Call it kismet, or just the brilliance of Pandora - I heard this song on the radio this morning on the way to work, and I realized that it is exactly about us. Or, rather, it is about me, and how hopeless my life would be without you in it.
I'd rather sleep in a box like a bum on the street
Than a fine feather bed without your little ol' cold feet
And I'd rather be deaf, dumb, and stone blind
Than to know that your mornings will never be mine
And I'd rather die young than to live without you
I'd rather go hungry than eat lonesome stew
You know it's once in a lifetime and it won't come again
It's here and it's gone on a magnolia wind
I'd rather not walk through the garden again
If I can't catch your scent on a magnolia wind
Well if it ever comes time that it comes time to go
Sis' pack up your fiddle, Sis' pack up your bow
If I can't dance with you then I won't dance at all
I'll just sit this one out with my back to the wall
I'd rather not hear pretty music again
If I can't hear your fiddle on a magnolia wind
If I can't catch your scent on a magnolia windIf he's not on your radar, Guy Clark writes some fantastic songs, banging them out one at a time on his workbench, putting on the shine and moving on to the next work of art.
Thank you for being my fiddler, baby - I'm having the time of my life with you, Jack, Caroline, and whoever this new person is going to be.