Bunny Club

Gorgeous. Fills up my ears entirely and brings images to my mind. Skinny arms, candyfloss-coloured hair, tired eyes done with heavy makeup, pale sunlight, beauty, broken minds.

~

call me a fake, sir
you can call me a fraud
you can spit on my french knickers
you can call me a whore

if you
roll in, roll out, roll up to the bunny club
you have the rite of your life underneath these pink, flourescent lights
and I hope that you
roll in, roll out, roll up to the bunny club
you have the rite of your life underneath these pink, flourescent lights
and I hope that there's
no love lost there - no, sir, there is no love left in here
just, oh, just wander in, there's no love lost
knots in her hair, and all lines, all lines are stripped bare
just, oh, just wander in, there is no love lost

finger my pigtails as you
deal me some cards
as you tell me what the sunset looks like
from your brother's backyard
but you see, with me they take one look and they run
I've got a dog and a gun and I am living in london now
living in london, so

roll in, roll out, roll up to the bunny club
you have the rite of your life underneath these pink, flourescent lights
and I hope that you
roll in, roll out, roll up to the bunny club
you have the rite of your life underneath these pink, flourescent lights
and I hope that there's
no love lost there - no, sir, there is no love left in here
just, oh, just wander in, there's no love lost
knots in her hair, and all lines, all lines are stripped bare
just, oh, just wander in, there is no love lost

call me your princess as you
do me a line
as you're searching for my saviour
at the bottom at a backet of tobacco, you say,
'with me they take one look and they run
I've got a dog and a gun and I am living in london now
living in london, so'

roll in, roll out, roll up to the bunny club
you have the rite of your life underneath these pink, flourescent lights
and I hope that you
roll in, roll out, roll up to the bunny club
you have the rite of your life underneath these pink, flourescent lights
and I hope that there's
no love lost there - no, sir, there is no love left in here
just, oh, just wander in, there's no love lost
knots in her hair, and all lines, all lines are stripped bare
just, oh, just wander in, there is no love lost
you see, with me they take one look and they run
I've got a dog and a gun and I am living in london now
living in london town

Time after Time

That beautiful, beautiful voice, those beautiful, beautiful melodies and this beautiful, beautiful world...

~

lying in my bed
I hear the clock tick, and I think of you
turning in circles
confusion is nothing new
flashback to warm nights
almost left behind
a suitcase of memories
time after...

sometimes you picture me
I'm walking too far ahead
you're calling to me
I can't hear what you have said
and you say, 'go slow,
I've fallen behind,'
the second hand unwinds

if you're lost, you can look and you will find me
time after time
if you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting
time after time
if you fall, I will catch you, I will be waiting
time after time

after your picture fades
and darkness has turned to gray
watching through windows
I'm wondering if you're ok
and you say, 'go slow,
I've fallen behind,'
the drum beats out of time


if you're lost, you can look and you will find me
time after time
if you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting
time after time
if you fall, I will catch you, I will be waiting
time after time

No reply

The chord changes rip me apart. I wish and I wish and I wish. There is nothing else to say. I know what the words and the melody mean, and I will always remember.

~

like the perfect ending
it won't be too long
'til everything I've ruined has seen me gone
in time, I pray, you'll forgive
now you know the man I am
can you forgive me?

I fall like the sands of time
like some broken rhyme
at feet no longer there

if only I could call the rain to melt and wash away the pain you feel, I would
you gave yourself to me and showed me what the truth could be, for that, I say thank you

this was my life
it never made much sense to me

if every lie that I've lived
and followed me would fade
into this empty shadow I've become
and now I feel so numb
I no longer know myself
but I still know you

I call and there's no reply
like some phantom cry
on ears too far away

I close my eyes and watch as my life passes by, the only thing I see is you
for all the times you walked the line for me, and standing by my side, I say thank you

here lies my life
it never felt that real to me

you'll always mean so much to me
and there's no reply
and there's no reply
you'll never know how much you meant to me
and there's no reply
and there's no reply
you'll always mean so much to me
and there's no reply
and there's no reply
you'll never know how much you meant to me

if only I could call the rain to melt and wash away the pain you feel, I would
you gave yourself to me and showed me what the truth could be, for that, I say thank you

I close my eyes and watch as my life passes by, the only thing I see is you
for all the times you walked the line for me, and standing by my side, I say thank you

you in my life
it all meant so much more to be

What I miss about you

Katie Melua has the unique ability to make me taste and smell and feel everything she describes. Another impressive thing about her is that she makes me ache to grow up just a bit more, to become a woman, to buy my own tea and feel confident when walking into a bar or down the street, to belong in my own body. Her "s"es are so soft and her voice is heavenly. Lovely little love stories, uncomplicated heartache, streetlights, beautiful life. I think Katie and me are in it for life.

~

missing the train every morning at eight fifty-two
sipping coffee from the same cup as you
the sharing of secrets we thought no one else knew
that's what I miss about you

the new way that love had made me see
your bashful grin when you asked if I would like your key
the knowing way you used to caress me
that's what I miss about you

you stole in with your starry smile, exciting me
driving with you in your new car, feeling free
and if it's true that love is blind, then I was blind willingly
you made me feel we had a future that could be and would be

the way you said I'd be no one on my own
your habit of soaking yourself in overpriced cologne
the way you turned the lights out when I knew you were home
that's what I don't miss about you

I bet you're using your weary magic like it's new
driving so fast with a new fool beside you
presumably believing she's the last of the lucky few
I wonder if she knows she's being lied to, like I do

the way I only doubted myself when I was with you
like I was wrong for expecting something from life too
your skill of putting me down in front of everyone we knew
that's what I don't miss about you

Hysj

Summertime in Oslo City. Memories. Youth. Life.
That's really all you need to know.

