As the years stretched into decades of trials, appeals, and public debate, the wounds of the Alday murders remained open and festered, fueled by frustrations over the slow pace of justice.

The events of the Alday murders continue to resonate in South Georgia’s collective memory. The Alday name has transcended its historical significance, becoming a symbol of loss, a testament to the weathered state of the community, and a haunting reminder of the enduring impact that tragedies can have on lives.

Lyrics

SEMINOLE CLAY

The hay was heavy, the humidity high
Just a Monday under a South Georgia sky
A quiet dirt road, nothing out of place
While strangers moved silent through borrowed space
They’d come down south from a prison line
Three from Maryland, leaving the law behind
A stolen car cooling in the yard that day
While the red dust hung and the fields stood gray

     And the wind don’t blow through the wiregrass no more
     Not the way that it used to blow before
     There’s a stain on the harvest, a shadow on the sun
     And the devil used a stranger’s hand to hold a gun
     You can plow the earth and pray for rain to fall
     But there’s six empty chairs against the kitchen wall
     Yeah, the blood runs deep in the Seminole clay

They were fathers, they were brothers, they were working men
Walking through the doorway like they’d always been
One by one, they were taken inside
Bound by fear with nowhere to hide
Then Mary pulled in, never turned away
She was taken from her home that afternoon in May
They carried her out where the pinewoods stand
And left her with the fire ants on the family land

We used to leave the keys inside the truck
We used to trust in God and trust in luck
But luck ran out in May of ‘73
And it never came back to this county

     Repeat Chorus

The trials ran long, and the years ran slow
Through the appeals, the cells, and the death-row
Some met the lightning or the needle's sting
But a verdict don't bring back the breath of things
No war was declared, no sirens gave a sound
Just six good souls laid in the cold, hard ground

So if you pass through Seminole, tread lightly evermore
Cause the ghosts are waiting by that trailer door
Yeah, the blood runs deep
In the Seminole clay

Writer: J. Ryan Johnson (BMI) Copyright: © 2026 J. Ryan Johnson. All rights reserved. Phone: +1 (407) 902-5419 Email: hello [at] tenthirtyam [dot] org

Songwriter Note

I am a songwriter and a musician, but I'm not confident that I have the voice that's needed to inhabit these verses.

My hope is that these words eventually find an artist and storyteller to help me breathe life into them. If that collaboration never comes, I may record them myself rather than let them settle into silence.

Until then, they remain as they were born: quiet reflections on the grit, grace, and shadows just north of the county line.

Hard Days

Reflection

On a flight to Vermont, after the death of my nephew this past Winter, I wrote this song about the quiet, isolating gravity of depression. It’s the kind that makes the floor feel like the only safe place to look, because looking up feels like asking for too much.

We spend so much time trying to outrun our own shadows, forgetting that they only exist because there's a light somewhere behind us.

This song is for the heavy hours, for those Lost in Shades of "I'm Okay", and for anyone carrying a weight they can’t quite put into words.

Lyrics

HARD DAYS

I see you staring at the floorboards
Like they’re fixin’ to give way
Tracing every crooked crack
Lost in shades of “I’m okay”
The world is getting louder
You’re moving in reverse
And every breath you’re taking now
Feels borrowed, feels like a curse

You’ve been carrying that mountain
Since the sun went down
Just trying to keep your head
Above where you would drown

     The hard days don’t get the final say
     Even when you’re fighting just to make it through the day
     Hold on like a spark in rain
     Yeah, the darkness never learns your name

If you’re out there hovering
Somewhere this side of gone
Listen to me clearly now
You don’t have to be so strong
There’s a seat here at the table
And it’s yours, no questions now
And your worth is never measured
By your fear or by your doubt

It’s okay to crack and break
Okay to feel small
This ain’t where your story ends
It’s only just a wall

     Repeat Chorus

The ceiling’s feeling heavy
The air is thick as lead
And the lies begin to circle
Every corner of your head
You think you’re just a burden
Like a bad debt or a ghost
But you’re the very thing
This broken world needs most

Don’t trust the shadows
When they’re whispering, no
Don’t believe it’s better
To just let it go
The sun is a promise
The night can’t outrun
So stay through the shadows
Stay ‘til the dawn comes

Yeah, the hard days
Don’t get the final say
Even when you’re fighting
Just to make it through the day
Hold on like a spark in rain
Yeah, the darkness
Was never made to stay

Writer: J. Ryan Johnson (BMI)
Copyright: © 2026 J. Ryan Johnson. All rights reserved.
Phone: +1 (407) 902-5419
Email: hello [at] tenthirtyam [dot] org

Songwriter Note

I am a songwriter and a musician, but I'm not confident that I have the voice that's needed to inhabit these verses.

My hope is that these words eventually find an artist and storyteller to help me breathe life into them. If that collaboration never comes, I may record them myself rather than let them settle into silence.

Until then, they remain as they were born: quiet reflections on the grit, grace, and shadows just north of the county line.