He wore a chalice of regret around his neck
And he kept it there to warn himself away from the edge
He couldn't go that way again
It wasn't worth it for the pain
And you could see it in the way he held his head
There was guilt around his feet, a lonely horror in his bed,
A heavy suitcase for his days
You could feel it his gaze
I am not your way home
And I am not a good soul
And I don't know your name
But I know I know your pain
And in that we're the same
Every night at eleven fifty-nine
He watches as the clock swaps for another day in time
And he wonders how it works
All our histories and hurts
So I tried to find the words to match his wounds
A blanket in for self-inflicted solitary rooms
To find at every turn
You can't explain away the burn
I am not your way home
And I am not a good soul
And I don't know your name
But I know I know your pain
And in that we're the same
In all our sacred moments, we have blood on our hands
And we all know the stories only blood would understand
And we’re still holdin’ on because the world hasn’t hollowed our plans
A friend of mine who also likes to explore the theological in his music. What you see is what you get with this guy, and somehow who he is is even better than his music suggests. Sleepy Knee
Delicate folk music that recalls ’60s icons like Cat Stevens and Paul Simon on the new LP from Maine’s Simon Linsteadt. Bandcamp New & Notable Feb 4, 2023