Build your own guitars. Find your own voice. Write your own songs. Grow your own food, And buy lots of records. Under the dark skies on an Alabama farm, inside a house built with his own hands, Riley relentlessly un-Yielding churns poignant poetry into teasing tales, and looms them into the ever-twisting fabric of musical illusion. The Luthier bleats: 'True love is a fantasy and I'm in love with one. Fancy-free.' 'The words you were saying -- they were lying to my ears, so I believed your eyes.' 'Time, it passes quickly -- use it well.'