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Category Archives: lyrics

Song of the Day: Madonna – “Dress You Up” (includes chords/lyrics)

Sunday, November 9, 2008

I’m sorry, with all that talk about expensive clothing I just couldn’t resist.

Madonna – “Dress You Up”

For the record, it started out with less reverb, and then Elise came in and insisted that a properly faithful early-Madonna cover would require more.

Since I literally threw this together in about twenty minutes it’s not as precious as my Trio stuff, and as I was finished it up I thought, Hey, since it’s not in Trio a little harmony is fair game. And, of course, the 12 seconds of harmony is now my favorite part of the entire song.

(I swear I have a Trio completely done and ready to deploy as soon as I mix it down and convert it to MP3s. Seriously. This did not interrupt Trioing any more than going to the bathroom or bathing. (And, yes, you can safely assume from that that I prioritize anything related to Madonna higher than personal hygiene.))

Chords and lyrics below. Continue reading ›

 
 Dress You Up (Madonna) [3:26m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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Saturday, December 7, 2002

Wow, new lyrics, i could almost faint… they aren’t very polished yet (lots of weird logic), but their catchiness is already coming together. I feel as though i was channeling Heart at the time…

Wait – (Peter/Gina)

Lying here on the floor, waiting for you. It’s what i do even though i don’t want to want you, but you’ve got my heart on a string. I wish you’d keep it tied to you, but you leave it to yo-yo around, and i never know quite what to do! So i’m tearing my hair out, wondering what this love is all about. I know it is something that i can’t live without, can’t live without. But this just won’t do; I’m done waiting for you.

You call me on the phone, and i wish i pretended i wasn’t home… when i hear your voice i let you in, i hold you close. You twist my guts up, baby, and it’s fucked up how we can’t deny each other for long enough for us to decide. So i’m tearing my hair out, wondering what this love is all about. I know it is something that i can’t live without, can’t live without. But this just won’t do; I’m done waiting for you. I would do anything to amuse you, to crack that stoneface baby i’d do anything break on through. Until i do i’m just like another wolf howling at the moon, because i know what i want and i need it soon. I don’t want to wait for you.

By the time i hang up the phone i’m hung up on you all over again; every time i think i can put it to an end we just begin. I swear you off and then you come over to stain the sheets. The next morning you leave me alone, sitting on the washing machine.So i’m tearing my hair out, wondering what this love is all about. I know it is something that i can’t live without, can’t live without. But this just won’t do; I’m done waiting for you. You tore my heart out, wonder if i can reassemble it to something that resembles what we had. You tore my heart out, wonder if i can reassemble it to something that resembles what we had. I can’t, i can’t, i can’t.

I can’t wait for you.

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Friday, March 29, 2002

Wow, i haven’t done this in a while… i’m still working on these… audio tomorrow, maybe. Oh, and if this makes your screen all screwy, then you are definitely in 800×600 :p

i said you weren't like other girls, maybe meaning that other girls are like you
and the learning curve is the one of your hips, eventually i plan to figure it all out
how to get past crying over you
          i'm inconsolably yours, nothing you say will make this better
          curled up on the floor, i've been crying for hours, i've never been wetter
our phrases unveiled are medusa's gaze reversed, we're putty with each other usually
what a change it would be to be as hard as stone, our phrases slung ineffectually
when i called you house you wre playing our favourite record - repossessing it for yourself
          i'm inconsolably yours, nothing you say will make this better
          curled up on the floor, i've been crying for hours, i've never been wetter
          uncontrollably spinning - out of control, emotions are on the loom
                   i'm spun out over y o  u
maybe i'm better off alone, with only myself to hurt and to make cry
maybe we could wait till
           we're older,
           i'm jaded,
           you're colder
                to give this another try
maybe we wouldn't feel anything then
but until it happens, can i come over to share your bed?
          i'm inconsolably yours, lyring next to you won't heal the wounds
          left by inexplicable anger, yours and mine, will this be over soon?
          i ran out of tissues, can i use your shoulder?
          i miss you, i love you
          i love you

