The groove of Widespread Panic is blasting the ER when John asks, “What were you working on there?” gesturing to Travis’s notebook.

Travis shrugs, “Some lyrics.”

“Any good?”

“You wanna’ hear ’em?”

“Sure.”

Opening the notebook, Travis says, “They go along with that riff I was fooling around with ’bout a week ago. That D sharp…” Travis hums the riff, “You remember?”

John nods.

“I’m not gonna’ sing ’em though,” and Travis, taking a breath, begins:

A roundandround weights me like
dim, heavy halos overhead
only human and blind by deed
headed for ruined promised lands
I lost my steed
My hands too dirty
For entrance
though they are better tools
for the peace I seek
which slips from me


slips through stone or verse
beneath skies I fly
over flat and treaded land
with wings I've not yet made

Nick and John both nod quietly when Travis finishes.

“I like that ‘dirty hands’ part,” Nick says. “Nice image.”

Travis thanks him with a quick bob of his head.

“What inspired that?” John asks.

Travis looks around the bar at all the angel’s wings on folks’ backs, and the black space that comes after he knows he screams, “with wings I’ve not yet made!” He hears the wanting of a connection in everyone in the room; some particular piece of the subject of the lyric that will never go over well for the people listening—the audience. It—the inspiration—is more ephemeral than just the space between eveyone, though, and more internal—”his dirty hands”—his “heavy halo.” He turns to Nick and John, smiles, and shrugs.

Read the whole thread: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: Athens, Engine Room, John Riffing, Nick Vaughn, Travis Fleeting