I'm suspended now, Hanging in the gray of a weather beaten town December rolls around, Lays a blanket of herself on the ground where comfort lives in sound, Like a gun laying cold on the ground, no way to spell it out. Still much to say of a gun left down. Most of me is elsewhere wondering Shall we hear a song? Shall we live one, soaked to the hone? I'm suspended now, Hanging in the gray of a weather heavy cloud, Soften my face and bow, Bid my farewells to the ground for now Part of me is sinking, pondering. Hope is a gracious term, aligned with the faith that reason has a course to take, be the just one. until then, I will drown, go down without a fit. How glorious is it? Bound in sound, even and weightless and free from wrist to wrist
https://primanota.net/hot-water-music/in-the-gray-chords.htm