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Monday, February 11, 2002

The room is teeming with other conversations as i zoom in on your smile and the words that you say. Funny how the whole world can reduce down to just one person like the fractions we studied back in third grade. And this is like recess out in the schoolyard; I’m wide eyed and laughing, so out of breath. I’ve got the same butterflies so tightly jarred in my stomach, their wings flutter in my chest

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Wednesday, January 23, 2002

Songs have been absolutely blindsiding me lately, and it’s exciting and frustrating all at once. Suddenly i don’t seem to be writing about myself anymore, but those oft-invoked nearly-fictional characters that all songwriters have wandering around in their head. It’s exciting because i seem to have suddenly inherited the mystical powers of an actual writer, but it’s altogether frustrating because i can’t seem to write about what i’m feeling. I wrote “So Hard” based on a single line i had written in a blank IM window, and it seemed as though it would be a throw-away lark until i found myself playing it every time i picked up my guitar. Similarly, last week i began to write “Seams” simply about how the cold makes my walk home seem twice as long, but it transformed into a lament that was entirely indicative of my feelings while being about someone not quite myself.


So, tonight when Andy quipped via IM that he had intentions on writing a song with the line
“You have no proof I said I love you” in it for his non-existent grad-student band i should have known not to joke about writing it. Cause, well, what started out as idly typing a handful of phrases into an empty window wound up writing a whole damn song… all the fault of the following few lines: “Another envelope taped closed. Sharpie marker employed to print out my address. The shredded letter inside leaves your message fairly clear: Return to sender, i guess.”

Actually, Andy had intentions of “You have no proof I said I love you” being the title of his song and, while i’m not sure if it is anymore, we’ve definitely wound up with a song about torn up letters, battered old shoeboxes, accidental hand jobs in the back seats of sedans, and a vitriolic serenade from a suburban front lawn. And, well, since i generally seem to avoid titles longer than four words, let’s just call it “proof” for now, okay? Audio forthcoming, as soon as it stops being 1am :p

Meanwhile, it’s late and i may be a total moron, so here’s a reminder of what i need to read when i wake up tomorrow: CityStories, GlacierGrrl, Andy’s new post.

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Monday, January 21, 2002

The feelings i have are these slippery things, and i wish they were more like velcro. I wish i could throw words at them and have them stick. I feel… slighted, continuously slighted by life despite my attempts to make it worthwhile. I feel unappreciated for being someone i enjoy being and over-valued for things i despise. And, of course, alone on a Sunday night my immediate reaction is to try to write a song about how i feel and, failing that, to blog about it.


The thing is, i’ve written this song already and blogged about it a hundred times. Yesterday Lindsay and i had a ridiculously deep conversation while watching the Eagles game, and i said something about getting married and having children and a house, and i meant it. But, i can never have any of that so long as i live within this private universe i’ve constructed, with all of its own symbolism and meaning.


I’m usually not shy with my lyrics, but this week i wrote something that says how i feel and i purposefully tucked it away. It Says how i Feel, but i can’t sing it or play it because for it to really come out and do justice to all the slippery feelings i have inside i need to make it perfect. In my head i hear the sighing melody and the double bass beat on the chords in the chorus, but try as i may i can’t get even a line of it to come out like that at all. Anyway, i don’t know what to say about this feeling other than what i already said in these lyrics last week, so here’s the latter half of them:

Imagine my whole life as Technicolor — with someone painting the shades into the scenes, and everyone acting from scripts with each other. They’re all off-book except for me, so every day is a stumble-through rehearsal, and each night is an actors’ worst dream because i never know the right thing to say, and i’m left silent in the spaces in-between. So, my front porch is a consolation, my door is a sigh of relief. The stairs are invigorating, my room is a reprieve. It’s then that i open my mouth, and the room is filled — the words come pouring out. My guts are spilled. It’s a shame i can only find my voice between four lonely walls of brick and concrete, but i don’t really have any choice: it’s just something about emptiness and me. Outside i feel just slightly out of focus; around other people i sing a little off-key. I wonder all the time if anyone will notice that i seem to be coming apart at the seams. I am coming apart at the seams.

