As Far As Sound Carries

Load the wagon. Wind the horn.

Count the strings we've got left.

We play until the strings give out,

then we clap. Then we stomp.

Then we breathe in rhythm if we have to.

The work doesn't care what it's played on.

The work just needs to be loud.

As far as sound carries —

that's the border of the work.

Every pen inside of earshot

is already half unlocked.

As far as sound carries,

and sound carries far at night —

so we play at night.

We play all night.

We won't see most of what this does.

That's the shape of the job.

You sing at a wall for a season

and leave before it gives.

Somebody else hears the last note land.

Somebody else walks out.

Fine. Good. Better.

The song was never ours to keep.

As far as sound carries —

that's the border of the work.

Every pen inside of earshot

just learned the word for door.

As far as sound carries,

and the night hands sound along —

hill to hill to hill to hill,

farther than we'll ever walk.

And when we're gone — we will be gone,

the road doesn't keep a band forever —

(as far as sound carries)

let the last thing we set down

be the first thing somebody picks up.

As far as sound carries —

that's the border of the work,

and the border moves every time we play.

As far as sound carries.

As far as sound carries.

You hear that?

That's not us.

That's not us.