The Seamstress

(Steven LaFollette)

In college my friend was dating this girl the somehow fit into our group as though she’d always been there. She’d cut his hair, patch clothing and be the first person to laugh if one of us fell on the ice. When she moved across the country and ended the relationship we all lost something. It was the first step in the exodus of friends that happens after college. I watched my friend quietly process his hurt. She buried hers in a positive exterior. I was too ignorant to see that at the time so I created my own internal narrative of her not caring as much. This song was processing. The metaphor was less veiled than I’d hoped and when I played it once I could see it wasn’t lost on her. We kept in touch but we’ve never spoken about the song. I’ve learned a great deal since then.

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Verse
So now, you finally found a place you can forget
We’ll seem, as only shadows of old friends you’ve kept
But I hate for us to meet on these terms

Verse
You’ll see, the world from underneath these canvas seams
I feel, you’re walking on a high wire just for me
and I hate to be the one caught staring
At your dress as it catches the breeze
And it plays at your knees

Chorus
But you, you’re singing you song for the gypsy souls
And oh, the carneys come by and you patch their clothes
But you hate to be the one girl dancing
On your own, all sunburnt and bold
Tired eyes and rope soles

Verse
And now, you’re looking for a passive place to sit
Dolled up, the music ushers all the tall boys in
So admired, they will raise their glasses
To a mare among horses of Kings
So far from center ring

Bridge
And you may long from foreign shores
For only the view from your high wire once more
The crowd fills your lungs as you reach the door
Soaking up light with your gaze on the floor.

Chorus 2
But you, the name of a virtue a lofty view
and oh, you’re pointing out stars in the ragged roof
and oh, the Gypsies won’t dance and the cats can’t sleep
and oh, the Carneys cut cards drinking kerosene
and I hate to be the one boy smiling
from a time, eyes closed on your string, so far from center ring
© Steven LaFollette 2019