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Song number nine on Songs for a Blue Guitar from the band Red House Painters.

Their music takes you in and holds you there, like being in a great, big art museum, near closing... and it's raining, only a few people shuffling around, and you're standing in front of a silent storm of greatness, like a collection of Walker Evans black and white photos, or a 300 year old oil painting of a young woman. And the look on her face and the blue of her dress is so much alive that you have to look at the floor, then look back, to take in the perfection of her.

Or maybe some local folk art. Art made from the same junk that you throw away or stumble over everyday. And yet this woman picked up that trash and made it into a revelation.

Why didn't you do that?

You saw the same scrap lying around. Maybe she had been looking with different eyes, more loving, or more focused, perhaps, or less so. Paint, pianos, scrap metal, cameras, guitars, WORDS, anything and everything, really - all open to the public.


Oh, and also, the lyrics:

I can't make anything
of why the brightest light faded
or how you slept in sleepless slumber
and through the rhythm of the timeless season
and you are the dark on my soul
and it's your love that I steal
and you're my cuts that won't close
and this I'm certain
and this I'm certain
and this I'm certain

I don't see anything
through all your worries
and all the worst in people
and you're the builder of your own high temple
and that's the magic of your mind
and you're the reason that I'm down
but you're the promise that I found
and you're all that I got
who's the meanest
and who's the genius
and who's mine

and from the bed you lay and wonder
and from the morning come like thunder
it's the downfall of your time
and you're the dark of our home
and still the home that I feel
it won't let up
or let go
and this I'm certain
and this I'm certain

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