Taps from Black Box by Zachariah Baker & His Guitar Orchestra

Honey, put your glasses on.
I need your help
finding something
I think I’ve misplaced

Maybe grab a jacket too,
Thick enough to warm you to the
bone,
In the cold spots on the way

As for me, my cigarettes,
In case I get tired
And need some smoke to
Free up the air.

I am temporary
I wash off

Anyway we gotta go
Come on pack up your shit let’s go
We’re headed out of town

Red and blue and old hair gray —
Our pasty skin,
Gently juxtaposed
Against the dawn

The suffocating snow, it falls as
Gifts without sound,
Secrets to swallow up
The lawn.

I am unimportant
I am second-rate

Now we’re off, here’s country roads,
An old, cozy song.
I apologize in advance

In a silver splash, Winter’s with us,
Hiking up her skirt,
The coins flash from my pocket
To her hands.

“There it is,” she says,
“Just look up, not at the dirt.”
Embarrassed, I notice
I’m not wearing pants.

Is this just how things happen?
Not at all, then all at once?

Plots are overrated but
We feel deep in love
The first time i saw you strung out

I thought it then, i think it now
You are my favorite.
My tiny baby bean,
My ugly sprout.

So here we are, and I am Death,
And you a lonesome target,
Let’s head on back.
It won’t be found.

Someday we’ll find my good name.
Where did it go?

• Folk
• acoustic
• alternative
• folk
• folk rock
• guitar orchestra
• independent folk
• indie
• indie rock
• one man band
• orchestra
• singer-songwriter
• studio musician
• zachariah
• zachariah baker
• Laramie