A thousand wind turbines stand like men
on a hill in Texas. Each with a red eye which
blinks in the night. A thousand men stand
like wind turbines on a hill in Texas. Each with
two blue eyes, shut the entire night, the entire
day. There is a chapel on the hill.

A broken house with the shutters torn  
Once a heart full of love, once a world full of stories
I call hello, hello, but no one seems to be home.

You said you were there from the start, when I was born
But you kept your pill bottles, cigarettes, and daily glories.
A broken house with the shutters torn.

The thought of loosing you sticks in my heart like a thorn.
But the hello's I call are thrown into empty quarries.
I call hello, hello, but no one seems to be home.

Like a cycle of memories I am constantly unborn.
A life full of tears, hope, dreams, all turned into miseries.
A broken house with the shutters torn. Imagery

The grass and trees are now dead and now they mourn.
Every sound echoes, in a place that was once a noisy place empties.
I call hello, hello, but no one seems to be home.

You were once my whole life, but now an unborn smile is covered with a scorn.
Love bathed in blood leaving many ripped arteries.  
A broken house with the shutters torn.
I call hello, hello, but no one seems to be home.

I take a minute to sip some beer,
Miller High Life and Winston's,
Shakey Graves is stomping out through the wires,
Telling the tale of a boy walking to his execution,
His head held high,
Misguided in his actions that evening,
in the waning days of summer.

The song ends, I take out a tin,
Open it up and throw in the last of the dip I had,
After that I'll be done with smokeless tobacco.

Elton John is now waxing poetically about the ideas of roses in Spanish Harlem,
His voice eloquent, nostalgic, and tear-jerkingly honest,
The loss of innocence in an idea,
Ripped asunder by the cruelty of the world at large,
If only there were one Good Samaritan,
If they were to stand up and say enough!

In the album he is but the Master of Ceremonies in the château.
Weaving great tales of happiness and woe.

And isn't that what life is,
Both the ultimate comedy and tragedy?

But what do I know?
I'm just an Average Joe.

I'm happiest at 4:25 in the morning
few cars on the highway
and fewer voices in this space
something about being alone
in peace and quiet
provides me with the solitude and time for
reflection that keeps me sane
I never know what keeps me up
but I know what keeps me away
The noise of the day is approaching
And while I can feel my heart getting heavy
i long for the next time 4:25 and I meet again.