Spiral Arms by William Wallace

Starlight filtered through a second bottle of French red
It’s hard to be so small
A skein of stars, a spiral arm cuts its orbit through my head
Smell the fire on your clothes the camps of several thousand years
A screen of sparks to join the stars and show there’s nothing left to fear

It’s hard to know it’s up there all the time
The safety of the city light
Can dull the brightest shine
It’s hard to find a place and know
That place is really mine
It’s hard to be so small and so alive

Every stellar beacon blinks a pathway home to you
It’s hard to be so far
Lighthouse on the shoreline in the deepening of blue
If any one should sputter, fall and abdicate its throne
I would breathe new hydrogen into the socket where it shone

I have wandered lost for several hundred million miles
It’s hard to be a star
Spent the quiet energy that I had carried as a child
I’m tired, oh, I’m tired I have nothing left to give
Blow this iron heart asunder so that others still might live

• Folk
• acoustic guitar
• americana
• singer-songwriter
• songwriter
• Austin