I began to believe it was serious, you and me. Like the lines of the streets - so straight in this whole city. I was scared, I dreamed of grey, how it would come to your hair, someday, your touch would change, you might look away. I thought time moved in with us too, when it was only me and you. Every day became it's messenger, its frame. You don't care, no, it's not your way, you smile and you make a joke, and I don't know when to laugh, or think, or ask - Is it all on the line? It is all in my mind? I said "this is love, we'll go through all the stages." You said "my love! This song! Do you hear all the changes!" When it's all on the line, when it's all in your mind - there's light, colours that come through in the afternoon on the walls red lit of our quiet living room. Sometimes we brush past one another like brothers, cool and casual with one another. Again I touch your hand for the first time or forever, like the first line of the first letter.
Vitality, spark, poetry; a very vibrant and living record that sounds like the best band ever playing together except Kehoe played everything (except pedal steel). One for the philosophers. The Weather Station