Gregory Alan Isakov - February

February comes along again
now we are rust coloured stones.

And I traded all my thoughts in
for an hour of sleep in the snow.
And I dreamed up this old western sky
that follows me all the days.
And I dreamed up this dust [?]

My dancing feet alone.

February we march with frozen hands and bones to the door
and stomp our fate in cafes, and houses and churches.
Today I saw two blue flowers and thought of you.
And oh, it made me move, my dancing shoes.
My dancing shoes, my dance feet along..
When will we ever fall? I don't know.
No, I don't know. And when will they ever fall?
I don't know.