Rats scurry out of gutters  

As the moon rises over Nashville 

Cowgirl Janes and hustlers in Manuel jackets pour onto Broadway 

Sucking the oxygen out of the air  

Starving the tourists into a short-breathed tour of the Ryman 

Like carnival barkers their voices blare 

Giving the scene a carnival flair 

Watching from the shadows across the street 

A weathered old man hunkered beneath a flimsy cardboard sheet

Bar room lights blink and scatter  

And a neon haze illumes  

Hues from a Pabst Blue Ribbon logo splatter along wet walls  

And dance in kaleidoscopic plumes 

A thumping bass from Tootsies Orchid Lounge filters into the sleeping alley  

Like a heartbeat keeping time  

As a drug store cowboy and his tattooed girlfriend slowly saunter by

As the moon rises over Nashville 

It reaches down and finds the back of the old auditorium 

And her light lands flush on the stained glass windows 

And the image of the Man in Black awakes and comes to life 

Causing you to remember his gracious, beautiful wife 

And making you grateful you were alive  

That you heard and felt and were privileged to see 

His strong honest voice sing with the Tennessee Three

And when the atmosphere's just right 

When there's a mist  

And a freeze is at hand  

And the sky hangs low over the street like a blanket 

On this small piece of the Promised Land 

Holes poke through the felt 

And light trickles through the milky fog  

Until raindrops condense into silhouettes  

Of the could-a-beens  

And the would-a-beens 

And the truly grand

Hank's ghost in the alley, laughing, out of control  

Standing next to Townes, who's higher than a kite 

Porter's humming a piece of Skid Row Joe  

And Marty Robbins is looking fine, having himself a real good time  

With that big iron on his hip 

If you knew how to listen, you'd surely hear  

Jim Reeves beg to make the world go away  

And Dotty West confide that love is no excuse  

And through the rain you could feel the pain 

Of Patsy Cline slowly going insane  

Knowing for sure she would one day leave  

That she was crazy for trying  

And crazy for crying  

And she knew along that he had to be lying

If you knew how to listen, you'd surely hear  

Roger Miller's lament filled with cheer 

Of rooms to let for fifty cents 

And pawning off trailers for sale or rent  

And Tammy letting us know in a way so fine 

That it's hard to be a woman  

And love's not always kind 

And Willie, yes Willie, in a voice so sublime 

Reminding us as always with his sweet and soulful rhyme 

That he's on the road again 

And we're always on his mind

But the gods sing now in whispers 

The old ones just vapors anymore 

They've sung their songs and danced their dance 

And made their way off the dance floor 

Apparitions in the wind is what their songs are now 

Songs of love and fear and lust and beer  

Still heard in the pews of the Ryman with its holy glow 

Sweet golden harmonies from so long ago

But outside the old songs are absorbed by the street 

Taxis and buses and shuffling feet 

Hymns to unknown futures known all too well by now 

Passenger songs on a phantom train  

White noise lingering in the gentle rain

Ghosts line the street between Tootsie's and the Opry 

With hands outstretched they beckon 

Fat Germans, skinny Japanese, and newlyweds from Arkansas 

Oblivious to the muses in the air  

Of the rising moon they're unaware 

They pay no mind to their musical hosts 

And hear no songs from these gentle ghosts

The wind rolls off the Cumberland 

As the moon rises over Nashville 

Tourists pull their jacket collars higher  

They stroll, they gawk 

And if the merchants are lucky, they buy  

But what the hell those people gonna do  

With all those ukuleles anyway?

 Written in collaboration with my good friend, Wiley Barnard.

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