~

du stryker håret feil vei på en siamesisk katt
og eg vett så godt på forhånd ka du vil sei - om litt så er det sagt
ja, denne bokå har eg lest før
det er som å følga ferske spor i ny snø
det er kanskje på tide å slå plenen igjen
eller fylla opp i kummen og ta oppvasken
men eg tenker bare hysj
eg tenker bare hysj
eg tenker bare hysj
eg tenker bare hysj

i parken er det ikkje én mann, ingen som går tur
eg går forbi en fontene av en mann som står og pisser vann
og sola var så god og varm
då meg og Kris og Geggen gjekk på epleslang
nå er det ikkje sånn som det var før
kor tid blir det som det bør?
eg tenker bare hysj
eg tenker bare hysj
eg tenker bare hysj
eg tenker bare hysj

me satt på gjerdet og sang
me satte huset i brann
og det var aldri ei sky
det begynner å bli ganske lenge si
satt og fletta en løvetannkrans
hadde eget bål på sankthans
me fortalte historier og lo
eg lurte på ka eg sko bli når eg ble stor
åra gjekk og til slutt så blei me russ
eg husker godt ka du skreiv på meg med tusj
du skreiv bare hysj
ja, du skreiv bare hysj
ja, du skreiv bare hysj
du skreiv bare hysj

Hogfather

Some excerpts from this wonderful book, which will, probably, only make sense to those familiar with a fair share of the Discworld books, particularly the ones about gods or Death. It's nearly half past two in the morning, so I won't bother to explain. Sorry.

Lots of wit and wisdom in here. Plus a fair share of compassion and common sense. Not to be underestimated.

~

She'd become a governess. It was one of the few jobs a known lady could do. And she'd taken to it well. She'd sworn that if she did indeed ever find herself dancing on rooftops with chimney sweeps, she'd beat herself to death with her own umbrella.

After tea she read them a story. They liked her stories. The one in the book was pretty awful, but the Susan version was well recieved. She translated as she read.

'...and then Jack chopped down the beanstalk, adding murder and ecological vandalism to the theft, enticement and trespass charges already mentioned, but he got away with it and lived happily ever after without so much as a guilty twinge about what he had done. Which proves that you can be excused just about anything if you're a hero, because no one asks inconvenient questions.'

~

It was a strange, but demonstrable fact that the sacks of toys carried by the Hogfather, no matter what they really contained, always appeared to have sticking out of the top a teddy bear, a toy soldier in the kind of colourful uniform that would stand out in a disco, a drum and a red-and-white candy cane. The actual contents always turned out to be something a bit garish and costing $5.99. Death had investigated one or two. There had been a Real Agatean Ninja, for example, with Fearsome Death Grip, and a Captain Carrot One-Man Night Watch with a ccomplete wardrobe of toy weapons, each which cost as much as the original doll in the first place. Mind you, the stuff for girls was just as depressing. It seemed to be nearly all horses. Most of them were grinning. Horses, Death felt, shouldn't grin. Any horse that was grinning was planning something.

~

It was a big drink. A very big and very long drink. It was one of those special cocktails where each very sticky, very strong ingredient is poured in very slowly, so that they layer on top of one another. Drinks like this tend to get called Traffic Lights or Raibow's Revenge or, in places where truth is more highly valued, Hello and Goodbye Mr Brain Cell. In addition, this drink had some lettuce floating in it. And a slice of lemon and a piece of pineapple hooked coquettishly on the side of the glass, which had sugar frosted round the rim. There were two paper umbrellas, one pink and one blue, and they each had a cherry on the end. And someone had taken the trouble to freeze ice cubes in the shape of little elephants. After that, there's no hope. You might as well be drinking in a place called the Cococobana.

~

'Good heavens, man, you don't need to worry about that,' said the king heartily. 'It's Hogswatch! I was only just now looking out of the window and I saw you plodding through the snow and I said to young Jermain here, I said, "Who's that chappie?" and he said, "oh, he's some peasant fellow who lives up by the forest," and  I said, "Well I couldn't eat another thing and it's Hogswatch, after all," and so we just bundled everything up and here we are!
'And I expect you're pathetically thankful,' said the page. 'I expect we've brought a ray of light into your dark tunnel of a life, hmm?'
'--yes, well, o' course, only I'd been saving 'em for weeks, see, and there's some bakin' potatoes under the fire, I found 'em in the cellar 'n' the mice'd hardly touched 'em' The old man never raised his eyes from knee leve. ' 'n' our dad brought me up never to ask for--'
'Listen,' said the king, raising his voice a little, 'I've walked miles tonight and I bet you've never seen food like this in your whole life, eh?

