
crooked muse Gregory Alan Isakov
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Pictures watch from the sidewalk past
Poems go flying in the tracks
All we ever got left is a pile of things
I visit you with nothing burning
Hidden heart, stomach churning
Circled in the words like the vultures
Your mouth becomes a dictionary
Words without a holy theory
You're the only one on the page
Look it up to find my heart
Tear that old shit apart
Till you find the words to sum me up
I don't need no lullabies
You sit me down here and you cry
The music man sings his mystery songs
He tries to put his finger on
There's things unfelt that he's always longed to feel
The things we all are destined to loose
While I seek out that crooked muse
You stole my heart and filled it up with blues
Poems go flying in the tracks
All we ever got left is a pile of things
I visit you with nothing burning
Hidden heart, stomach churning
Circled in the words like the vultures
Your mouth becomes a dictionary
Words without a holy theory
You're the only one on the page
Look it up to find my heart
Tear that old shit apart
Till you find the words to sum me up
I don't need no lullabies
You sit me down here and you cry
The music man sings his mystery songs
He tries to put his finger on
There's things unfelt that he's always longed to feel
The things we all are destined to loose
While I seek out that crooked muse
You stole my heart and filled it up with blues
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