From the recording Blind Spot

Kathy Sparling – vocalDan Cantrell – piano, celeste


One time in Manhattan, on vacation,I ran into my sister in a crowded subway station.I was visiting museums; she was headed for her job.Under cold fluorescents, we embraced there in the mob of strange civilians.Ridership that day: up in the millions.You can’t make up things like that; no one would believe it.We all want life’s little mysteries in service of a larger plan.Your rank and file coincidence, we can take or leave it,Awaiting signs that we are seen and known and count for something, while we can.I tell you all this only because anyone would think,If I hang around this place where you’ve been known to stop in for a drink…These familiar sidewalks are no teaming underground,Our town no cold metropolis, baby I know you’re around somewhere close by meI just stay still; soon enough you’ll find me.But we can’t make up life like that, no we can’t conceive it, Can’t belabor every mystery, lip service to a larger plan.Attending each coincidence, we’ll bear it and receive it,Still awaiting signs that we are seen and known, Not here alone, and count for something, while we can.And count for something, while we can.