That April night by the river out behind your mother’s house, we were dripping dry and the wind was full alive with coffee blossoms. We danced beneath the leaves, all alone with tired feet. Weary eyes, aching bones, but home. The memory of your skin, I block it out. It comes back in. Laughter sang. Luna shone. We were home. I shuffled up to you ‘cross cracked kitchen tiles. You sat on the counter, just transmitting smiles over to me. We walked to the front stoop, blushed and sublime. In the cinch of a whisper, I missed the speck of time where the kiss should be. I just couldn’t see. And I saw your gringo down, snapping his fingers ‘round, white as pictures of Jesus. And his charming New York stammers, and your smile an inch from his, and the thunderhead’s a song. Your fire escape’s empty. I look up from the stones. Your lights are on, shadows long.
Are you home? It’s a dirty little island. Liquor signs and neon drones find us here, Corazon, far from home. The sirens are wailing. The alley’s cut with light. There’s broken boys and switchblades giving up the fight. It’s a desolate night. Maria, they’ll find me wherever I hide. They’ll bruise me at the station, but I’ll just shut my eyes. We’re by the river. We’re dripping dry that April night. The most beautiful sound I ever heard: home.
credits
from Collection,
released December 30, 2017
Scott David Phillips: songwriting, vocals, piano
Recorded and mixed by Greg Elkins at Desolation Row in Raleigh NC.