Loneliness, Love & Leave

by The Zuni Mountain Boys

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New Mexico 04:14
I’ve lived in London, New York City, and Rome, but none of those places ever felt like home. I’m in this hotel room, too lonesome to cry. What I’d give to watch lightening burn a southwest sky. I miss the ponderosa. I miss all the stars. I miss the margaritas at the 49er Lounge Bar. Clouds hang low here. It all looks so grey. It’s enough to make anybody feel this way. I don’t know if I can take one more night alone in this hotel room. Street lights shine, the stars are gone. I’m going crazy out here and I want to go home. New Mexico If I was back there, south of Santa Fe, I would make it back to Gallup at the end of the day. I would sit there, at the 49er Lounge, just drinking margaritas as the sun goes down. I’m in this hotel room, too lonesome to cry. What I’d give to watch lightening burn a southwest sky.
Dead Pawn 03:45
I thought I might have seen your gold wedding ring at a pawn shop out on 66. The man behind the counter described the girl that brought it in, right then I knew that you weren’t coming back. I went out to the parking lot, I lit a cigarette, and I thought about the rings in that glass case. The things we leave behind, in silver and in gold, are not the things we wish we could replace. Sitting right here on my own I can’t help but feel like that dead pawn, just one more thing that you have left behind. I pulled out of the parking lot, And left the ring behind. Drove past the diner where I first met you. Where you served me coffee, and then we shared a cigarette. Those are the things I’ll always hold on to. There’s no glass case for the love I gave you. I don’t know where it goes to when it’s gone. And I know that I won’t find the answer looking through a glass case of dead pawn, looking through a glass case of dead pawn.
I woke up today in someone else’s bed and I don’t know her name. I felt more alone waking up there with her than I do on my own. You felt that way too when it was just me and you. How awful was that? I’ve been drunk for so long the things I’ve done wrong are easier to hold. Tail lights burn red like the end of the my cigarette. You think I’m drunk now, you should stick around a bit, see how bad I get. When I’m drunk I don’t dream. That’s a beautiful thing. When I’m drunk I don’t dream. That’s a beautiful thing. Because they’d all be of you, and they’d all, they’d all sting the same way. I thought I heard you come home like a ghost through the hall again late last night. The windows shook in the storm like the bones in your hands I don’t hold anymore. The wind called out your name like an old lost refrain to some old gospel song I hear over and.
There’s a woman holding a photograph. On the table is broken glass and a frame. All the faces are smiling back at her in a morning much too cold for fall. In that still moment is when she realized why no one hangs bad memories on the wall. A younger man is waiting patiently for an elevator to take him all the way. There is someone riding next to him and he sees them every single day. All the buttons light up like slot machines as the ground moves further away. As the doors open on the sixteenth floor the simplest thing is impossible to say. On a Greyhound bus a baby’s crying, and it’s all she knows how to do. She’ll grow old, learn all kinds of words, like loneliness, love, and leave. All the words in this whole world can’t explain the things that bring us to our knees. Oh, and crying just seems easier to me. Crying just seems easier to me.
The way you remember a feeling after it’s no longer there is the way that a match looks when it’s black, after the flame’s disappeared. It started when I drove through Kansas. Missouri filled my heart with stones. And when I got to Nashville it started to rain. I could feel it seep into my bones. Drove all night from Atlanta, crossed the bridge, and I know it’s not home, but it’s still New York City, and there’s always a place to go. Now I’m back in this city, I’m standing on Avenue B. The cabs all turn over as it starts to rain. Gallup feels so far from me. Being back here feels different but it all looks exactly the same. The subway still runs through this city, like blood, with metal and concrete for veins.


released May 14, 2015

Recorded in Nashville, TN
Recorded and Mixed by Shannon Brunet
Mastered by Greg Reierson at Rare Form Mastering
Album Art and Photography ny John Tyler Norton
Produced by The Zuni Mountain Boys
All Songs Written, Arranged, & Performed by The Zuni Mountain Boys


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The Zuni Mountain Boys New York

The Zuni Mountain Boys are an acoustic Americana duo based out of Brooklyn, NY. Their songs are narrative, delivering a blend of roots music reminiscent of John Prine, Ryan Adams, and even Raymond Carver.

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