cloud comin' down

Sunday morning. Not early. Not late. I'm sure well over half the city is still sleeping it off.

It would be cooler if I had a record player and could physically put the needle on the vinyl. I'll settle for connecting a USB cable to the docking station. Greg Brown is singing.

It's a messed up world, but I love it anyway. I love it.

And now, between the notes and his gravelly voice, another voice.
You are not what you were. I've been strengthening you. It might soon be your turn to do the lifting up. You are weak, you are strong. That's all for now.

Fade back to Greg Brown - strange choreography.

I try to say a prayer, return the favor, but I don't know who to address or what to call you. I get the feeling for a minute that the joke's on me. You have no name. You have a thousand names. You have no name. Why do I need you to?

I return to the song; my breath tells me I've been in a different sort of presence, though I can't put a finger on it.

I've got two little feet to get me 'cross the mountain.
two little feet to carry me into the woods.
two little feet, big mountain, and a
cloud comin' down, cloud comin' down, cloud comin' down.