What, I write songs too? Part XIII

If I sound far from the mic for the covers, well I am, compared to my guitar – it was the compromise I decided to make for balance (since my voice carries rather more than my guitar). The recordings Maria and I will begin shortly will, of course, be free of that problem. In other news, literally, I stumbled upon a story on the LA Times which seems rather indicative of the dynamic between street people and “the establishment” if you will, and the general state of honesty. Link here.

I’ve uploaded:

Leaving on a Jet Plane
Scarborough Fair
Torn
RE: Stacks
How Great is Our God

Maria objected rather strongly to the topic of this song, so it likely won’t make the CD. I suppose I wrote it to get the lyrics out. I still like the melody and general feel of the song, so I may rework it in the future… in a less “Woe is me, I’m so bitter” fashion. Many have told me I ought to be a lyricist. They accompany that praise with strong feelings about the (low) quality of my singing. I think I’d agree overall, but I don’t know:

1. How to be a lyricist
2. Whether I’m OK not singing my own songs
3. If I can get a lot better at singing

Link here.

Will

It’s been a while since I have seen you,
Yet somehow you’re still on my mind.
Each cloudless day’s too gray to get through,
And oh how swiftly they pass by.

I feel such bitterness about us.
It was you that closed the gap.
Your brokenness just proved contagious,
But unlike you I can’t detach.

And not hang on to not just anyone,
To love again. To give.
But my heart breaks slow, I’ve nowhere to run,
I’m losing the will to live.

They say you’re deep beneath my skin,
In every reflex I betray
Just how much you bared me open,
With pretty words that couldn’t stay.

I squandered trust and hope inside you,
As number fourteen on your shelf.
And when I wonder what those many do,
I sing hopeless to myself:

Don’t hang on to anyone.
Smile again, and give.
But my heart breaks slow, has no strength to run,
I’m losing the will to live.

I fill each moment to forget you,
Finding calm in foreign skies.
And sometimes I’m not even sure who
Keeps me grieving all this time.

If I ever quit this memory vault,
I’ll sing softly to myself:

I’ll move on and find someone.
I’ll love again. I’ll give.
May my heart mend whole, turn towards the sun,
I’ll smile, I’ll cry, I’ll live.

I’ll live.

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