'Tears of humiliated embarassment were rolling down the old man's face.
'--well, I'm sure it's very kind of you fine gentlemen but I ain't sure I know how to eat swans and suchlike, but if you want a bit o' my beans you've only got to say..'
'Let me make myself absolutely clear,' said the king sharply. 'This is some genuine Hogswatch charity, d'you understand? And we're going to sit here and watch the smile on your grubby but honest face, is that understood?'
'And what do you say to the good king?' the page prompted.
The peasant hung his head.
' 'nk you.'
'Right,' said the king, sitting back. 'Now, pick up your fork--'

The door burst open. And indistinct figure strode into the room, snow swirling around it in a cloud.
WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?
The page started to stand up, drawing the sword. He never worked out how the other figure could have got behind him, but there it was, pressing him gently down again.
'Hello, son, my name is Albert,' said a voice by his ear. 'Why don't you put that sword back very slowly? People might get hurt.'

A finger prodded the king, who had been too shocked to move.
WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, SIRE?
The king tried to focus the figure. There was an impression of red and white, but black, too. 
To Albert's secret amazement, the man managed to get to his feet and draw himself up as regally as he could.
'What's going on here, whoever you are, is some fine old Hogswatch charity! And who--'
NO IT'S NOT.
'What? How dare you--'
WERE YOU HERE LAST MONTH? WILL YOU BE HERE NEXT WEEK? NO. BUT TONIGHT YOU WANTED TO FEEL ALL WARM INSIDE. TONIGHT YOU WILL WANT THEM TO SAY: WHAT A GOOD KING HE IS.
'Oh no, he's going too far again--' muttered Albert under his breath. He pushed the page down again.
'No, you stay still, sonny. Else you'll just be a paragraph.'
'Whatever it is, it's more than he's got!' snapped the king. 'And all we've had from him is ingratitude--'
YES, THAT DOES SPOIL IT, DOESN'T IT? Death leaned forward. GO AWAY. 

~

BE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU'VE GOT, IS THAT THE IDEA?
'That's about the size of it, master. A good god line, that. Don't give 'em too much and tell 'em to be happy with it. Jam tomorrow, see.'
THIS IS WRONG. Death hesitated. I MEAN... IT'S RIGHT TO BE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU'VE GOT. BUT YOU'VE GOT TO HAVE SOMETHING TO BE HAPPY ABOUT HAVING. THERE'S NO POINT IN BEING HAPPY ABOUT HAVING NOTHING.
Albert felt a bit out of his depth in this new tide of social philosophy.
'Dunno,' he said. 'I suppose people'd say they've got the moon and the stars and suchlike.'
I'M SURE THEY WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO PRODUCE THE PAPERWORK.
'All I know is, if Dad'd caught us with a big bag of pricey toys we'd just have got a ding round the earhole for nicking 'em.
IT IS... UNFAIR.
'That's life, master.'
BUT I'M NOT.
'I meant this is how it's supposed to go, master.'
NO. YOU MEAN THIS IS HOW IT GOES.

(...)

IT IS HOGSWATCH, said Death, AND PEOPLE DIE ON THE STREETS. PEOPLE FEAST BEHIND LIGHTED WINDOWS AND OTHER PEOPLE HAVE NO HOMES. IS THIS FAIR?
'Well, of course, that's the big issue--' Albert began.
THE PEASANT HAD A HANDFUL OF BEANS AND THE KING HAD SO MUCH HE WOULD NOT EVEN NOTICE THAT WHICH HE GAVE AWAY. IS THIS FAIR?
'Yeah, but if you gave it all to the peasant then in a year or two he'd be just as snooty as the king--' began Albert, jaundiced observer of human nature.
NAUGHTY AND NICE? said Death. BUT IT'S EASY TO BE NICE IF YOU'RE RICH. IS THIS FAIR?
Albert wanted to argue. He wanted to say, Really? In that case, how come so many of the rich buggers is bastards? And being poor don't mean being naughty, neither. We was poor when I were a kid, but we was honest. Well, more stupid than honest, to tell the truth. But basically honest. 

He didn't argue, though. The master wasn't in any mood for it. He always did what needed to be done.
'You did say we just had to do this so's people'd believe--' he began, and then stopped and started again. 'When it comes to fair, master, you yourself--'
I AM EVEN-HANDED TO RICH AND POOR ALIKE, snapped Death. BUT THIS SHOULD NOT BE A SAD TIME. THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY. He wrapped his red robe around him. AND OTHER THINGS ENDING IN OLLY, he added.

Kom igen, Lena

I love the city I live in.
I want to run through the streets as the sun goes down.
I want to fall in love with someone who loves me back.
I want to dance.
I want to know who I am.
I want someone else to know it, too.
And I don't want to be forgotten.

