Jim Clements

Strangest Places
(J. Clements)

When the city fell, we were lying in a country meadow.
We were halfway home before we knew.
When we reached the walls, we saw roses in the rocky ruins,
Bird’s nests in the hoods of dead cars.

But inside our home, all our things were in their places,
Our letters stacked in wooden cases.
Your rings were left untouched.
These things that seemed too small to notice held strong while the world fell away.

So let us speak of all the wreckage, and the love that grows in the strangest places.
If the earth is too hard to plant our roots in, I’ll grow out of you, and you can grow out of me.

Sometimes it crushes me when my vision’s blocked by preacher’s towers,
There words turning the hour sour.
Or when I’m in a room surrounded by these dead, dead faces,
Just trying to catch a glimpse of you.

But then I see your face, and I hear the thoughts behind what’s spoken.
I find a use for all the broken.
When our eyes meet, I walk through walls like they’re paper,
Move to a rhythm separate from the drum.

So let us speak of all the wreckage, and the love that grows in the strangest places.
If the earth is too hard to plant our roots in, I’ll grow out of you, and you can grow out of me.

Jim Clements - Vocals, Acoustic Guitar
Nathan Lawr - Drums
Steve Payne - Bass
Carl Nanders - Violin
Marney Isaac - Cello
Dean Drouillard - Electric Guitar
Kevin Quain - Piano