Hill country isn't the mountains. There's a whole different kind of snow at elevation, but in the planes, in places where there's hills the snow drifts out past the edges of things. Shapes change. The landscape may no longer be represented by the shape of the ground when it's all blown snow. It's beautiful, but it ain't true. It might be inches deep. It might be four five feet and you won't know til you're in it.
Love might be like that in these modern swinging times. Who loves who you love? Is it the whole of creation? Probly is.
You might put your foot down thinking you are on the solid ground of real love only to find out you've stepped into a world that's beyond your understanding, overwhelming, sallied toward desires unseen, at the whims of an unfamiliar nature.
You might fear for your life out there in the cold with only poetry to hold on to.
If you're lucky you can tell where there's a creek and go downstream until you get somewhere. It'll be the ocean eventually and that's really just a border between you and the horizon. Whimsey blows across the top of all of it. The wind tries transience into the shapes of everything that isn't indoors.
You think you can have what you have, but in your deeper thoughts the transient nature of all things howls through the branches like the wind before a rain.
You have what you have, but you hold nothing. Wind is more effective and less involved. The metaphore you know is over simple. Really you're just lost.
You take another step. It might be deep. It might be the ground. Look for the creek. Trudge on. The moonlight makes the whole thing sparkle. And that's beautiful too. But you can't follow what the moon does to the world. You'll drown.
Hill country snow is shallow and deep. Makes goin’ hard and easier keep. Night moon sparks diamond temptations’ll coat you, and take you down slow. Tops of the rushes pokin’ through means water down below. Water down below.
Wind is an old man shoveling the tide, burying and changing and undressing his bride. He need make no attempt to run she need make no attempt to hide. Blowin’ snow off of her furrows, hill country has no pride. Hill country has no pride.
She is at my feet saying drink my water and keep me and all I hear is him screamin’ in my ears. I am incomplete so I pray she don't defeat me, lie beside her, while away the years. While away the years.
I am a wreck next to her beauty as he blows her into fire. Tearing the leaves down from her branches and shunting my desire. That ribbon of highway below me all sided up with wire. That endless skyway above me all sooted up by the pire. All sooted up by the pire.
Repeat first verse.
It's just a walk in the snow.
We fucked around with this one for a long time in the studio adding little sounds that came up in shows. The album GONE is where I fell in love with Randy Davis’s guitar playing and this song has my favorite guitar solo of his. Everybody on this recording is great.
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