The Freshman Experiment

So I’m just going to type in my little lyrics to “How to Return Home”. Blame Brian, please. He sang me high low and everywhere in between and my little voice box is sleepier than even my heavy eyelids. But I was dogged this evening and the result is a finished lyric.

There are still a few things that I have questions about. I don’t know how I feel about my double rhyme… but it’s pretty somehow. I normally hate that kind of stuff. It feels so overdone but this song’s character is more flowery than my usual tone… I just can’t tell. My other question regards changing lyrics in the chorus and whether or not (if I should change them at all) I’m changing the correct ones. There is a part of me that thinks it must mean my lyrics for the chorus just aren’t good enough yet. But the other part reminds me that I genuinely like some of the lyrics that I wouldn’t want to repeat.

Brian and I get together on Tuesday for more recording (Tales from the Bad Years), so perhaps I’ll sing this for you then.

The LYRICS:
Your bare feet sliding on the old wooden floorboards,
Home at last and silent but still you’re shaken,
like walking into a museum, somehow out of time.
It’s all the same except the girl in the hallway,
Where she’s been and who she will ripen into,
Your childhood’s on the other side of a gulf to damn wide to climb.

Take silent breath.
Hold in the change.
Tell yourself you still live here.
It’s the only way
you’ll get through this holiday.
Count the hours.
Hit the showers.
Wash yourself away.

The house is pulsing in an alien language,
Why or where it came from, you couldn’t fathom.
But somewhere deep within you answers the girl you were then… again.
Take a silent breath.
Hold in the change.
Tell yourself you still live here.
Take your bags upstairs.
It’s the only way you’ll get through this holiday.
Never mention all the tension.
It’s the price you pay.

How to return home,
and how to survive,
a practical guidebook.
How to go back,
How to walk in and unpack.
How to grow up.
Simply show up.

How to take a breath.
How you take a breath.
Hold in the change.
Tell yourself you still live here.
How you go upstairs.
Show that you’re okay
this thanks-giving holiday.
Do your best here.
You’re a guest here.
Close your eyes and pray.

How to return home.
How to return home.
How to return home.

Your bare feet sliding on the old wooden floorboards,
home at last and quiet but still you’re shaken.