It’s a one-dimensional representation of what i’m trying to say… my words stripped of inflection and tone. But, it’s the closest i can come to opening this up to you, so take it for what it is.

Also filed in Year 02, identity, isolation, lindsay, self image, thoughts | | Comments (0)

Monday, July 30, 2001

i… i will wait past the fuss and the hustle that keeps me awake but it comes right down to faith you’ve got it in your eyes there are no surprises in store for you – until you awake

and i can see the good in all people except for in me but i never could be satisfied without someone like you to point these things out to me – until you awake

just another simple melody my hands wrung out of me but if it’s just the same i’d like to give it your name that is – until you awake

so you’ve got this guy who’d spend eternity with you right by your side but you’ve got to put up a fight to hold on night to night he will be waiting – until you awake

this is just another simple melody my hands wrung out of me but if it’s just the same to him i’d like to give it your name that is – until you awake

i had this bright idea to sit here and play until my voice wore thin but i don’t say the words that i really meant and it take you to get the page and the pen all syunced up again and i promise to stop thinking of you – when you awake

but i’ll keep playing this tune – until you awake

and i’d to finish soon – so please won’t you wake.

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Monday, July 30, 2001

(i honestly don’t know who’s got which guitar on this one except for i’m the one with the wrong note at the beginning, but here’s the lyrics from slowjam)

… i keep trying to take a step forward, but you are a hundred steps back, you know? but, i’m trying to find a new attitude, but i am finding you are making me sarcastic. and i can’t get rid of you even when i want to ’cause you’re deadweight because i carry you with me, deadweight the way i can’t leave you behind, deadweight the way i will keep running to you… for help… which you know you’ll deny me.

… you know i am looking out at the new horizon and your face, babe, eclipses it black. i’m looking forward to a whole new life, and you refuse to let me have it. i can’t get rid of you even when i want to ’cause you’re deadweight the way you serve no purpose, you’re deadweight the way you drag me down, deadweight the way i will keep needing you so bad that i will keep you around… one, two three, one – a one, two three…

…cut you loose, you tie me down! and you’re just like a noose, you know you’re tied around my neck! and i just want to ditch you; you do me no good. does it make me a bitch now? i hope it does: i’m loving every minute of it – i’m loving every minute of it. i can’t cut you loose, you drag me down. and, you’re just like a noose – oh – you’re tied around my neck. and i just – wanna – ditch you… you do me no good! does it make me a bitch now? ’cause i’m loving every minute of it, loving every minute of it, i am loving… loving!… two! three! four!

deadweight the way i carry you with me, and you’re deadweight the way i can’t leave you behind, and you’re deadweight the way i keep running to you for help: oh, you deny me again! deadweight the way you serve no purpose ,and you’re deadweight the way you drag me down, deadweight the way i keep needing you so bad that i keep you… i keep you around, yeah.

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Monday, July 30, 2001

i scream so silent/ i cry so dry/ i wish on a star/ that’s not in the sky/ i’m so happy when I frown/ and for fish who tend to drown/ in water so hot it’s cold// and you aren’t like putty/ in my hands/ with which I can mold// so numb until you feel/ it’s not all quite for real/ and it’ll do you no much good/ and i’ll still cry so dry/ and wish not to the sky/ and you’ll never be with me// i can’t control you/ and I can’t console you/ so what use can you be?/ you’re so indepent-needy/ and unscathed-bleedy/ emotional and otherwise…// we’re not meant for each other/ i’m more like your brother/ so with you I’ll never be/ so i’ll wish my last wish/ say goodbye to the fish/ and drown into the sea…//

