wynter gordon

ears are over the crowd, arms are raised in the air and bodies are sweat, the son of a minister, he's learned the ways of his father, leading us all to believe, and know they know little of the german army brat, the crowd feels that they travelled the journey with him, and ended the journey here in new york city, with this perfect moment, sitting on a stool near the edge of the stage his eyes meet the crowd, and he takes them on one more ride, about the tale of a woman who's beauty he compares to that of the, because the gift of fantasy, while the men take notes of all the right things to say, and all the right ways to say them, there are fewer minutes left than before, and the crowd seems a bit anxious, for what they know will be his last song, he stands, takes another swig, and begins his hit, pleads allegiance, a song that in this moment, seems more directed at his adoring fans, that hat of his muse, the seconds seem to speed up, and we meet him at the final of the song, there are depths in his voice that echo pain, tough his stature implies resilience, he leaves the stage calmly and alone, but we are with him, we've joined the movement and we're along for the ride, his songs will lead us to our own realization and revelations, like all the classics before them, cadillac