The Road to Paradise

Intimate acoustic folk ballad, ~90 BPM, 4/4, key-feel G major, Two fingerstyle acoustic guitars only (close-mic, airy open chords, audible string/finger noise), minimalist arrangement, clean organic production, very light natural room reverb, Fragile, intimate female vocal (Joni Mitchell-inspired, breathy, tender, reflective phrasing, subtle vibrato)

We lived in the gentle weather, windows open wide,
had bread on the table, and time on our side.
We danced through the bright hours, laughing like kids,
and held to each other when the daylight slid.

Nothing really rattled our porch-light peace,
we were lucky little planets in a warm-world lease.
We gave with open hands, took thanks in return,
and pointed the road when the streetlights burned.

Look how the sweet life learns a bitter cue,
    we build a little enemy to tell us what is true.
    We win the argument - and lose the living, too.
    We're such complicated creatures… me and you.

Then came the kind of mornings no one could name,
where the air felt thinner, and nothing the same.
We argued in tall words, polished and proud,
making mountains of lint, saying it out loud.

Some swore they had answers, a map and a flame,
they fed the small fears till they learned our names.
They said, "We alone can carry you through -
just follow our finger… we'll tell what is true."

We dressed for a "great day," ironed our beliefs,
marched out with our sermons and homemade reliefs.
"To show the bad people the end of their reign -
to make the good last forever," we sang in the rain.

Out in the fields we spent blood and tears,
couldn't understand why the world wouldn't steer.
Back home, the quiet ones stared at the news -
they thought their fine arguments were swords we could use.

It's a strange little miracle - when we are well,
we still build a battle out of a spell.
We start calling "enemy" the neighbor in blue,
as if opinion could win what love must do.

So let's be grateful for the light in our hands,
walk toward the other, try to understand.
Step into the wildness of listening through -
and spare ourselves one more… terrible foolish thing to do.

2187/7500

We lived in the gentle weather, windows open wide, had bread on the table, and time on our side. We danced through the bright hours, laughing like kids, and held to each other when the daylight slid. Nothing really rattled our porch-light peace, we were lucky little planets in a warm-world lease. We gave with open hands, took thanks in return, and pointed the road when the streetlights burned. Look how the sweet life learns a bitter cue, we build a little enemy to tell us what is true. We win the argument - and lose the living, too. We're such complicated creatures… me and you. Then came the kind of mornings no one could name, where the air felt thinner, and nothing the same. We argued in tall words, polished and proud, making mountains of lint, saying it out loud. Some swore they had answers, a map and a flame, they fed the small fears till they learned our names. They said, "We alone can carry you through - just follow our finger… we'll tell what is true." Look how the sweet life learns a bitter cue, we build a little enemy to tell us what is true. We win the argument - and lose the living, too. We're such complicated creatures… me and you. We dressed for a "great day," ironed our beliefs, marched out with our sermons and homemade reliefs. "To show the bad people the end of their reign - to make the good last forever," we sang in the rain. Out in the fields we spent blood and tears, couldn't understand why the world wouldn't steer. Back home, the quiet ones stared at the news - they thought their fine arguments were swords we could use. Look how the sweet life learns a bitter cue, we build a little enemy to tell us what is true. We win the argument - and lose the living, too. We're such complicated creatures… me and you. It's a strange little miracle - when we are well, we still build a battle out of a spell. We start calling "enemy" the neighbor in blue, as if opinion could win what love must do. So let's be grateful for the light in our hands, walk toward the other, try to understand. Step into the wildness of listening through - and spare ourselves one more… terrible foolish thing to do.

0/500