Up the hill past 694, at the stone wall make a left, And I will see you soon my friend, if these old directions still direct. Is the problem that we can't see? Or is it that the problem is beautiful to me? The birds of Virginia are flying within ya And like background singers they all come in threes.
Won't soul music change, Now that our souls have turned strange? Once a day, twice a day . . . And when on and off collide, We'll set our souls aside and walk away.
We've been raised on replicas of fake and winding roads And day after day on this beautiful stage We've been playing tambourine for minimum wage But we are real, I know we are real.
Repair is like the dream of the broken thing. Like a message broadcast on an overpass All my favorite singers couldn't sing.
My ski vest has buttons like convenience store mirrors And they help me see that everything in this room right now is a part of me.
Realizing is how it feels inside when it happens to you. So I took a shot of sugar like snow dumped into the blood And children wonder off into the ultra-economic But we are real, I know we are real.
--David Berman (the Silver Jews)