This very rare, political song written more than a decade ago by Grateful Dead Lyricist Robert Hunter, was finally unearthed and recorded in 2020. The words eloquently paint a picture of today’s America. This is truly a song for our times.

Greg Anton, drummer, composer and novelist, has published over 50 original vocal and instrumental songs, many of them co-written with Robert Hunter. A prominent drummer on the jamband circuit with his band ZERO and many others, Anton has played thousands of concerts worldwide, performed on 40+ albums and his Rock ‘n Roll novel FACE THE MUSIC has garnered critical acclaim.

Starting with the release of ‘American Spring’, Anton has dug into his archive and will be regularly releasing mostly unreleased material under the moniker ANTON. Tune in to this space and enjoy the music.

AMERICAN SPRING

R. HUNTER / G. ANTON 2003 c

I WAS BORN ONE AMERICAN SPRING

NECK IN A NOOSE, ARM IN A SLING

ROLLED FROM MY CRADLE, COLD AND NUMB

CRAWLED TO THE ROAD, STUCK OUT MY THUMB

SIX DAYS AND NIGHTS WITHOUT A RIDE

THE SEVENTH SOMEONE PULLED ASIDE

PICKED ME UP WHERE I LAY DEAD

KNOCKED SOME SENSE INTO MY HEAD

I WAS BORN ONE AMERICAN SPRING

BRIGHT DAWN OF THE RECKONING

CLOUDS HAD FACES FEET HAD WINGS

GREW UP LEARNING AMERICAN THINGS

STAR SPANGLED CHURCH OF THE GRAND OLD FLAG

NOT SOME BLOOD-SOAKED MOB UP RAG

COPS WERE GOOD, CROOKS WERE BAD

RIGHTS WERE SOMETHING EVERYONE HAD

CHORUS

AMERICAN SPRING OF THEE I SING

OF ALL THE HOPELESS HOPES YOU BRING

STARS AND BONES TWINED IN YOUR HAIR

ELECTRIC MUSIC IN YOUR STARE

VERSE

GAMBLED WITH THE BONE MAN ONE DARK NIGHT

FORTY-NINE CARDS, WE WERE THREE JACKS LIGHT

COULDN'T TELL AN ACE AND A DEUCE BY FEEL

BONE MAN SAID, SHUT UP AND DEAL

I BUILT YOUR HOUSE AND I LAID YOUR FLOOR

CARRIED YOUR FLAG AND I FOUGHT YOUR WAR

SILVER PISTOL ON YOUR THIGH

COLD BLUE THUNDER IN YOUR EYES

CHORUS

AMERICAN SPRING OF THEE I SING

OF ALL THE HOPELESS HOPES YOU BRING

STARS AND BONES TWINED IN YOUR HAIR

ELECTRIC MUSIC IN YOUR STARE

BRIDGE

AMERICAN SPRING OF THEE I SING


OF ALL THE HOPELESS HOPES YOU BRING

OF ALL THE HANGING ROPES YOU SWING

OF ALL THE BELLS YOU NEVER RING

VERSE

SWORE ALLEGIANCE NEARLY EVERYDAY

HAND ON HEART UNDER GOD WE PRAY

 IT WAS LIKE RELIGION UNDER HOLY SKIES

WITH VISIONS OF THE STARS AND STRIPES

NONE OF THAT MAKES SENSE NO MORE

THICK BLACK WAVES LAP ON THE SHORE

INNER CITY GUNSHOTS RING

THERE'S NOTHING LEFT TO DO BUT SING

CHORUS

AMERICAN SPRING OF THEE I SING

OF ALL THE HOPELESS HOPES YOU BRING

STARS AND BONES TWINED IN YOUR HAIR

ELECTRIC MUSIC IN YOUR STARE