Music written in a Boston hotel room overlooking the Charles River – from Fenway Park to the “Make Way For Ducklings” Bridge. Words rewritten after a weekend on the Chesapeake the following summer.
lyrics
I don’t know if my words make it through. Since I owe my consciousness to you is it wishful thought? Hard to tell without a reference point. Constant bearing still decreasing range, dead reckoning out past the sea change. Thought I would never see the loss of you is not the loss of me. Civil twilight paints the sky with rust, silver stars and clouds of diamond dust. So we check the weather on the radio, chart a course, and stow our things below. Rise and fall in time, with the farside of the horizon in mind. Civil twilight paints the sky with rust, silver stars and clouds of diamond dust. Some say ash to ash and we combust. Sit on back and celebrate the dust.
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