My baby’s like the blowin’ wind
He lifts me up
I’m carried off again

Tizzy Moone stared at the man who walked into The Rusted Locket as she sang and Mank Millard was playing the ivorys.

My baby blows holes in my heart
When I hear he’s with another
You know it tears me apart

Badgison Wit Lundy, as she was soon to find out his name, sat at the bar stool with her back to her. Tizzy had a sense about him. He knew that “Wit” (as he will soon prefer to be named) was in search for something. Something beautiful Tizzy imagined, something that would take your breath away.

He’s like the wind
A cold, blowin’ wind

As she got to the chorus her voice grew and eventually hit the ears of Wit. Wit turned around and their eyes caught each other. Not in a “love at first sight” kind of way, but something Tizzy knew was mutual admiration. “Wit is a musician,” Tizzy thought, she didn’t know for certain, but she knew it as Wit got lost in the music.

I can’t help but love my baby
Lord, I feel like I have sinned