~

sluta dröm om det ljuva livet, vi kommer aldrig va med om det
og be aldrig mer om ursäkt för sakerna du aldrig gjorde
men det äter upp dig när du ligger i din sang
åh, gud, det gör så ont at nåt så nära kan va så langt bort

jag vet att de bara är fantasier, och nu är hon i mig
och kommer alltid vara
och jag vet at alt är falskt och bedrägeri
men det struntar jag i, för vi dansar och du har så mjuka läppar

åh, kom igen, Lena
vad skulle vi annars göra?
kom igen, Lena
kom igen, Lena

men bryt inte ihop, nu, du är bara en av många
människor jag drömt om
och du kan inte fånga mig, og jag kan inte fånga dig
for jag vet at hela stan vill ha dig

åh, kom igen, Lena
vad skulle vi annars göra?
åh, kom igen, Lena
kom igen
kom igen

jazzhuset är fullt av trix
och coca cola-chicks och kicks
och han har skrivit det och det
och hon är där från sex til sex
och ut på synthesizer-golvet
ned i ljuva livet, upp på taken
över staden, under fabriksmolnen
jag ser: elvispojkarna som
slänger upp påskliljorna
andra långgatan-flickorna
med hjärtat av på mitten
när jag går rundt här i feber
nere vid kanalerna
och nån dag är jag glömt här

åh, kom igen, Lena
vad skulle vi annars göra?
kom igen, lena
kom igen
kom igen
kom igen

River flows in you

Sleep.

Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis

One of the most beautiful songs I know of. This is the only version of it that I can listen to, because I've absorbed every bit of how Waits uses his voice in it, the sounds he makes, how he shapes his vowels, his lisp... And the story of the song is painful. And it seems so real.

...Makes me very sad.

~

hey, Charlie
hey, Charlie baby, I'm pregnant - again
and I'm livin' on ninth street
right above a dirty bookstore
off cuclid avenue
I stopped taking dope
and I quit drinking whisky
and my old man, well, he plays the trombone
and he works out at the track

he says that he loves me
even though it's not his baby
he says he's gonna raise him up
like he would his own son
he gave me a ring that was worn by his mother
and d'you know something, charlie?
the guy takes me out dancing every saturday night

and charlie baby, man, I still think about you
every time I pass a filling station
on account of all the grease you used to wear in your hair
and believe it or not, man, I've still got that record
by little anthony and the imperials
"going out of my head over you
out of my head over you..."
it's been all this time

and Charlie baby
I almost went crazy after Mario got busted
so I went back to Omaha to live with my folks
but everyone that I used to know
is either dead or in prison
so I came back to Minneapolis, honey
maybe I'll stick around for a while, now

and Charlie... well... you know
I'm holding up all right
I wish I had all the money we used to spend on dope
I'd buy me a used carlot
nah, I don't think I'd ever sell any of 'em
I'd just drive me a different car every day
depending on how I feel

and Charlie, for chrissakes man, you wanna know the truth of it?
I ain't got no husband, baby
nah, he don't play the trombone
I need to borrow money to pay this lawyer, Charlie, hey
they say I'll be eligible for parole

come valentines day

San Diego Serenade

The lovely quiet piano and Waits's lovely voice will make me cry in a bit. I can feel tears taking shape and my chest is getting warm. I wish I could explain why. I don't know how to this time, not really. Some songs are just too beautiful,you can't describe them using any other words than the words of the lyrics... But that's not enough either, you need the song itself, the place where the words meet the melody and they do their little dance and crash together and drift apart and play with each other and work together. I just don't know what to say about this one. it reached out and grabbed at my heart. I'm full of emotions. And there are tears on my face, now. I think I'm in love with Tom waits. For real.

~

I never saw the morning 'til I stayed up all night
I never saw the sunshine 'til you turned out the light
I never saw my hometown until I stayed away too long
I never heard the melody until I needed the song

I never saw the white line 'til I was leaving you behind
I never knew I needed you 'til I was caught up in a bind
I never spoke 'I love you' 'til I cursed you in vain
I never felt my heartstrings until I nearly went insane

I never saw the east coast until I moved to the west
I never saw the moonlight until it shone off of your breast
I never saw your heart 'til someone tried to steal, tried to steal it away
I never saw your tears until they rolled down your face

I never saw the morning 'til I stayed up all night
I never saw the sunshine 'til you turned out your lovelight, baby
I never saw my hometown until I stayed away too long
I never heard the melody until I needed the song

Lazarus

This is one of my train-songs. It's kind of in motion all the time, the kind of song that goes well with moving forward at a fast pace, especially alongside some beautiful scenery. And I only listen to it in the summer. It contains sand and heat and warm sunlight and the smell of asphalt and grass, so it feels... wrong... to listen to it at any other time.

There's lots of things to interpret in this one, especially if you consider the title, but I choose not to. Yes, it's full of little nods to the bible (and I do love songs that make real stories out of biblical stories, giving the people voices of their own, seeing things from different sides), but that isn't the main reason why I love Lazarus. So I won't say anything else. Except this: I long to lie on the grass and listen to this while looking at the clouds.

~

as the cheerless town pass my window
I can see a washed out moon through the fog
and then a voice inside my head breaks the analoue
and says:

"follow me down to the valley below
you know
moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul"

I survived against the will of my twisted folk
but in the deafness of my world, the silence broke
and said:

"follow me down to the valley below
you know
moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul"

my David, don't you worry
this cold world is not for you
so rest your head upon me
I have the strength to carry you

ghosts of the twenties rising
golden summers, just holding you

"follow me down to the valley below
you know
moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul
come to us, Lazarus
it's time for you to go"

The flood

Epic and breathtaking and dark and deep(as in large, vast. Ocean-wise, darkness-wise - not "full of meaning").

