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lyrics

With fists for pillows he sleeps hard.
Street vent blankets keep him cozy.
Midnight bourbon and the laughter of wallets wash his dreams.
He is the man who thinks no more.

He rolls his life down jagged sidewalks,
while everyone is off to work.
The children on the playground, they all look like Anabelle,
though he knows no Anabelle anymore.

With empty bottles, paper bags,
enticing is the alleyway.
Gutter rain, he cools his face and rinses off the day.
He is the man who thinks no more.

Somewhere, someday, he had a hand to grab to hold and climb out with.
Some point, some way, he had a bottle to drink and to name on his own, Anabelle.

He watches clouds from taxicabs.
So translucent and so warming.
He speaks in car alarms and stares right past your eyes.
He is the man that speaks no more.

With fists for pillows he sleeps hard.

credits

from My Beautiful Beautiful Concrete Fragile Little Girl, released May 12, 2015
Brad Sherman: trumpet
Bryan Plunket: trumpet
Robert McSweeney: French Horn
David Jackson: trombone
Bill Hyman: tuba
Joe Young: vocals

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about

Joe Young New York, New York

Trumpeter, guitarist, singer-songwriter, composer. Mandolin owner, hack banjoist, Toronto Maple Leafs fan. Army. Don't let another musician go hungry--feed me.

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