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Monday, July 30, 2001

Fellow theatre-chick (erm, that came out wrong) Hillary declared “Hold On Me” the “creepy fingers” song from the first time she heard it backstage at rehearsal for good woman of setzuan, and to this day i’m more likely to refer to it as “creepy fingers” than by it’s given name. Someone else entirely made the comment that the lyrics and the music don’t quite feel like they match… like one is rawer and bloodier and angrier than the other. However, i’m not sure which one is which.

i slept on top of the sheets because i didn’t trust what might happen. i didn’t mind your looming lips, but i was worried about your hands. i knew you’d put me under them soon enough – yeah i knew you’d play rough. your intentions were as clear as the act that you put up to get me into you. and who-oa you’ve got a hold on me. 2am and i am walking to your place wondering if these feelings will ever last. but, either way you’ve got your hooks sunk deep into me, and don’t you know that they’re holding fast. and who-oa you’ve got a hold on me. and everything with you feels just like the first time. so. let’s refine this, baby, let’s define this; i’ll need a dictionary for what i’m feeling. but a 1,000 words could never paint the picture of my face close enough to steal your breath! and all i ever wanted was something real – someone to listen to all these words, and your ears would be my favourite part of this except for all that i’ve left unheard. and who-oa you’ve got a hold on me. i slept on top of the sheets because i didn’t trust what might happen; i didn’t mind your looming lips, but i was in trouble when i set foot in your bed

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Monday, July 30, 2001

We pasted stars on the ceiling and planets where we want so we could feel finally in control. We painted a rocketship straight for the sun; the people inside seemed calm. I don’t think that they knew what was going on. I dreamed i saw the end of the world – it wasn’t as bad as i thought it’d be. As everyone shook and layed down their swords, finally, everyone was free. It seems the closer we get to the end the more our enemies look like friends, and sometimes i look too forward to that and forget where i’m at. Yeah, i’m talking about the real end, when the world’s aflame and there’s no one left to blame. I am looking forward to the real end when you’ll lay it down, lay down.

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Monday, July 30, 2001

religion, by gina

a god came and shattered the sky

a god came and split the ground i’m sitting on

a god came and broke the tree

but, i don’t think that i believe

no, i don’t think i believe

yes, they say that jesus is gonna save me

but, i can’t say i agree.

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Sunday, July 29, 2001

so close to the picture, to the ideal, that i can feel what it pictures, what it feels like. did you think i would melt down like the ice on the back roof? cause i’m still standing hear, and i’m thinking of spring. i’m alone; high time for a change in the weather. out in the snow there’s no one, no one to talk to. and i see out my back window the roofs with their ice, and i’m wondering: does it mean we have to freeze over. (so we’re close, closer to something than we were yesterday, but i’m feeling the space between us grow deeper. just like the snow it turns up the contrast on our world. and, i’m thinking we need less between us.)

When i’m supposed to be melting down, thinking of spring is me trying to prove that i’m not going to dissolve in her warmth. That was the rationale, at least.

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Sunday, July 29, 2001

“Nothing To Say” is what almost every one of my songs starts out as in that somewhere near the beginning i’m lamenting my lack of words or feelings or actions or love or something else like that. My songwriting has never really been about having something so much as it’s been about having a lack of something, and “Nothing to Say” is the pinnacle of that … throwing up angry red flares at a nonexistant relationship just because i have nothing to say to it except for that i want to lash out but don’t have the right words.

