Nobody's Song

Wind whispers a song through the dry desert grass

on the side of the road where the big rigs pass

on the road to Del Rio and to old Mexico

with a storm brewing somewhere as the sun sets low.

Nobody can hear it, no one sings along.

Nobody knows how right it sounds,

Nobody knows how wrong.

Nobody copyrights it, ‘cause it’s nobody’s song,

No one but nobody ‘cause it’s nobody’s song.

Stars light the Nueces, the white rocks on her banks

and the bones of a man lyin’ by some dried up water tank.

So close to the river, his feet in Nike shoes.

His children are still waiting for someone to break the news.

But nobody will tell them. They’ll wait their lifetimes long.

Nobody knows how right he died, nobody knows how wrong.

His children, they remember how he used to sing them songs.

But his children ain’t nobody, so it’s nobody’s song.

Nobody sings a song this way

Nobody’s heart’s that strong.

Nobody’s voice can carry

Nobody’s song.

Through blades of grass all bending in waves beneath the clouds,

like refugees unnumbered toward freedom’s borders bowed,

the wind still sings softly a song that no one knows

with a storm brewing somewhere on the road to Del Rio.

Well one day you might hear it, might even sing along.

No one will know how right you sound, no one will know how wrong.

But you’ll know when you hear it that you’ve been long gone,

and then you’ll be nobody singing nobody’s song.