Lyrics

[Verse 1]
I’ve been a thousand miles from nowhere,
Chasing ghosts and second starts.
Had my name bent up in silence,
Had my peace torn into parts.
But there’s a man with desert fingers,
And a six-string truth he strums—
He don’t speak to fill the silence,
He just waits for you to come.

[Verse 2]
Tim’s got that porchlight wisdom,
Like he wired it to the moon.
Gets a little cranky when the wind turns,
But he’ll hand you back your tune.
He’s a therapist by calling,
But a friend down to the root—
And when I lost the words to name it,
He just played a different truth.

[Chorus]
So I might head back to Prescott,
Let the red dirt clean my shoes.
Live a while in Tim’s old shelter,
Trade my sorrow for the blues.
A good man’s got a way about him,
You don’t see it till you’re broke—
But he’ll tune your life by feel,
Like he’s tuning up a spoke.

[Verse 3]
We talk slow, like folks who’ve lived it,
Like the weight of time is thick.
He don’t offer pretty answers,
Just a hammer and a pick.
And that house—it ain’t much mansion,
But it don’t need fancy trim.
‘Cause the walls hold steady rhythm
When you’re sleeping next to Tim.

[Bridge]
There were nights I couldn’t breathe right,
There were mornings I just stared.
But he saw the bruise behind me
And never once got scared.
Sometimes grace is not a sermon—
It’s a man who lets you be.
It’s a fridge that’s got cold coffee,
And a door that leaves you free.

[Chorus]
Yeah I might head back to Prescott,
Back where truth don’t need a name.
Back to cracked-voiced revelations
And an old guitar in flame.
He’s the kind who knows your silence
Ain’t a problem to be solved—
Just a song still in the making,
Still a man yet to evolve.

[Outro]
So here’s to Tim, my cranky brother,
With a heart like desert stone—
Hard enough to hold the weather,
Soft enough to walk me home.
If I go, it won’t be running—
It’ll be return by grace.
Back to Prescott, back to friendship,
Back to music, back to place.