~

broken people get recycled
and I hope that I will
sometimes be thrown off the pathways
what I thought was my way home
wasn't the place I
no, I'm not afraid of changing
I'm certain nothing's certain
what we own becomes our prison
my posessions will be gone
back to where they came from

blame
no one is to blame
as natural as the rain that falls
here comes the flood again

see the rock that you hold on to
is it gonna save you
when the earth begins to crumble?
why d'you feel you have to hold on?
imagine if you let go

blame
no one is to blame
as natural as the rain that falls
here comes the flood again

flush away
the weight that pulls you down
light the ways
that free from the dusk

don't trust your eyes
it's easy to believe them
know in your heart
that you can leave your prison
don't trust your mind
it's not always listening
turn on the lights
and feel the ancient rythm
don't trust your eyes
it's easy to believe them
know in your heart
that you can leave your prison

blame
no one is to blame
as natural as the rain that falls
here comes the flood again

The bottom of the world

Spotify + Tom Waits + random = bliss and lots of new treasures. This gorgeous tune, for instance. Its lyrics make me want to wrap some basic essentials (books, tea, kettle, music, harmonica, notepad) in a piece of cloth, tie it around a stick and travel the world by foot, see things, meet strange and beautiful and crooked people, get lots of wrinkles from laughter and smiles, count the stars, sleep beneath bridges, be alone, be my own, be wild, be free. Maybe I'll get the courage to do that some day. God, I hope so.
 

It was love at first sight for me and these lyrics. I want to read them again and again and again and write them out and hang them up on the wall so that I can look at them whenever I want to run away. So that I can remember that running away doesn't have to be a bad thing. Sometimes it's the only thing you can do - and the best choice you could ever make. It could bring you an adventure. It could bring you truth. Or hope. Or a new home. I know, it's cheesy, but that doesn't mean it's not true.

Dreams, dreams, dreams, dreams -- and then some more dreams.

~

my daddy told me, looking back

the best friend you'll have is a railroad track

so when I was thirteen, said, "I'm rollin' my own

and I'm leavin' missouri and I'm never comin' home"

and I'm lost

and I'm lost

and I'm lost at the bottom of the world

I'm handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar

I'm lost at the bottom of the world

satchel pudding and lord god mose

sitting by the fire with a busted nose

that fresh egg yeller is too damn rare

but the white part is perfect for slicking down your hair

and I'm lost

and I'm lost

and I'm lost at the bottom of the world

I'm handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar

I'm lost at the bottom of the world

blackjack ruby and nimrod cain

the moon's the colour of a coffee stain

jesse frank and birdy joe hoaks

but who is the king of all these folks?

and I'm lost

and I'm lost

and I'm lost at the bottom of the world

I'm handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar

I'm lost at the bottom of the world

well, I dined last night with scarface ron

on telapia fish cakes and fried black swan

razorweed onion and peacock squirrel

and I dreamed all night about a beautiful girl

and I'm lost

and I'm lost

and I'm lost at the bottom of the world

I'm handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar

I'm lost at the bottom of the world

well, god's green hair is where I slept last

he balanced a diamon on a blade of grass

now I woke me up with a cardinal bird

and when I wanna talk, he hangs on ever word

and I'm lost

and I'm lost

and I'm lost at the bottom of the world

I'm handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar

I'm lost at the bottom of the world

Always

I heard this song for the first time at a friend's place. He was playing Robot Unicorn Attack(yes, that's a real game, and it's just as awesome as it sounds), and "Always" is the theme song. It plays on repeat. So I got to hear it again. And again. And again. It got stuck in my head, and when I got home I had to try and find it, so I checked with youtube, and what did I discover there? This amazingly ridiculous video. It really just... I don't know, I couldn't do anything but marvel at it and laugh. The sad part is that now, after listening to it so many times, I actually think it's sweet. And oh, so catchy. Damn.

~

open your eyes, I see

your eyes are open

wear no disguise for me

come into the open

when it's cold outside

am I here in vain?

hold on to the night

there will be no shame

always I want to be with you

and make believe with you

and live in harmony, harmony, oh love

always I want to be with you

and make believe with you

and live in harmony, harmony, oh love

melting the ice for me

jump into the ocean

hold back the tide, I see

your love in motion

when it's cold outside

am I here in vain?

hold on to the night

there will be no shame

always I want to be with you

and make believe with you

and live in harmony, harmony, oh love

always I want to be with you

and make believe with you

and live in harmony, harmony, oh love

Ampersand

I'm not really sure why I haven't posted this song yet. It was my "walking outside and taking in the world, or trying very hard not to" soundtrack during the post-christmas part of the winter this year, and I strongly associate it with lipgloss, dry, creaking snow, yellow streetlights, lying awake(alone, alone, alone) in bed, the way Oslo looks in the winter time, the subway, and trying to find the courage to sing. I've tried for a long time to figure out whether or not these lyrics are mine or if I just reside in them and their intensity and beauty while listening to them, but I can't seem to make up my mind. I don't think I want to live my life on one side of an ampersand, but maybe I sort of do, too. It depends on what it would mean. I do, at least, want to live parts of my life on one side of an ampersand. But I don't want my life to belong to anyone but me anymore. I want to be my own. Which is a good thing, I think.

Anyway. Ampersand is a gorgeous piece, simple and intense, with an original structure - the way the sentences have been split musically and which words are emphasised and so on. I'm a bit too sleepy to explain it, but I write this down mainly for myself and I know that I will understand it when I read it sometime in the future, so I consider it to be an adequate description.

