Jason Isbell - Children of Children lyrics

Pictures of the farm before us
Old men in a gospel chorus
Sepia and saddle horses, easy on the rein
‘81, a motor inn your mama’s seventeen again
She’s squinting at the dusty wind
The anger of the plain

You and I were almost nothing
Pray to God that God was bluffing
Seventeen ain’t old enough to
Reason with the pain
How could we expect the two to stay in love
When neither knew the meaning of
The difference between sacred and profane?

I was riding on my mother’s hip
She was shorter than the corn
All the years I took from her
Just by being born

Didn’t mean to break the cycle
At seventeen, I went by Michael
No one ever called me by my own name anyway
Five full generations living
All these expectations giving way to one
Late to have a baby on the way

You were riding on your mother’s hip
She was shorter than the corn
All the years you took from her
Just by being born