Seasons come like a shock to the people, though they're in repeat and sharp as a needle. But the cold gets left behind. In my pockets is a lonesome dime, though I have my music, my books and my wine. Dust collects on the dash. You have a soul that's hard to catch and you told me your dreams of the west. Now look me in the eyes and tell me if I should even try. I kissed your lips though cracked and dry. The cigarettes were stale. I hopped on the bus to Kalamazoo and took the train back to the Blue Water fools where we got a motel room. We drank our whiskey and wrote our rhymes. We rested our bodies and lost some time. I awoke cold on the floor. The morning sun bends through the glass in the door. That's the closest thing that I have to the Lord. There was dew in the grass. The stars in the sky never looked so bright. And I remember. Well, there's so many other fish in the sea, but tonight, tonight it's only you and me.


from The Cottage, The Creek & The Spirit, released December 18, 2015



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Mountain Babies Port Huron, Michigan

"There's something elemental about it all, like the first deep breath after an inclined climb, when the trees come to a clearing and you see a river, pure, untouched, secret almost... There's also something escapist about it; these tunes are elixirs, daydreams, salves and sweet rejuvenation's." - Jeff Milo ... more

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