showtime.

Over the chatty crowd and between songs, even over the punk rock feedback coming from the vintage amps, I will sing a song to you.

I'm going to sing a song about you.
Everyone in the room will know who I'm talking about...because...before the song starts, I will stare you right in your beautiful blues, and shout, "This one is for you my love."
Everyone in the room will know exactly who I am talking about.

You are most beautiful and will be the brightest shining star in a galaxy full of burnouts and village whores. It will be our night to shine brighter than any individual in that room.

Let's not implode.

composer.

So none of this is coming as easy as I thought it would. I keeping strumming the wrong notes, singing in the wrong key, strumming the wrong rhythm...playing what's already been played. I'm singing what's already been said, simply trying to express how I feel. When it all comes together, it's the tune of my everyday life. The same beat in my footsteps, the same harmonies in my frequent interactions with people, the same catchy melodies you fight so hard not to keep stuck in your head...I keep writing songs with the same dissonance as with my day to day decision making. Try not to struggle with making sure people know what you're really trying to say. Soon enough, I will shatter this acoustic, splinter my hand to hell...and ultimately pay the mother fucker back for the years of blisters, the perpetual letdowns, and god awful messages the instrument has given off. In all actuality, I'm pissed at myself for the way the songs are coming out.

The music we make is only as great as the maker of said music can be.
The life we live is only as great as the person in control of said life.
I can't make pretty music.
I can't live a happy life.

drown.

Tonight I will find a place to drown.
I'm packing my bags, purchasing a one way ticket to an ocean of relief.
At the bottom is where I will rest, never to see this place again.
If I land in a city, the fellow drowned will speak, "...and like the drifter I was born to be, I left for something better. In these city lights, I will hang my noose up high, for all the town to see. This is the only way, to get anyone to look up to me." It would be no surprise to find a city under the sea, full of patrons undistinguishable from you and me. They got here before us, only to think/say the same things we may've once felt. To fight and fuck the same people. Someone's been there, done that...we're all just too late to our own lifetime.