Some days I just need to write. Somedays what comes out is unutterable tripe. But I do like listening to Badly Drawn Boy as I write. I suggest you go and check out his lyrics instead.
Not an easy ride. (But then who the hell told you it would be? I mean come on, make a move, shake a leg, get on with it, I thought you were supposed to be doing something amazing? You haven’t even put clothes on yet? So when are you going to do this great thing then? Aren’t you going to admit that it’s all only in your head, you don’t have the energy or the focus or the drive to do this great thing that you don’t even know what it is. What? You think you’re special, you’re simply like everyone else with everyone’s daydreams, except to the amusement of all, you seem to believe that yours are real.)
It happened again, the world turned over. (Another dawn another day and you still try and find poetry, claim you find poetry in the everyday, where is all this dust you keep making? Where is all this time you keep finding? There is none, you can’t exist through these doors in your mind, soon, soon, very soon you’re going to trip, can you feel it. This pressure in your head, in your heart and in your soul? They aren’t going to help, you’re expected to do this one on your own and everyone is waiting for the first stumble, not to catch you of course but dfar far rather to point and tell you that you simply can’t do things your own way. No, we’re waiting for you to do things our way. So come on then, our way.)
Somehow you know, you’re gonna find your own way. (You keep telling yourself this, so what exactly are you doing? Making something out of nothing? I don’t think so, you keep saying look, over there, thats the light I’m following, really though aren’t you just following sunbeams and laughing in the light, you’re scaring people with how stupid you are, how childish you are, and mark that I didn’t say childlike I said childish. What you going to tell people about all of the voices in your head now? It’s not funny anymore, can’t make a joke out of all of this, if I could just make people laugh or smile then none of this would matter anymore but it does and theres this fucking hedge in the way now which I don’t know how to get around, I’m making it, creating this hedge just making it too high to climb over.)
We figure out the past through photographs (leaving everything else in the dark, our minds closed to all the possibilities that simply aren’t there for us, not in the photos you see…)
Simple pleasures, to be found
If you reach the overground
Sunshine, rainfall, making love
You see a rainbow
The streets are changing now
Try other avenues
Make a new map of the world
Decide on where to go
(So happy, just being held, simple acts of pleasure keeping me sane, until they become mechanical acts, until they become nothingness until I die and all that will have kept me sane is a chemical, physiological act of pointlessness, and why? because thats what I said would, thats what I decided to become addicted to and thats what I decided to give up, get thee to a nunnery, get me to a nunnery get me shut up and locked away, get me gone, get me out of sight and out of mind and out of sight for fucks sake bfore it all comes crashing down, before everyone knows who is to blame and then it will crash this sunbeam broadened rainbow and everyone is so utterly selfish in this and I will just sink without trace and nothing will happen how I dreamed it because my dreams are as nothing now.)
Only time will tell, just say you’re feeling it and you’re not disbelieving it… (And can you feel it for as long as I can? can you feel anything for as long as I can? can you feel all that I can? Can you feel any of this or am I simply trapped in this glassy bell-jar? This glass that I look out of bug-eyed and I realise that of course no, not a lone person is feeling this because it’s too much again, always too much and too soon and better keep it all under wraps whatever the rest of you say, I’ve tried to love, I’ve tried to say how I feel and of course it’s inappropriate, remember what the priest said at the wedding? Well none of it’s true, not a word, all of it is simply to big and none of you feel a damn thing and I don’t know why all of this jumble of feelings and emotions and words are always so wrong and they wound like stars do and no one will tell me why, they say there isn’t one you know, not a why out among the stars, not a word and not a why and not a how and I just have to feel this and love this and burn up forever without a sound. No words, no sounds and n screaming when the nightmares come and the sounds of the night take over and I am led from my bedroom by the trickster god after trickster god to commit my frauds before your altar, to beg and to pleads and to keep my promises of blood and bleeding and life and death until the burning crisp of the self that feels too much is simply, gone.)
Everywhere everything is the same, just promise you might come with me, the start of a journey from a to b… (Come with me? Please? No on ever does, it’s too far and too fast and I have to keep myself underwraps. Come a little way anyway? I’m not sure I really want company anyway. Never have liked it but you all said that wasn’t being true to myself so I invited the company along until it got too much. Come a little way along the path, you have other paths to walk, I might distract you. Never mind. See you later by the hedge and we can bite and tear until it feels better.)
Put aside the things that face us now (things face me? Aren’t I simply trapped in a song of self ignoring the world going by? Nothing faces me, nothing phases me, there is nothing I could not take because of the simple root that none of this actually matters. It’s a ll a game. Wanna play?)
But nothing’s going to change your mind, but no one’s going to help you now… (No one ever does, people promise, but they can’t keep their promises because no one actually knows themselves or what they can take anybetter than you can. Don’t hold it against them, it’s simply the way things are. It’s nicer to rest alone in anycase.)
Leave the light on, if you’re the last one alive… (I never really liked the dark. Shhh! IT’s a secret. One day I will like the dark, otherwise I’m going to have a very sad death.)
Please understand I am just a man and I need you to take me home. (I’m sorry for every trying to make any of you anything else. Nothing else matters. Get me home.)
Promise you will remember, a promise should last forever. I promise you will get old. Right up to the last dying ember of your soul.