Fewer Faces

{intimate fingerpicked

acoustic guitar} {warm close-mic'd bass enters slowly} (hummmmm)

Used to have a crowded room

Every weekend,

chasing the moon

Now the table is set

for two

And the quiet

feels brand new

{sparse acoustic strumming} {soft double-tracked male vocal} Because the older I get,

the fewer friends I have

But the ones who stay,

they hold the path

We don't need a crowd to make it last

The older I get,

the fewer friends I have

(ahhhh) {weeping pedal steel swells}

Names fade on an old screen

Promises made when we were nineteen

No hard feelings, no bitter end

Just the natural bending of the wind {delicate acoustic fingerpicking} {subtle upright

piano chords} We used to count them on both hands

Now it's just the few who understand

Who we are,

and where we've been

{dynamic rise,

building acoustic

strumming} The older I get,

the fewer friends I have

(the fewer I have)

{guitars slowly fade out} {single quiet

acoustic

chord} (hummmmm)