Lyrics
[Verse 1] By the fountain where the brass band turns, I set my board beneath the paper moons. A baker with a silver braid leans close, Says she crossed three counties selling peach preserves. I draw the laugh lines first, then her steady hands; She tells me every jar has someone’s name. The crowd keeps moving, colored flags in flight, And on my page her sunday-market smile stays bright. [Chorus] Hold still a moment, tell me where you’ve been, I’ll catch the little map behind your grin. One face, one tale, a thousand ways to belong; I give you back in pencil, you give the day a song. When the booths come down and the last drum rolls away, These faces keep the festival alive another day. [Verse 2] A schoolboy in a red cap guards a paper crown, His sister says he’s captain of the parade. A woman with a cello case waits by the gate, She played the river towns before she learned to drive. I shade the boy’s brave chin, the cellist’s careful eyes; They trade a joke and pose beside my sign. A spice seller brings a pinch of saffron for my hand, Then asks me to draw the hills where he began. [Chorus] Hold still a moment, tell me where you’ve been, I’ll catch the little map behind your grin. One face, one tale, a thousand ways to belong; I give you back in pencil, you give the day a song. When the booths come down and the last drum rolls away, These faces keep the festival alive another day. [Bridge] At dusk, the lantern crew unties the ropes, The chalk marks fade beneath a thousand shoes. A tired drummer finds his portrait in my book, Says, “that’s the first time i’ve looked quite that alive.” I turn the page; the crowd is still right there, A small bright country gathered in the air. [Final chorus] Hold still a moment, tell me where you’ve been, I’ll catch the little map behind your grin. One face, one tale, a thousand ways to belong; I give you back in pencil, you give the day a song. When the booths come down and the last drum rolls away, These faces keep the festival alive another day. [Outro] A baker, a captain, a cellist passing through, The town in every line, and every line still true.