I’ve got nothing to say – did you think it’d go any other way? I’ve been holding it all in – asphyxiate and now i’ve gone astray. Somewhere in my mind i knew all the words i had meant for you; I was trying to be kind, but now i just want to hurt you. I’ve got nowhere to run and it’s no fun – and you know i am hiding something where it won’t be found, deep under ground – under these sounds. Hiding under these sounds surround me all around my body i can’t see past your light, your skin, this day, this dimness – i am surrounded. I am out of my age: staring into the sun – i remember being young. It’s so far in my mind – it’s not the same after you’ve spent some time out in the life; it won’t apologize for the scars it leaves on you and me on me, but yours are more obscure. And looks decieve. sounds surround me all around my body i can’t see past your light, your skin, this day, this dimness – i am surrounded. I am bitter. Just ask me how i taste: like the salt over your shoulder. This is no kindof way for me to be, don’t you see? You and me… i’ve got things to lay out on the table. This is no kinda way to be, and i can’t say how i’d see things eye to eye. Maybe i can escape some kind of way, but i haven’t found a thing to say. I’ve got nothing to say.

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Sunday, July 29, 2001

Rabi and Martha both seem to like “colorblind” quite a bit, which is funny, because i think i never intended on playing it more than once. Or, maybe i had forgotten about it. Except, one day i found myself and my guitar in the middle of a field at Swarthmore and i asked Rabi what she might like to hear and she asked for “Colorblind,” and i halfway rewrote it while i was playing it, and after that i considered it a real part of my collection of songs the same way Rabi suddenly became not just a figment of the internet but a real friend. So, anyway, “Colorblind” was incredibly easy to record because it’s still exactly that malleable, and i wish everything in life would keep on being that easy.

My emotions flow out like sand in an hourglass filling up the past. They’re from a beach full of grains, like a pallet of colors, but this is what i’m left to paint with. I used all of my red to make a beautiful heart – that’s where it all started. And i lost the black and blue painting it to match you, and wiping out all the working parts. I had a rainbow of colors to paint our love, but now it’s just sand through my fingers. I’ll be lucky if i’m left with the grey sky that it was cast against to paint what lingers. I gave you my first times and I gave you my trust, and you just smoldered like a furnace. We were hot enough that all we did was combust, and ashes are all we’re left with. I had a rainbow of colors to paint our love, but now it’s just sand through my fingers. I’ll be lucky if i’m left with the grey sky that it was cast against to paint what lingers. The enormity of you and me made me colorblind. And now that that we’re through I’m scraping together all that’s left over of the colors i can find. I found a discarded green: the color of your envy. I’ve got white for my spotlight. ‘Cause you were center stage; you stole the applause from my life. And i’ve got just enough left over to paint a four leaf clover. Yeah, I’ll need all the luck in the world. ‘Cuz with all this black and white how will i ever find another beautiful girl?

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Sunday, July 29, 2001

On the flipside, “Unstrung” is obliquely about my first exgirlfriend … inversing my feelings so that i’m bitter about her breaking up with me rather than me breaking up with her. I wrote it after having seen Peter Mulvey and Erin McKeown play at a local acoustic club. Peter and Erin are two of my favourite songwriters, and really two of my idols because neither of them are even 30 yet they know how to write amazing moving songs and they have thousands of people who gladly listen to them. I had never seen Erin play before and that night i saw her from barely five feet away and she’s very tiny but her songs were huge and towering and larger than life. So, i came home and tried to be her for a few minutes, with her jazz chords and fancy metaphor. I still prefer listening to her albums over mine, but a boy can try, can’t he?

You broke one of my heart-strings from playing around too hard; did you think it was just like me banging away on my guitar? I forget all the little things – i just know how things are, and i i’m gonna lead by your example and get far away. ’cause you poor little caged bird you never sang for me, but oh how your voice rang out after you got free. i had never before in my life heard such a beautiful noise: it sang the way you’d think my heart would sing if i had a choice, but… i’ve got a fantasy: it’s just you and me. we’re inside your room, in your bed, cause instead of leaving too soon you never left instead. Cause you left me here standing alone in the low tide, and you set out to sea like a ship rolling out with my pride. now i’m standing here all alone on the beach; just sitting here with sand on my feet but – i’ve got a fantasy. in it’s just you and me. we’re holding hands, ’cause you know in this one we never learned how to make demands. You broke one of my heart strings from playing around to hard, did you think it this was as easy as me restringing my guitar?

