Stories They Still Tell (LIVE)

You ever notice… how the longer a story sticks around… the less it sounds like the way it actually happened? Somebody swears they were there— somebody else swears they heard it different… …and neither one of 'em's wrong. That's just how it works. Stories don't stay the same… they get better. They get sharper… they get louder… they pick up a little extra every time they get told. And after a while… it ain't about what really happened anymore. It's about the version people remember. And that's the one that sticks. This is one of those. There's an old wreck sittin' just off the reef, You'll scrape it at low tide if you drift too deep They say he pushed her hard tryin' to beat that storm, Ran her up too close where the breakers form Swore he buried somethin' where the shoreline bends, Left a mark on a rock no one's found since then Every few years somebody paddles out alone— they come back quiet… or they don't come home Stories they still tell ain't the way it all went down, They're the ones that get a little bigger every time they come back around Somewhere between the truth and the version they like best… That's the one that stays with you— yeah, that's the one that gets told next There was a guy passed through with a chart he swore by, Edges all curled and the ink run dry He'd tap on the table say "now look right here"— pointed to a cove that had long since disappeared Said the shoreline shifts more than folks admit, Maps just guess where the edges sit Some of those coves got names that stuck— but you won't find 'em now unless you get lucky Stories they still tell ain't the way it all went down, They're the ones that get a little bigger every time they come back around Somewhere between the truth and the version they like best… That's the one that stays with you— yeah, that's the one that gets told next There's a guy still playin' at the end of the pier, Same beat-up case and a half-tuned six-string Says he almost made it off this island for good— still laughs about it like he knew he never would He'll point to a stool say "you were right there," even if you know that ain't quite true But after a round or two you start to think— yeah… maybe I was there too Yeah… you can hear 'em drift on a night wind low, Through open doors where the salt air blows The wreck's still out there, the chart's still wrong— And nobody stops to set it straight— That's what makes the stories stay strong Stories they still tell ain't the way it all went down, They're the ones that get a little bigger every time they come back around Somewhere between the truth and the version they like best… That's the one that stays with you— yeah, that's the one that gets told next Somewhere between the truth… and the version they like best… Yeah... that's the one they tell.