Hot Wires Blow

You came through the screen door with dust on your boots A sun-faded case and a handful of roots You pointed at my six-string, said, "Show me what it knows" I struck one crooked chord and watched your eyebrow rise

No need for a judge, no need for a crowd Two old pieces of wood can settle it loud

You take the high road, I'll take the low Meet in the middle where the hot wires blow If your hands can answer every word I throw We'll leave this room with a story to show

Your first line bent like a gate in the heat Mine came back limping on stubborn feet You found a blue note hiding under the three I found one in the floorboards staring back at me

The drummer leaned forward, the bass dug in That little wooden room wore a crooked grin

You take the high road, I'll take the low Meet in the middle where the hot wires blow If your hands can answer every word I throw We'll leave this room with a story to show

When the last note hangs and the glasses go still There's no winner waiting on top of the hill You nod at my shoulder, I nod at your scar Two stubborn hearts learning how alike they are

You take the high road, I'll take the low Meet in the middle where the hot wires blow Let every string ring, let the old floor shake We'll give this little town one more memory to make