Listening to it again, now, I begin to long for winter.

The title makes me think of the graphic novel called "Y: The Last Man", too, because 1, I was reading it and listening to this at the same time a lot, and 2, one of my favourite characters from the comics is a monkey called Ampersand.

~

I walk down my street at night
the city lights are cold and violent
I am comforted by the
approaching sound of trucks and sirens
even though the world's so bad
these men rush out to help the dying
and though I am no use to them
I do my part by simply smiling

the ghetto boys are cat calling me
as I pull my keys from my pocket
I wonder if this method of courtship
has ever been effective
has any girl in history said,
"sure, you seem so nice, let's get it on"
still, I always shock them when I
answer, "hi, my name's Amanda and

I'm not gonna live my life
on one side of an ampersand
even if I went with you
I'm not the girl you think I am
and I'm not gonna match you
'cause I'll lose my voice completely, no
I'm not gonna watch you
'cause I'm not the one that's crazy"

I have wasted years of my life
agonising about the fires
I started when I thought that to be
strong you must be flame retardant
and now, to trust the wounds goes into
question how authentic they are
there is always someone criticising me
"she just likes playing hospital"

lying in my bed
I remember what you said
"there's no such thing as accidents..."

but you've got the headstones all ready
all carved up and pretty
your sick satisfaction
those his and hers matching
the daisies all push up
and pairs to the horizon
your eyes full of ketchup
it's nice that you're trying
the headstones all ready
all carved up and pretty
your sick satisfaction
those his and hers matching
the daisies all push up
and pairs to the horizon
your eyes full of ketchup
it's nice that you're trying

but I'm not gonna live my life
on one side of an ampersand
even if I went with you
I'm not the girl you think I am
and I'm not gonna match you
'cause I'll lose my voice completely, no
I'm not gonna watch you
'cause I'm not the one that's crazy

as I wake up two o' clock
the fire burned the block, but ironically
stopped at my apartment
and my housemates are all sleeping soundly
and nobody deserves to die
but you were awful adamant
that if I didn't love you, then you
had just one alternative

and I may be romantic
and I may risk my life for it
but I ain't gonna die for you
you know I ain't no uliet
and I'm not gonna watch you
while you burn yourself out, baby
no, I'm not gonna stop you
'cause I'm not the one that's crazy

Both Hands

~

I am walking out in the rain

and I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again

and I am getting nowhere with you

and I can't let it go and I can't get through

the old woman behind the pink curtains

and the closed door on the first floor

she's listening through the air shaft

to see how long our swan song can last

and both hands, now use both hands

oh, no, don't close your eyes

I am writing grafitti on your body

I am drawing the story of

how hard we tried

how hard we tried

and I am watching your chest rise and fall

like the tides of my life and the rest of it all

and your bones have been my bedframe and your flesh has been my pillow

I am waiting for sleep to offer up the deep with both hands
oh, with both hands

but in each other's shadow we grew less and less tall
and eventually our theory's gonna explain it all
and I'm recording our history on the bedroom wall
and when we leave the landlord will come and paint over it all

I am walking out in the rain

and I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again

and I am getting nowhere with you

and I can't let it go and I can't get through

and both hands, now use both hands

oh, no, don't close your eyes

I am writing grafitti on your body

I am drawing the story of

how hard we tried

how hard we tried

You had time

I'm not sure about this one. What kind of story it tells. And it doesn't feel like one of my stories, except maybe... It reminds me of... The feeling I get when I tell people that I'm sad or scared or tired and their only reaction is to say, "why?".

The melody and her voice sounds like rain and it's all so very beautiful and calm and melancholic. And I don't really need anything else on a gray and rainy day, when the world is full of wooshing noises and nothingness. Except maybe a warm hand. That would be nice.

~

how can I go home with nothing to say?
I know you're going to look at me that way
and say, "what did you do out there?
what did you decide?
you said you needed time and you had time"

you are a china shop and I am a bull
you are really good food and I am full
I guess everything is timing
I guess everything's been said
so I am coming home with an empty head

you'll say, "did they love you or what?"
I'll say, "they love what I do.
the only one who really loves me is you..."
and you'll say, "girl did you kick some butt."
and I'll say, "I don't really remember,
but my fingers are sore
and my voice is too."

you'll say, "it's really good to see you"
you'll say, "I missed you horribly"
you'll say "let me carry that, give that to me"
and you will take the heavy stuff
and you will drive the car
and I'll look out the window making jokes
about the way things are



how can I go home with nothing to say?
I know you're going to look at me that way
and say, "what did you do out there?
what did you decide?
you said you needed time and you had time"

Will you still love me tomorrow?

Her voice. It haunts me.

~

tonight you're mine completely
you give your love so sweetly
tonight the light of love is in your eyes
but will you love me tomorrow?

is this a lasting treasure
or just a moment's pleasure?
can I believe the magic of your sighs?
will you still love me tomorrow?

tonight with words unspoken
you say that I'm the only one
but will my heart be broken
when the night meets the morning sun?

I'd like to know that your love
is love I can be sure of
so tell me now, and I won't ask again
will you still love me tomorrow?

so tell me now, and I won't ask again
will you still love me tomorrow?
will you still love me tomorrow?
will you still love me tomorrow?

