We play the Atlantic tomorrow @ 5 PM and will have first press copies of our new record along with a fest exclusive screenprint with each LP bought. Get there early to get in! The place is a little tight!
Maybe….Maybe you saw your mother, maybe she’s smiling, she hears your catching laughter, she’s missed your charm, we never made it to Cooperstown but I’ve still got that glove under my bed, Maybe I’ll see you, we could shoot the shit, finally have a beer, “have a catch,”but for now its catch my tears, its catch my breath, I can just hear you say “come on bud, get out of that funk, it’s time to move on,” it’s funny how you still apply, you still know me, I’ll try to take your tools and make something worth while, try to make ya proud, I’ve learned nothing is spotless anymore, but I’ll let you resonate…
maybe your Heaven is that Norman Rockwell scene where you and your friends are singing that Gordon Lightfoot song, “If you could only read my mind,” well if you could only read my mind, well that ending, it was just too hard to take, is it better than Clapton? Did you see your fathers eyes? I know it’s wishful thinking hoping this won’t always kill me, but If you saw yours, then I’ll see mine, you finally stretched your feet and ghosted away from me, you had to fade away, you had to leave I’m pleading for one more time with what I know now, I’m begging for the same flake to fall twice for the first time, I’m begging for what wasn’t said. That night the snow shaped the land, and I walked home, I laughed the whole way because I suppose if it hurts, its worth it, but now that ghost is me.
…On tuesday I got the call, that damn phone call I’d been bracing for all week. No, don’t say it. I watched her crawl in bed with you, I watched her wet your lips and couldn’t do a God damned thing, I watched you shake, I watched our hearts break, I couldn’t wrap my fingers around your spine and shake it loose from the bone, I couldn’t fight against the loss, I never set fire to your bed, I never burnt the bed sores, I never ate the flame, or drank the sweat, but if it burns me up I won’t char half as much as I’ll keep warm. Life goes on because it has to, these things, they never leave, they stay with you, the smell of the viewing, your friends singing your praises, the flower boot that never bloomed until we lost you, the first Christmas we suffered through, room 211, kissing your head, the last look into your eyes, not having the words to say thank you, say good bye.