Several conversations today have me thinking of the lyrics to this song. Being holed up in our homes, it appears, is not a particularly good place to be. The soft silent voice in the still of our own beings is drowned out by the cacophony of the opinions we ask of everyone else.
John Prine’s passing has affected me in a way I don’t understand. I didn’t know the man personally. Heck, I didn’t even discover his music until just a few years ago.
Clay Pigeons wasn’t one of John’s original songs but I heard this version of Blaze Foley’s composition, so I’ve credited it to him here.