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lyrics

Same bitter ground that grew all that sweet acacia and Wandering Jew. And hardy things with slow roots, that hardly go peaceful when they finally do. Calling mercy down, seldom speechless in that respect. Meaning all the time curses, in an old vernacular dialect. But I would not twice return to the well when I’d once found it dry, reckoning blind from my shadow cast in his ambulance lights. Early I knew beauty and pain came in red and blue: The super blood wolf moon; a languid suite of piano tunes; the ‘93 Oilers; and other stray dogs, who by memory know all the small places the road goes under the railroad.

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from From the Baptist Bookstore, released July 26, 2019

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Very Old Morris San Antonio, Texas

lyric and other videos: www.youtube.com/channel/UCuSsjmntc14VXNJDWW6vuKA/videos | no social media to speak of, apologies.

I'm from San Antonio, Texas. I like to write sad songs about the place and the people I come from. I haven't eaten at Bill Miller's in 15 years, except for one slice of pecan pie a week ago.
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