Week 132 // Country Mischief

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Old dark water seen it all
I’m sure they’ve got a lot to say
Like two black vultures
And four eastern bluebirds
And one little dragon flown away

And those good old days
I said they’re all but gone
And I’d drive like hell
For some country mischief
And to break our silence with a song

According to the master plan
There’s a piece I can’t recall
The machine is broken
If I get it working
I don’t know what it does at all

But if your good old friends
You feel them hanging on
Well you’d fight like hell
For something to belong to
Can’t you tell it’s right?
It works
It can’t be wrong

And I’d drive like hell
For some country mischief
And to break our silence with a song

And of the skin you cast away
The vibrant mass that you discard
Embarrassed of your beauty
Aligned with falsest notions
Who holds themself in such regard?

And if the finest days
Are surely yet to come
I’ll try like hell to finally
Make myself believe
I understood that all along

Notes
Despite being raised with the quintessential suburban experience, over the last decade I have done my damnedest to recast myself as some sort of new-fangled country bumpkin. When most of my friends were moving into big cities to seek their fortunes, I fled for the woods for better or for worse. I understand why most people try to get their kicks under big city lights, but to me it always seemed like a sort of obvious brand of excitement. I have always preferred to get up to no good in the middle of nowhere. Now as I prepare to drag myself kicking and screaming (in a good way) to some kind of new life in New York City, I find myself reflecting on all the country mischief that I have made over the years. This song is a kind of premature and temporary wistful farewell to the forrest. It is about the friendships that I have forged there, the songs we have sung there, and the meaning that one can only divine from an uncorrupted environment.

Here’s hoping your Monday doesn’t totally suck.
~M.E.

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