Rough Draft

Blues for Icarus

You never told me, how was I supposed to know
You never told us, how were we supposed to know
Planted the seed of silence, we’re harvesting what you sowed

Your voice is on the rolling air, and where the waters run
I hear your voice on the rolling air, and where the waters run
The sound of your descent is too much in the sun

Out in the cornfields you were talking about funeral rites
Out in the cornfields you were talking about funeral rites
But you’re the one who took off the steering wheel and turned out all the lights

I’m storing in a jar all these tears that I cry
I’m storing in a jar all these tears that we’ve cried
The windows were closed, you wouldn’t look me in the eye

Black smoke is rising above my head, the sun has left the sky
Black smoke is rising, Lord, that sun has left the sky
There’s a wound in the ocean but those ships keep sailing by

You wrote yourself an exit, crowned yourself the soulless boy
You wrote yourself an exit, crowned yourself the soulless boy
Locked in the radio dial at dusk in Illinois

He fitted you with wings at birth and he began to cry
Why’d he give you those wings while he began to cry
And where was he when you were spiraling from the sky

I can see you at the edge of town, heading for the point
I dream you’re driving at the edge of town, heading for the point
You stop and park, reach for steel, and pull time out of joint

Don’t know about Erato, if she was ever true
Don’t know about that woman, if she was ever true
Did she pull you under, or lengthen life for you

Those coyotes out in Arizona howling in the night
You wrote about those coyotes howling for you in the night
The cactus crucifix, the wilderness—maybe you were right

You jumped out the door with a heart and your guitar
You jumped out the door with just your heart and your guitar
Ten thousand feet below in Fayetteville they saw a shooting star

Someone whispering to me, “Where’s He in this pain?”
I heard someone whispering, “Where’s He in this pain?"
A voice inside answered, “In the small red car, a bullet in his brain”

© 2004 Matt Malyon / Songs of Exile