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lyrics

It's the wind, makes a mess of your old newspaper dress
It's the rain late in the day, throws your storybooks away
Were it not for things like these, we could be okay

It's the sky rushing in til it meets the boardwalk bar
It's the sound of wheels turning from the 47th car
Were it not for things like these, I wouldn't stray so far

So El Prado woman, open up your mind
Those three stones that sing from the other side

It's the judge that holds me back, it's the river that's on my mind
It's the sight of the horizon dripping like a watermelon rind
But for Hercules and the Oarsman, we would be just fine

I've got a bird that whistles, I've got a bird that sings
He speaks of distant countries, yeah he knows a thousand things
But not which creek in Austin still bears the ring

So El Prado woman, we should take it slow
Let the three stones take you where the music wants you to go

credits

from By these limits were they circumscribed and of them were they locus, released April 23, 2013

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Golconda Albuquerque, New Mexico

Peripatetic avant-troubadour songs for the discerning vagabond

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