Thirteen Sailboats by The Wildwoods

Thirteen sailboats passing me by, and a young, timid sailor was I.
I would sleep on the shore and dream of something more of my life,
and all of the open doors I have ignored.

Sweet Virginia caught on a hook, like a runaway train, she roams free.
Spreading like wildfire, tarnished by rain.
Like a renaissance painting, she hangs, on the walls of the trees,
when nothing is at all as it seems.

Holding your hands in the candlelight.
Slipping away from your gentle eyes.
Soft hallucinations of your silhouette on pages of my story.
Tracing out your face and I can see my own reflection in the drawing.

When nothing is at all as it seems.

Holding your hands in the candlelight.
Slipping away from your gentle eyes.
Soft hallucinations of your silhouette on pages of my story.
Tracing out your face and I can see my own reflection in the drawing.

Thirteen sailboats passing me by, and a young, timid sailor was I.
I would sleep on the shore and dream of something more of my life,
and all of the open doors, I have ignored.

• Americana
• Folk
• indie folk
• jazz
• jazz-folk
• Lincoln