Express from The Weatherman by Chris Lambert

This is the address that I write to when I'm not sure what I might do
If I don't release my thoughts
But then I sit here and I scribble, and exaggerate a little
Well, quite honestly, a lot

Can't express myself
I can't express myself right...

This is the place where I would go to when I felt like I was going to
Smash my head against a rock
But then I'd sit here and I'd wonder if I had a face like thunder
Well, quite frankly, I do not

Can't express myself
I can't express myself, right...

This is the park in Ringing Holler where my mother met my father
In the town where I was born
And I might be a little taller, I've been adequately watered
There's the calm, and here's the storm:

Farmers know their field of corn
Nurses know each baby born
Goldsmiths know their bracelets gold

I don't know which way to go

• Folk
• electronic
• indie folk
• indie pop
• indie rock
• pop rock
• Orcutt