'Til Kingdom Come

Songs are never really easy to figure out, and they can mean so many things at once, soothe or riot emotions in so many situations. Me, I find that a beloved song or melody or tune is a place to return to.I make homes in the songs that I hold dear. And I always come back. Always.

This one is a bit of a mystery to me, but it sort of makes perfect sense, too. All the best mysteries do. There's something comforting about the steady piano and the gentle guitar. The subtle melody carries me away to open skies and closed off rooms, to secrets and confessions, to promises and changes of heart. A song, for me, about letting go. Of death, perhaps, or of heading in a new direction and leaving things you once loved behind - or taking them with you, never really letting go, while picking up new things to love along the way. Of how life doesn't pause for anyone. How everything always keeps moving.

Stories about letting go have always fascinated me, because I've never been good at it. I'm terrible at it, actually. I'm the kind of person who'll begin sobbing because of the way a particular sunset looks on the TV screen - because that I'll never get to see that exact sight ever again. I've lost so many things and I never could stop missing them. I just don't know how to. And accepting death? Leaving this world without feeling anything but resignation and love for the things that were once mine? I don't think I will ever be able to feel that way. I love this strange little planet far too much to even imagine letting go some day. It's nice to dream that I might, though. To hope.

I took in the beauty of this (I haven't listened to it in months, and it was like coming home, it always is) on the way home from the subway, wearing my new flowery dress with pride, looking at the stars and thinking about all the mysteries still ahead of me and the pear soda I had yet to drink up. It was one of the best walks home I have ever had.

~

still my heart and hold my tongue

I feel my time, my time has come

let me in, unlock the door

I've never felt this way before

and the wheels just keep on turning

the drummer begins to drum

I don't know which way I'm going
I don't know which way I've come

hold my head inside your hands

I need someone who understands

I need someone, someone who hears

for you I've waited all these years

for you I'd wait 'til kingdom come

until my day, my day is done

and say you'll come and set me free

just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me

in your tears and in your blood

in your fire and in your flood
I hear you laugh, I heard you sing

I wouldn't change a single thing

and the wheels just keep on turning

the drummers begin to drum

I don't know which way I'm going

I don't know what I've become

for you I'd wait 'til kingdom come

until my days, my days are done

and say you'll come and set me free

just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me

just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me

just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me

the perks of being a wallflower #2

a very, very sad poem that I found in this lovely book about an hour ago.

~

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
valentine signed with a row of Xs
and he had to ask his father what the Xs meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three A. M. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly


That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.

The perks of being a wallflower #1

right now I'm reading a book that's both strange and beautiful, and painful too. it's called "the perks of being a wallflower" and it's written in letter form. the main character is a boy (I think he's fifteen) named charlie. I like him very much. I want to stroke his hair and make everything ok for him, but I don't think he exists so doing that would be hard. at times his mind makes complete sense to me, and at other times I don't get him at all. I suppose humans are like that a lot.
below are a few of the beautiful things that charlie writes, my favourite words and sentences so far.
<3 <3 <3


~
So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm till trying to figure out how that could be.
~
Anyway, Patrick started driving really fast, and just before we got to the tunnel, Sam stood up, and the wind turned her dress into ocean waves. When we hit the tunnel, all the sound got scooped up into a vacuum and it was replaced by a song on the tape player. A beautiful song called "Landslide". When we got out of the tunnel, Sam screamed this really fun scream, and there it was. Downtown. Lights on buildings and everything that makes you wonder. Sam sat down and started laughing. Patrick started laughing. I started laughing. And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.
~
It was one of those days that I didn't mind going to school because the weather was so pretty. The sky was overcast with clouds, and the air felt like a warm bath. I don't think I've ever felt that clean before. When I got home, I had to mow the lawn for my allowance, and I didn't mind one bit. I just listened to the music, and breathed in the day, and remembered things. Things like walking around the neighborhood and looking at the houses and the lawns and the colorful trees and having that be enough.
~
Patrick says Craig is "cut and hunky". I do not know where Patrick finds his expressions.
~
It's like he would take a photograph of Sam, and the photograph would be beautiful. And he would think that the reason the photograph was beautiful was because of how he took it. If I took it, I would know that the only reason it's beautiful is because of Sam.

~

She really didn't say any more other than that, although she kept talking.

~

Old pictures look very rugged and young, and the people in the photographs always seem a lot happier than you are.

~

Incidentally, I have thought of my second gift for Patrick. It is magnetic poetry. (...) Gift number three was a set of watercolor paints and some paper. I thought he might like to get them even if he never uses them. Gift number four was a harmonica and a book about playing it. I guess it's probably the same gift as the water colors, but I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica.

Hotel song

I am, for once, too tired to say anything other than the fact that I love Regina's voice and that I get pictures in my head of black dresses, yellow light, pictures on walls and staircases when I listen to this.

