wait in line.

What you’re hearing right now means an awful lot to me. I have a pretty sorted family history, better told in person, over coffee, or under blankets, foreheads close, arms intertwined; but relevant to the song I’m playing for y’all now is this: from the time I first had memories, until about 12 years old, I believed my father was a man named Bill Barrett. In fact, my maiden name was his. Colleen Allison Barrett. He was a musician, and my hero. As a 6-year-old, I remember getting to go hang out in the honky tonks, trying to line dance with the adults, and asking to be woken up when the bar played the “chicken dance”, meanwhile falling asleep on tables. He was the first to write a song about me. He broke my thumb-sucking habit and sang me to sleep. I wanted to be just like him, until 6th grade I combed my bangs over, just like he did with his hair. When I was in 4th grade, my daddy Bill died from liver cancer. Just like a true musician, I suppose. It was around that time when I was told he wasn’t my biological father after all. But that didn’t really change much for me. This is a song he wrote. That’s him, singing. Still my favorite vocals of all time (…with Daryl Palumbo coming in at a nice second ;)) This is a huge piece of my heart, and I just wanted to share it with y’all. ❤

For the photo portion of today, one of my favorites; always making me laugh, full of compassion. He was in town playing some shows and I asked if I could snag a few quick photos.
Here’s what we got:

one last thing….

shoulder space shoulder
standing in line, like suit at a dry cleaner,
one front, one behind.
waiting for our turn to climb
to the top of the machine,
just another reusable routine.

and the cracks begin to show.

powered down, we’re all the same machine,
matching model numbers,
and so far from clean.
(this must be where the dry cleaners come in..,)
set sail for freedom, you merchant marine.

and the cracks begin to show.

the other side of the story,
waits patiently in the shadows,
only for the few in life with the courage to uncover it.
the hallowed ground you’ll gain is well worth
the pressure of being the one pushing through fire for it.
(coal mixed with fire is warmth, with pressure, diamonds.
remember, young seeker, it’s worth a life brightened.)

and the cracks begin to show.

they tell you to get back to line
because they know you’re capable of causing a revolution,
write in “LIAR” on your writ of execution.
But you know the truth,
you little Starry Solution,
be the thing that sparks the absolution.

and the cracks begin to show; under every cocoon, a life reborn; aglow.

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