Du Chene and La Plante preach through the wires,
As I light up a smoke,
Watching the candle gently sway ever so,
As these two bear witness to the making of legends.
To tell one's personal tale,
To cast off the societal thirlage,
And wander to where the predators wail.
They sing in perfect synchronisation,
The country twang of Du Chene a contrast to La Plante's,
Her vocals heartbrakingly beautiful,
As if the entire swath of water that is the Mississippi were as smooth as glass,
With the ability to turn as haunting as the memory of a lost love.
The skill to keep your wits about you,
Are needed in lands such as these,
And if you survive your legends will grow,
Gaining momentum to match the distance you travel and the tasks you complete,
Traveling with you,
Like the sensation of stain in a long healed wound,
That occasionally ghosts along the area.
That after your gone and long faded, Your travels will live on,
A wraith along those old and now overgrown trails,
To morph into something almost alive,
With each retelling of your tale.
Winding down their tune,
The music takes a calm tone once again,
Like how you imagined the eye of a hurricane as a kid,
Slowly winding up again a tad as if to hint at the struggles ahead,
They sing of where they wish to be,
And their willingness to bear the brunt of their tasks to reach their promised haven.
Heavy Hands- Where the Water Tastes Like Wine