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From "Another Ghost to Sleep," by Hugh Trimble
Recorded at Gypsy Cab Studios, Keedysville MD
©Hugh Trimble 2014

lyrics

You walked off the stage like you're walking the plank
Drink my vinegar praise and you stutter your thanks
You study my face you know it but you don't know my name
But I don't blame you because love and war man it's all been the same

Is there nothing you hate but that shadow you cast
I say I want you naked but you turn your back
You say give me a second kid 'cause I'm not sure you want what I have
And I'd it at that but something tells me you're not coming back

Did you know we'd call you God?
There's blood on our fists
Don't you tell us this wasn't our fault

Now you're purple eyed tough with your spit and your scruff
You say you'll fuck them all up if they ever touched you
But I see through all that because you and I we've met before
It was that freak summer storm it took us all so far from the shore

There was salt on your feet and there was sand in my teeth
You were laughing at me as you walked on the sea
You said see everything's easy when you're the son of the Lord
I said I believed you I never said I didn't want anything more

Did you know they call you God?
There are holes in your wrists
Don't you tell them this wasn't their fault

The wine was too sweet but we bought it for cheap
From the girl down the street yeah the one on TV
And we got drunk and dreamed we were dreaming that we were being born
I woke up screaming but you said I think I've had that dream before

You stop your preaching and just listen to me
You ain't no Jesus you're just making a scene
And there's nothing to see here except that trick you pull when you disappear in the morning
You said you can call me anything but you can't call me boring

Do you know I call you God?
But I've stolen a kiss
Don't tell me this wasn't my fault

So we'll call you God
But there's something we missed
Don't you tell us this wasn't our fault

credits

from Another Ghost to Sleep, released December 6, 2014

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Hugh Trimble Chicago, Illinois

Songwriter, Hugh Trimble, moves with the organic story-telling of traditional American Folk. His genres wander through americana, celtic, indie rock and blues, and his stages range from subway platforms and streets corners to bars and clubs.

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