In case I haven’t shared this already–gotta love Isakov’s Big Black Car. The texture–the nostalgia–the wistful humility, the forward-propelling past. Just me and a-all of my plain.jane.glory. 

You were a phonograph, I was a kid
I sat with an ear close, just listenin’ in
I was there when the rain
tapped her way down your face
You were a miracle;
I was just holdin’ your space

Well, time has a way of throwing it all in your face
The past, she is haunted, the future is laced
Heartbreak, ya know, drives a big black car
I swear I was in the back seat,
just minding my own

Well, you were a dancer,
and I was a rag
The song in my head,
well it was all that I had
Hope was a letter I never could send
Well, love was a country we couldn’t defend

Well you were a magazine, 
I was a plain Jane
Just walking the sidewalks all covered in rain
Love to just get into some of your stories
Me and all of my plain Jane glory