Bespoke font specific to Del Scott Miller

Songwriter, guitarist and composer

Songwriter, guitarist and composer

How The Night Gets In


No squandered dawns, no waiting chores, 

no items any border force would greet with a frown

and well in front on the rent.

I mute the clock and soldier on, a monk in prayer to law and order making no sound,

still some alarm attempts to stir the fool.


See, I weighted down and drowned ideas that weren’t designed to win,

but that’s how the night gets in.



The pettiest of thieves resign to steal from their own hands

and lay the blame with some mean old man on the news.

Me, I gave the first to raise their voice the wheel and settled in to take 

a route with no scene,

confusing fate with giving up control.


But the [static] night has quiet on its side and such silence leaves the floor wide open

for all those misfits/choices/actions waiting keenly in the wings.




With its magnolia and its maker’s stamp, this envelope of walls has no surprises inside;

here the old gags abide.

Faith in old minutiae and reliance on routine fill all the cracks in what pride’s 

left in these bones from which the world’s weight hangs.


I slept on laurels trusting all the blues for me had been

and that’s the night the night broke in.




I’ve been playing vinyl backwards assured I could easily laugh off the din, 

but such rites invite the night right in.


Still, I mute the clock and soldier on.



Written by Del Scott Miller

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