Dark morning mist speeding past the darting deer flashbacks of the rings and things and palad khik dangling in a field of flowers by the marshland and barn in the distance the train tracks and silent stop signs seem alive we're on the train we're on the train Mark Twain resting with his Clemens family as the sun comes down one million beams through the trees of soft rolling hills
jukeboxes on the wall Groanbox Grub she gives us a ribbon off of one of her socks and gets into her rusted out car taking off into the night super roady super smile missing teeth Annapolis blues beneath the wreath of prosperity ring of infinity Emily weaves bound for glory sun burnt face they are from the pines out west they fell during an ice storm tears in the truck am I laughing crying tattered American flags hang on two of the four walls of our room at the Purple Fiddle lemonade out of a jar the rumbling big rigs speeding on by the lights are dimmed an intimate array of all ages and sizes tapping their feet a cute chubby girl snapping her fingers and we make eye contact burning through another set Mrs Shue poses with Mr Boot I watch her throughout the night the oldest in years the youngest in spirit smiles clapping dancing
jalopy jalopy a magical place I hear the future I hear the past lost in the present JP beering endearing we get lost at Sonny's at the gay cabaret we get lost at Sonny's at the gay cabaret not another banjo fiddle foot stomping CD I think as we speed home late at night and then it hits me no need for an axe of comparison John Hartford is a god immortal beautiful humble Mississippi Mississippi when I see him clogging and fiddling singing on youtube the next day I almost weep Carroll Gardens dear Aunt Peg what class her white hair subtly flowing from beneath her sparkling cap tapping her feet friends and family hanging around in a most pleasant way the night ends with Chad giving us the gift of palad khik as the train wizzes by above us I keep hearing the train horns blow wherever I go at night the rain I cue the thunder as I sit with Kristen and recite the Road Not Taken she has become the beautiful woman that was always within her a teacher full of laughter and love in the morning
I try on the yellow wreath it fits perfectly on top of my hat I ask she gives and that is that Cory is a laugh a brother like we've known each other since time began we're more or less in the moment oscillating this way and that but seldom straying from the crosshairs of now Phil sits us down for the talk I am slightly nervous which is a rare novelty but due to its nature I am not relaxed enough to enjoy it
you said shit on one of your tracks he says Cory and I look at each other dumfounded and go through every lyric on the album in our heads in the space of five seconds the second track he says no yes no definitely no oh you must think distance ship is distance shit the insane characters poking out of our subconscious every time we get in the truck we're laughing and crying conical barnacle warnings about the devil blaring out of the radio but the Chesapeake is still and the farm an oasis we're out on the beach the coldest July 4 glorious the wind carrying the sailboats by behind them the Robert Moses bridge somewhere Fire Island beyond the bay my grandfather smiling through his family they all arrive snapping one hundred photos and listening to the music I see the tears in his eyes when Georgiana comes to pick me up
Dark morning mist speeding past the darting deer flashbacks of the rings and things and palad khik dangling in a field of flowers by the marshland and barn in the distance the train tracks and silent stop signs seem alive we're on the train we're on the train Mark Twain resting with his Clemens family as the sun comes down one million beams through the trees of soft rolling hills 
jukeboxes on the wall Groanbox Grub she gives us a ribbon off of one of her socks and gets into her rusted out car taking off into the night super roady super smile missing teeth Annapolis blues beneath the wreath of prosperity ring of infinity Emily weaves bound for glory sun burnt face they are from the pines out west they fell during an ice storm tears in the truck am I laughing crying tattered American flags hang on two of the four walls of our room at the Purple Fiddle lemonade out of a jar the rumbling big rigs speeding on by the lights are dimmed an intimate array of all ages and sizes tapping their feet a cute chubby girl snapping her fingers and we make eye contact burning through another set Mrs Shue poses with Mr Boot I watch her throughout the night the oldest in years the youngest in spirit smiles clapping dancing 
jalopy jalopy a magical place I hear the future I hear the past lost in the present JP beering endearing we get lost at Sonny's at the gay cabaret we get lost at Sonny's at the gay cabaret not another banjo fiddle foot stomping CD I think as we speed home late at night and then it hits me no need for an axe of comparison John Hartford is a god immortal beautiful humble Mississippi Mississippi when I see him clogging and fiddling singing on youtube the next day I almost weep Carroll Gardens dear Aunt Peg what class her white hair subtly flowing from beneath her sparkling cap tapping her feet friends and family hanging around in a most pleasant way the night ends with Chad giving us the gift of palad khik as the train wizzes by above us I keep hearing the train horns blow wherever I go at night the rain I cue the thunder as I sit with Kristen and recite the Road Not Taken she has become the beautiful woman that was always within her a teacher full of laughter and love in the morning 
I try on the yellow wreath it fits perfectly on top of my hat I ask she gives and that is that Cory is a laugh a brother like we've known each other since time began we're more or less in the moment oscillating this way and that but seldom straying from the crosshairs of now Phil sits us down for the talk I am slightly nervous which is a rare novelty but due to its nature I am not relaxed enough to enjoy it 
you said shit on one of your tracks he says Cory and I look at each other dumfounded and go through every lyric on the album in our heads in the space of five seconds the second track he says no yes no definitely no oh you must think distance ship is distance shit the insane characters poking out of our subconscious every time we get in the truck we're laughing and crying conical barnacle warnings about the devil blaring out of the radio but the Chesapeake is still and the farm an oasis we're out on the beach the coldest July 4 glorious the wind carrying the sailboats by behind them the Robert Moses bridge somewhere Fire Island beyond the bay my grandfather smiling through his family they all arrive snapping one hundred photos and listening to the music I see the tears in his eyes when Georgiana comes to pick me up
