Wyoming Three AM
Kibi재생 10회
Outlaw country/Americana, male baritone vocal with gravelly, lived-in grit, 102 BPM, D minor mid-tempo shuffle, swapping weepy fiddle for keening lap steel, retaining B-bender Telecaster chicken pickin', hard-strummed acoustic, doghouse upright bass, slightly out-of-tune honky-tonk piano, brushed snare that swings lazy as a backroad turn. Narrative follows a third-shift oil field roughneck who buried his best friend after a rig accident, sneaking the dead man’s favorite bourbon past a locked cemetery gate at 2 a.m. Core imagery: rusted hardhat perched on a headstone, fireflies bobbing over uncut graveyard grass, half-empty flask passed to a ghost, quiet unspoken regret for the road he didn’t take, equal parts tender weariness and quiet defiance, no overwrought drama—just dry, plainspoken, hard-won truth in the vein of Stapleton, Childers, Bryan.
가사
[Intro] [Verse] Two A.M. by the whispering pine Climbing over the rusted chain Left the rig and the diesel line Walking slow in the summer rain Graveyard grass is growing tall Fireflies light the heavy air Shadows stretch on the old stone wall No one else is standing there [Pre-Chorus] I brought the bottle you liked the best Sour mash in a silver flask Lay your weary bones to rest That is all I’m gonna ask [Chorus] Your rusted hardhat sits on the stone While the cold wind starts to moan I take a pull, pass it down To the quietest part of town I hate the road I had to choose With nothing left but dirt to lose [Verse] The steel cable snapped in the dark Didn't even hear you scream Just a sudden, blinding spark Ended every single dream I still work the graveyard shift Dealing with the heavy load Watching all the shadows drift Further down this lonely road [Chorus] Your rusted hardhat sits on the stone While the cold wind starts to moan I take a pull, pass it down To the quietest part of town I hate the road I had to choose With nothing left but dirt to lose [Bridge] I should have left this county dry Before the well ran out of light But now I watch the wild birds fly Into the dark and lonely night I pour a drop into the weeds It's all a working poor man needs [Instrumental] [Chorus] Your rusted hardhat sits on the stone While the cold wind starts to moan I take a pull, pass it down To the quietest part of town I hate the road I had to choose With nothing left but dirt to lose [Outro]
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