I fall in love, every time I watch a musician. Male, female, it doesn’t matter. The power of songs, music, all that talent packed in to one person…sigh. I just can’t get enough. The wine helps, or the beer, those old love-instigators. This was written after listening to Gregory Alan Isakov play in an old opera house in Pinos Altos, New Mexico just a few nights ago. He’s amazing. We’re (I’m) in love.
I see you but you don’t have a clue, it’s just all of them and me and you
You’ve got to wonder at that, you’ve got to wonder at me
Letting our love lie in these songs, just in these songs.
You’re the boy in first grade with the hearts in his eyes, who cried and cried
It hurts my art, these words they hurt my art, you slay me down
Just tell me more about the moon
That full-bellied whore, she captures your attention so.
Best one-sided romance that I ever had.
Never more disconnected than when he’s next to me, he’s empty of these words I crave
They fly by him on the wings of a song, just you and me and the rest of the crowd.
I see the men hold her down, they try in vain to hold their women down
Where do these tears come from? They see us fade into you.
We’d go with you if you asked us to.
And the reverb dies, and the amp clicks off
I wave and move along to the next great song.
And now you’re just a short man, shorter than me
Delicate hands and a voice worn down by the sounds you croon to me.
Roads on Her Face 