Tift Merritt Follow

I skipped a stone and watched it go,
The arc and then the undertow,
Thinking a day is something like a prayer.
So much to ask, you start it soft,
Then the weighted locks come off,
In the end, you just hope someone’s there -

‘Cause all of these small talk relations,
Lord, I need something real.
Don’t nobody here at all
Know the way that I feel.

Bu there’s no one to answer to.
Just the dark and me and you,
And all the angels stand around just wishing,
For just a drag there of your smoke,
A taste of skin, a sip of hope,
To raise their skirts up where no words are rising -

‘Cause all these small talk relations,
Lord, they ain’t nothing real.
Don’t nobody here at all
Know the way that I feel.

Workmen in the street below
Softly play a radio,
A hymn of static through the traffic.
The crowd just turns to leave,
The secret current underneath
Cannot be heard above the racket

Of all of these small talk relations,
I can’t hear one thing real.
Don’t nobody here at all
Know the way that I feel.