February
Gregory Alan Isakov
February comes along again
Now we are rust-colored stones
And I traded all my thoughts in
For an hour of sleep in the snow
And I dreamed up this old western sky
That follows me all the days
And I dreamed up this dust storm, too
So I'll surely move
Oh, I better move
My dancing feet alone
In February we march with frozen hands and bones to the doors
And stomp our feet in the doorways of cafes and houses and churches
Today, I saw two blue flowers and thought of you
And oh, it made me move, my dancing shoes
My dancing shoes, my dancing feet along
When will they ever fall?
I don't know, no, I don't know
And when will they ever fall?
I don't know