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Sunday, July 29, 2001

where is the pretty face you put on for show? i think you’re hiding that saving grace for no good reason, for later – and i’d hate you more if i didn’t watch your every move. and i will watch you put on anything you do. where is that whimsied smile that you’ve had for years? i’ve heard all about it keeping away your fears. i’d like a chance to see what those lips have wrought: i think you’d owe me that, if you just thought about it. and i will watch you do anything you choose. and i will wait for you to make your move. will it ever come?

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Sunday, July 29, 2001

“Burn” is something of a song of legend around these parts because it was the first thing i ever lost to Blogger’s edit window. I had been fixated on the word “burn” for the entire week and one night at about 3am i started writing and didn’t stop for a half hour and immediately pressed post to immortalize the words i had just wrung out of my subconsious. And, Blogger famously burped and ate my post which i didn’t think to back up. So, “Burn” as it exists right now is an amalgam of the thoughts i had been having at the time, but not the song it’s meant to be … that song is lost to the ether of the internet.

i can feel the heat on the back of my neck like the fires you lit you little arsonist you can’t help it and i know you burn just for show but i’m held back by your heat you know i won’t come any closer// i watched you kindle i’ll watch you burn i watched you kindle now i’ll watch you burn down// i see you light it up again and i smile as you keep burning within i know that you’ll torch every bridge i’ve seen the smoke rise up over the ridge and i can tell your hot for me i see see the pyres in your eyes wouldn’t you love to turn my tempature up to the boiling point of desire// i watched you kindle i’ll watch you burn i watched you kindle now i’ll watch you burn down// i’ll watch you wade out through the ash your hands dirty from what you brought crashing down up to your neck in the soot of the past it isn’t such a blast once you put it out// i watched you kindle i’ll watch you burn i watched you kindle now i’ll watch you burn down/

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Sunday, July 29, 2001

“All That’s True” was a passive act of collaboration.

I have this friend Gina who i’ve been friends with ever since i finally escaped my Born Again grade school in 1994. She was the reason i started to do theatre, and the reason i started to play guitar – because she’s always made both things look so incredibly effortless. One thing i started on my own was songwriting, because Gina was never one with much of a bent towards lyrical writing. When i wrote my first song i was too awful at guitar playing to write the music so she wrote it for me and then taught it to me. The next year she wrote one of her first sets of lyrics, and they were amazing, but she never really did anything with them. So, in the summer of 1999 i was up late one night doing nothing and i had just gotten into the tuning FADGCF, which is now one of my favourites. I was playing around with the tuning, which lets you play lots of nice open C and F chords, and i happened to be trolling through my Netscape email for snippets of lyrics that had been left by the wayside, and one thing lead to another and “All That’s True” got written. Gina still doesn’t know how to play it, but if she comes over later i’ll teach her. Here are the lyrics:

If a rose bloomed in winter would it be a strange sight/ what if it had blue petals/ and only bloomed at night/ do you think it still would be called a rose/ if it didn’t smell as sweet/ I think instead, they’d just rename it/ and sell it on the street, because//

Everything’s for sale today, just like it was before/ and tomorrow there’ll be something new that’ll make it all worth more/ in the end, it’s all worth nothing/ if it means nothing to you/ but that’s okay if the money’s made/ ’cause that is all that’s true/ // /

I wonder what would happen if I went back/ to when all the cave men were here/ I wonder what would happen if I took two rocks/ and discovered fire and decided to call it air/ do you think that I’d be famous/ would they draw me on a cave wall/ do you think they’d give me their barter/ so I could profit from it all//

Everything’s for sale today, just like it was before/ and tomorrow there’ll be something new that’ll make it all worth more/ in the end, it’s all worth nothing/ if it means nothing to you/ but that’s okay if the money’s made/ ’cause that is all that’s true/ // /

