Powder - Gregory Alan Isakov

Were we the hammer

Were we the powder

Were we the cold evening air

Were we the wild geese

Were we the tall trees

Were we the shot in the air

And the background noise

Goes fading now

No sounds, just the quiver of a lip

Even the moon’s half holding back

Look, we’re falling so easy

Like the rain in the dirty south

Justified for the fighting

Were we living in the lion’s mouth?

And the background noise

Goes fading out

No sounds, just the quiver of a lip

Even the moon’s half holding out