burn the blanket, shoot the light
"Play something for me. Something I won't know." I go with one of the anthems from my childhood, and when I close my eyes and start to sing I can picture my parents' hands clasped together on the gearshift of a boxy mid-eighties toyota corolla. Before they bought the house, we spent endless hours in that car- winding on the back roads of New England. I used to think the moon was following us, and wondered how it knew where we'd be when my father was admittedly a little fuzzy on the details. This isn't normally a song I'd play in front of someone else, but the dark makes me feel brave. Or rather, okay with dropping the bravado.
Now I'm just another traveller
On another winding road
I'm trying to walk some kind of line
I'm trying to pull some kind of load
Now sometimes I move real easy
Sometimes I can't catch my breath
Sometimes I see my father's footsteps
And man it scares me half to death
But one day
"Thanks." He nudges my knee with his and I nod, and we sit there in silence for a long time just barely touching. "I should go in and get some sleep. You good to walk home, whiskey breath?" He doesn't answer, but pulls me close before he saunters off. When I can't hear his footfalls anymore, I play one more from that same album.
Burn the blanket
Shoot the light
But don't talk to her at night
Don't talk to her in thunder or in lightning
Don't talk to her with fuses blown and wires falling down
Don't talk to her when the fever is frightening
When she's burning in the bedroom in an evening gown
Now I'm just another traveller
On another winding road
I'm trying to walk some kind of line
I'm trying to pull some kind of load
Now sometimes I move real easy
Sometimes I can't catch my breath
Sometimes I see my father's footsteps
And man it scares me half to death
But one day
"Thanks." He nudges my knee with his and I nod, and we sit there in silence for a long time just barely touching. "I should go in and get some sleep. You good to walk home, whiskey breath?" He doesn't answer, but pulls me close before he saunters off. When I can't hear his footfalls anymore, I play one more from that same album.
Burn the blanket
Shoot the light
But don't talk to her at night
Don't talk to her in thunder or in lightning
Don't talk to her with fuses blown and wires falling down
Don't talk to her when the fever is frightening
When she's burning in the bedroom in an evening gown