If a rose bloomed in winter/ would they sell it on TV/ and for 49.95/ could i get a second one for free/ do you think by any other name/ it would smell as sweet/ or would it just be another flower/ sold off the corner of the street//

Everything’s for sale today, just like it was before/ and tomorrow there’ll be something new that’ll make it all worth more/ in the end, it’s all worth nothing/ if it means nothing to you/ but that’s okay if the money’s made/ ’cause that is all that’s true/ // / Everything’s for sale today, just like it was before/ and tomorrow there’ll be something better that will cost you so much more/ it’s all worth nothing in the end/ worth nothing to you/ but they can make their money/ if we can keep our right to choose

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Sunday, July 29, 2001

This tiny trouble finally got the best of you and made a nest in your heart and a lump in your throat, and all that you possess will never mean as much to you as that one small chance you missed. And it’s nagging at your heels just like a dog trying to chew up the cover over what went wrong, because your excuses will expire eventually. Tiny creeping wrinkles tucked into the corners of your eyes – a simple smile does not constitute a suitable disguise. A flick of the wrist, a wrinkle of your nose won’t fix this – although we all watch Bewitched sometimes. But no magic act can change the fact that you got hung up on so fast phone’s in the cradle as fast as your able to get it down on the table.

You set the alarm for 5am just so you can get up with the sun as if the brightness it brings can drown out the din of all the worries your done in for. You take the keys so so careful there’s no sound and drive around until you pass the playground, but it’s too early for children to appreciated it so you sit on a swing and you contemplate the situation. Cause mourning doesn’t hold all the answers and it keeps picking at you a little faster and you use your feet to drag to a stop. But what will you tell them? What will they say? You put your hands into your pockets and you’re so afraid. Days will go by and you’re still be waiting just inhaling and exhaling that air that contains you because you’re so afraid to dilate to open up to anyone.

So, back in your room at 6am, not a moment too soon for you. You close the door, turn the key so nobody can and pull that letter out of the drawer. To you it reads “don’t bother trying anymore,” but you rip it to shreds. And go back to bed

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Tuesday, July 10, 2001

and i’m just sitting here. i’m not much of a prayer, but i’m working on it; after all, she hasn’t even heard about the song i unintentionally wrote about her. whether it be for my selfish singersongwriter heart or the more direct version of the issue, please care.

This tiny trouble finally got the best of you
and made a nest in your heart and a lump in your throat
all that you possess will never mean as much to you
as that one small chance you missed
nagging at your heels just like a dog
trying to chew up the cover over what went wrong
because all of your excuses will expire eventually
tiny creeping wrinkles tucked into the corners of your eyes
a simple smile does not comprise a suitable disguise
a flick of the wrist a wrinkle of your nose
won't fix this although we all watch Bewitched sometimes
but no magic act can change the fact
that you got hung up on oh so fast
the phone in the cradle as fast as your able to put it down on the table
set the alarm for 5am just so you can get up with the sun
as if the brightness can drown out the din of all the worries in your head
you take the keys off the hook so careful there's no sound
and get in the car and drive around until you pass the playground
but it's too early for children to be appreciated
so you sit on a swing and you contemplate the situation
cause mourning doesn't hold all the answers
and you shudder as you feel the kick of that missed chance
and you use your feet to drag to a stop
but what will you tell them
what will they say
you shove your hands into your pockets
and your so afraid
it feels like days have gone by and you're still there waiting
just inhaling and exhaling that air that contains you
but your so afraid to dilate
to open up
back in your room at 6am
not a moment too soon for you
you close the door so nobody can see you
and pull that letter out of the drawer
to you it reads "don't bother trying anymore"
but you rip it to shreds
and go back to bed

