In the Arms

The callouses on my fingertips harden, they've taken up the fight against the steel strings and I'm starting to think they may come out on top. The bar chords still win their escape. Last night I sat in the cold cellar of an old church and heard voices of the South beat the Lord into my lungs; it's hard not to believe music is salvation when it vibrates in your spine. Eventually the room fell away, eventually the audience disappeared, my body turned to lead and all that existed was a heart on fire, was knowing that everything is everything and everything is nothing, you thought of sage Jack in his delirium and he knew, he knew, and maybe there's a point to that as well.

We stepped out onto a 16th street that acted as if nothing was different, the Arctic winds raging up 3rd avenue and you thought everything is here, with gratitude swimming behind your eyes; you know there was a time before this when you were lost and you're sure there's a time after this when you won't remember what a smile feels like, but they're so distant now, they're so faint they can't touch you, when I woke this morning the room was an ice box but I smiled because everything is everything and as such so are you.