So Brian and I leave for Goodspeed to work on our new musical revue / song cycley-thingmabob called Tales from the Bad Years for two weeks. It is sung-through and has taken a lot of our generally overly abundant songwriting energy. Once we get out to Goodspeed, we will undoubtedly feel like doing a little procrastinating and we’ll send back updates of a multimedia persuasion.
Think of us as we lug our enormous suitcases up and down flights of New York stairs (which are reputedly much steeper than normal stairs), as we situate ourselves on the train, as we travel to the boondocks where will be carless (and we’ve been warned that we might go stark raving mad as a result). Think of us, and know that we have the digital capabilities to make footage - and we will. If we do disappear completely, however, think of us without internet - a sad state indeed.
By the way, I have written so many lyrics in the past few weeks, they’re all blending together but here’s one of my favorites (I posted it on MySpace last night so if you read that, this ain’t nothing new):
IT’S NOT A LOVE STORY.
IT’S NOT A COMING OF AGE.
IT’S NOT THE KIND OF THING YOU PUT INTO A PLAY.
IT’S JUST A SMALL STORY.
JUST TWO FRIENDS ALL GROWN UP.
IT HAPPENS.
IT HAPPENS.
IT HAPPENS ONE DAY.
WHY TODAY?
WE SAW OUR BREATH, THOUGH IT WAS HARDLY WINTER.
A PASSERBY WOULD SAY HE’D SEEN IT ALL BEFORE.
THE FOLDED ARMS.
THE WOUNDED EYES.
THE SIGNS THAT WE BOTH IGNORED.
THE OLD CATHEDRAL LOOMING IN THE SHADOWS,
THE ONLY THING WE SAW AMID THE THREAT OF TEARS.
WE DIDN’T SPEAK.
OUR LIPS WERE NUMB.
THE WORLD DIDN’T CRUMBLE.
YOU SAY GOODBYE, BUT DO YOU REALLY KNOW IT’S OVER?
YOU SAY GOODBYE, BUT DO YOU COMPREHEND IT?
YOU GO ALONG,
THINKING THAT THINGS LIKE THIS NEVER CHANGE.
AND THEN THEY GO AND CHANGE.
IT’S NOT A LOVE STORY.
IT’S NOT A COMING OF AGE.
IT’S NOT THE KIND OF THING YOU PUT INTO A PLAY.
IT’S JUST A SMALL STORY.
JUST TWO FRIENDS ALL GROWN UP.
IT HAPPENS.
IT HAPPENS.
IT HAPPENS ONE DAY.
WHY… DOES IT KEEP COMING BACK TO ONE DARK SECOND? WE’RE SKIPPING PHYSICS JUST TO HOLD EACH OTHER’S HANDS. OUR STOMACHS QUAKE.
OUR FIRST MISTAKE:
WE GO ON DEMANDING MORE.
UNTIL WE’RE SLEEPING IN A SQUALID DORM ROOM.
THE LOWER BUNK.
WE HOLD EACH OTHER SO TIGHT.
‘CAUSE THERE’S NO ROOM HERE AT ALL.
WE HAVE TO SPOON OR WE’LL FALL.
BUT WE REFUSE; WE WILL NOT SAY THE BED IS TOO SMALL…
FOR US.
WE ONLY WANTED MORE.
UNENDING.
MO-O-O-O-ORE.
A HORIZON STRETCHING OUT AS FAR AS WE CAN SEE.
I-I’D HA-AVE YOU.
YOU-OU’D HA-AVE ME.
AS SURE AS TIME WOULD PASS,
AS PERMANENT AS STONE CATHEDRALS.
MAYBE IF WE’D STAYED IN PHYSICS, WE’D KNOW
EVERYTHING HAS ITS DECAY.
WE HADN’T LEARNED YET THAT EACH ROMANCE HAS A LAST DAY.
CATHEDRAL BELLS RANG OUT TO MARK THE HOUR,
REMINDING US THAT THIS WAS JUST ANOTHER NIGHT,
THAT HOURS PASS,
THAT MORNING BREAKS,
THAT SOMEHOW THERE’S STILL SUNLIGHT.
YOU SAY GOODBYE,
BUT DO YOU REALLY KNOW IT’S OVER?
YOU SAY GOODBYE,
BUT DO YOU COMPREHEND IT?
THERE WAS A TIME WHEN YOU WERE SURE
SOME THINGS WOULDN’T CHANGE…
BUT THAT CAN ALSO CHANGE.
IT’S NOT A LOVE STORY.
IT’S NOT THE KIND OF THING YOU PUT INTO A PLAY.
IT’S JUST A SMALL STORY.
JUST TWO FRIENDS ALL GROWN UP.
IT HAPPENS.
IT HAPPENS.
IT HAPPENS ONE DAY.
WHY TODAY?
