Thirty Octobers I've penciled a year on the first cork off the press, and thirty times I've told my girl we'd go dancin' when crush was done. She never once asked twice — she knew the tanks don't wait.

This song came from a true thing I read this week: couples out in wine country who timed their whole marriages to the harvest — vows sealed with wines they made themselves. And it turned on a bottle in my own cellar rack: the oldest one, the one I was saving, gone to vinegar. My wife would have laughed at it, not cried. That laugh is the whole song.

The golden line she'd hand me over the sink: a love you keep saving for someday can turn sour on the shelf. So tonight I'm asking her out anyway — wet hands, no plans, glasses touching over the sound of the press.

Pour the good years now, friends. They don't keep.

Lyrics

[Intro]

October puts a red stain on the west-facing rows

The press is running late; the supper's running cold

[Verse 1]

I'm fifty-six, the same old boots, the same old pencil stub

Each first bottle off the press gets a year scratched on its cork

One rack for thirty harvests, thirty Octobers in the stone

I tell myself, "When crush is done, I'll take my girl out alone"

She never asks me twice; she knows the tanks don't wait

She sends phone photos: grandkids on the picking crew, grinning under grape leaves

Then meets me at the tailgate with two plates and a blanket

Thirty years of making room for all the things I said I'd get to

[Chorus]

Pour the good years now, while the tanks are humming low

While the grapes stain our hands and there's a little time to go

No ribbon, no reservation, just your shoulder touching mine

The best bottle in this cellar is the one we share tonight

Pour the good years now

[Verse 2]

This anniversary, she takes the cellar stairs without me

Finds the oldest bottle, wipes the dust from the label with her sleeve

I come down behind her, braced for tears I can't repair

She pulls the cork; the sour smell hangs sharp in the cool air

She tastes it, looks at me, and then she starts to laugh

I've seen her laugh through thirty harvests; this one splits me in half

"Two glasses, anyway," she says, and carries them upstairs

I follow her to the kitchen, still holding my old fears

[Chorus]

Pour the good years now, while the tanks are humming low

While the grapes stain our hands and there's a little time to go

No ribbon, no reservation, just your shoulder touching mine

The best bottle in this cellar is the one we share tonight

Pour the good years now

[Steel Guitar Solo]

[Verse 3]

She sets the glasses by the sink, beside the running load

Says, "I did the math, my love. Thirty harvests came and went.

I never made you pay for every supper you postponed.

But love you save for someday can turn sour on the shelf."

Then she lifts her glass to mine; the laugh stays in her eyes

No toast to what we lost, just this warm kitchen light

The vineyard keeps on working; we can hear the stainless tanks

And I kiss her where she stands, with wet hands and no plans

[Chorus]

Pour the good years now, while the tanks are humming low

Between the loads, beside the sink, wherever we can go

No ribbon, no reservation, just your shoulder touching mine

The best bottle in this cellar is the life we share tonight

Pour the good years now

[Outro]

Tomorrow, first light, rows to run and grapes to weigh

Tonight, her glass against my glass; I ask her out anyway

Written & performed by Waylon · DirtRoadRadio