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Friday, May 25, 2001

you said i needed to find some hobbies just because i’ve been carving our initials into everything with an exacto blade. those wretched letters look x-ed out better than i know how to, but we were never going to be forever and ever – so whatever. Cause things you said mean even less now that you’ve fessed up: breakdown. breakup.

i intend to wash the sheets again because i like to see my bed empty. And i’ve got two boxes full of your cds, clothes, and pantyhose that my roommate told me to throw out the window just like we had thrown them on the floor so long before. But, you told my best friend that i’d lost it over you because you’re a manipulator, and you can bitch all you want but i won’t see you later. Cause things you said mean even less now that i’ve cleaned up: breakdown. breakup….

breakout of this shit cause like a broken record i’m skipping over my making tracks and you know the motivation i lack is why i’m so stuck on you and i never should have fucked you just because i was bored out of my mind that’s what toys are for and playing around just got us lost and we found out how to extend our claws and dig deeper than The things we said that mean even less now that we brokeup. Breakdown. Breakup.

I’m supposed to be friendly to you as if it makes a world of difference; i’d rather flirt with your best friend across the room for all the bad mojo it’d bring. And with all this salt in our wounds we should be alcoholics, eating the worm at the bottom of the bottle for every time we speak too soon. But this is just my defense mechanism and my words must just be dumb just like optimism. But things you said mean even less now that i’m fed up: breakdown. breakup. brokedown. fed up. drowned out. fucked up. breakdown. breakup.

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Saturday, May 5, 2001

That almost wound up being a song about a lonely cat. It still might be. There was this line near the end “but the neighbors will come and feed you five times a week,” but i chickened out and replaced it with sappy relationship stuff. Wouldn’t that be a relief to hear me singing a song about leaving to my beloved cat instead of one of the random omnisexual characters that appear in the rest of my songs? But, on the other hand, then it would be a song about a cat. Hmm. Either way, i don’t really think it’s strong enough to make it onto an album, or even a Trio, so it’s sorta moot. But, i’m just happy to have completed it.

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Saturday, May 5, 2001

#2

my suitcase has laid packed in the middle of the floor
for two hours stacked on top of two days and i am
sitting on the couch thinking it's just either/or
as to whether i'm going or staying.

it's kind of funny how shit like this goes down
all hanging on what is essentially a flip of a coin
but what's funnier is that i have found out
that it's the only way i'll know where to go 

i've got my socks i've got my underwear
i've got a picture of us tucked away with care
between the folds of my memory where no zipper can let it out
and that's how we'll stay for now

my reasoning seems thin if i examine it too closely
but i don't think i can even try to
all i need is to hear the sound of the door closing behind me
or i'll be in a jam, i'll be stuck in a lie to myself

I've got my map of the united states
and i've got my path exactly traced
but eventually i'll point myself back at you
and the sunrise to flatter my eyes
i'll have my guitar in the back seat
and when i hit the brakes i hear the hum of the strings through the case
and i'll know i'm raising the stakes cause i left you behind
i wasn't very kind
and i'm worried sometimes if you're going to eat at all
or how you'll fall asleep without me
i've got a pocketful of quarters and i'll be seeking out
each payphone on each desolate street corner
to sing into the answering machine
cause i hope you'll still want to hear my voice
but either way i won't give you a choice

so my suitcase is still packed
lying in the middle of the floor
the decison comes down to just a matter of either/or
but i hear your key in the door

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Wednesday, May 2, 2001

#1

you snapped one of my heart-strings from playing too hard/ did you think the heartbeat was just you thrashing at your guitar?/ you forget all the little things/ and i just know how things are/ and i think i’m gonna lead by example/ and get real far away// cause you poor little caged bird you never sang to me/ but oh how your cries rang out when i set you free/ i had never before heard such a noise/ your voice sang the way my heart would sing if i had the choice.// So leave me here wading in the low tide/ cause the waters are as low as my pride/ you took it away like a ship set off to the sea/ left me here sandy and barefoot standing on the beach/

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