LOW TWELVE

I usta work some night shifts at my job. 6PM to 6AM. Sometimes referred to as "graveyard shift". I was outdoors a lot, any kind of weather. Lots of stars, the moon doing her dance across the sky, solitude except for the rumble of heavy equipment moving tons of earth just over the hill, like prehistoric creatures I didn't wanna be near. The cave guys, no wonder they worshipped fire. Keep the dark away. For me, round about 3AM is the depth of my experience, but that's not as handy to sing about as midnight.

There's something about midnight. Some facts, a lot of superstition, certainly romantic notions. Love affairs, evil deeds, plots and schemes and things cloaked in darkness.

 The Blues come callin', carry your mind away. That is true, trust me.

Now, you know this ruffian is up to no good:

Hark! The midnight bell tolls the hour of meeting. Oh, God, It does seem that the very stars do weep tonight.

Must I bear this burden all alone? But – no, my companions come.

12 times! The iron tongue of time tolls the midnight hour, and I must away to meet my companions.

A time for love. Not the Ozzie and Harriet kind, uh uh. The dark-end-of-the-street kind.






Wicked guitars







 I stuck this one in just because it is so cool.