~

come in
come in
come into my world
I've got to show, show, show you
come into my bed
I've got to know, know, know you
I have dreams of orca wales and owls
but I wake up and I fear
you will never be my
you will never be my fool
will never be my fool

floaters in my eyes
wake up in a hotel room
cigarettes and lies
I am a child, it's too soon
I have dreams of orca wales and owls
but I wake up and I fear
you will never be my
you will never be my fool
will never be my fool

a little bag of cocaine
a little bag of cocaine
so who's the girl wearing my dress?
I figured out her number
inside a paper napkin
but I don't know her adress

I wait downstairs
the porter smiles to me
a smile I've bought
with a couple of gold coins
a sign that I've been caught
I have dreams of orca wales and owls
but I wake up and I fear
you will never be my
you will never be my dear
will never be my dear, dear friend

a little bag of cocaine
a little bag of cocaine
so who's the girl wearing my dress?
I figured out her number
inside a paper napkin
but I don't know her adress

come into my world
I've got to show, show, show you
come into my bed
I've got to know, know, know you
I have dreams of orca wales and owls
but I wake up and I fear
you will never be my
you will never be my dear
will never be my dear, dear friend

The houses of healing (Arwen's song)

Words that capture me. I wish I could hold you closer. Not close. Closer. Reflect on that. Close your eyes. Dream.

~

with a sigh you turn away
with a deepening heart
no more words to say
you will find
that the world has changed forever

and the trees are now turning
from green to gold
and the sun is now fading
I wish I could hold you closer

Wind

this song means everything, in a way. sometimes I'm able to hold on to what it says. to the beautiful piano and the drums, and the thought of dreaming and dreaming and then dreaming some more. at other times it just... hurts. but it will stay with me. always. and even though the title is wind as in("winding road"), it will always be wind(as in "the wind feels nice") to me.

~

cultivate your hunger before you idealize
motivate your anger to make them all realize
climbing the mountain, never coming down
break into the contents, never falling down

my knee is still shaking, like when I was twelve
sneaking out of the classroom by the back door
a man railed at me twice, though, but I didn't care
waiting is wasting for people like me

don't try to live so wise
don't cry, cause you're so right
don't dry with fakes or fears
cause you will hate yourself in the end

you say, "dreams, sir, dream
I ain't gonna play the fool anymore"
you say, "cause I still got my soul"

take your time, baby
your blood needs slowing down
breach your soul to reach yourself before you gloom
reflection of fear makes shadows of nothing
shadows of nothing

you still are blind if you see a winding road
cause there's always a straight way to the point you see

don't try to live so wise
don't cry, cause you're so right
don't dry with fakes or fears
cause you will hate yourself in the end

Emergency trap

Mogwai <3 <3 <3

Auto rock

Mogwai <3 <3

Friend of the night

Mogwai <3

Stephen King

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them - words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear.

- The Body

~

Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure. 

- Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption

~

 

Maybe, he thought, there aren't any such things as good or bad friends - maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you're hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they're always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for, too, if that's what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart.

- IT

~

So you leave, and there is an urge to look back, to look back just once as the sunset fades, to see that severe New England skyline one final time...Best not to look back. Best to believe that there will be happily ever afters all the way around - and so there may be; who is to say there will not be such endings? Not all boats which sail away into darkness never find the sun again, or the hand of another child; if life teaches anything at all, it teaches that there are so many happy endings that the man who believes there is no God needs his rationality called into serious question...So drive away quick, drive away while the last of the light slips away...drive away from Derry, from memory...but not from desire. That stays, the bright cameo of all we were and all we believed as children, all that shone in our eyes even when we were lost and the wind blew in the night. Drive away and try to keep smiling. Get a little rock and roll on the radio and go toward all the life there is with all the courage you can find and all the belief you can muster. Be true, be brave, stand. All the rest is darkness.

- IT

~

When I was a kid I believed everything I was told, everything I read, and every dispatch sent out by my own overheated imagination. This made for more than a few sleepless nights, but it also filled the world I lived in with colors and textures I would not have traded for a lifetime of restful nights.

- Nightmares and Dreamscapes

~

"I'm rightly tired of the pain I hear and feel, boss. I'm tired of bein on the road, lonely as a robin in the rain. Not never havin no buddy to go on with or tell me where we's comin from or goin' to or why. I'm tired of people bein ugly to each other. It feels like pieces of glass in my head. I'm tired of all the times I've wanted to help and couldn't." I'm tired of bein in the dark. Mostly it's the pain. There's too much. If I could end it, I would. But I cain't.

- The Green Mile

~

Do you know how cruel your God can be, David. How fantastically cruel? ...Sometimes he makes us live. 

- Desperation

~

Show me a man or a woman alone and I'll show you a saint. Give me two and they'll fall in love. Give me three and they'll invent the charming thing we call 'society'. Give me four and they'll build a pyramid. Give me five and they'll make one an outcast. Give me six and they'll reinvent prejudice. Give me seven and in seven years they'll reinvent warfare. Man may have been made in the image of God, but human society was made in the image of His opposite number, and is always trying to get back home. 

- The Stand

~

Hearts can break. Yes. Hearts can break. Sometimes I think it would be better if we died when they did, but we don't

-  Hearts in Atlantis

~

Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up.

- On Writing

Clean white love

Lisa Mitchell <3

I like/love/adore/covet/treasure this song so very much, and the video captures the feeling of the music and the words and Lisa's voice and the way she shapes and forms the words in her mouth completely. Soft, dewy grass, friends, skin against skin, blankets and berries and early mornings/late, late, late nights, red lipstick, the way your hair ends up smelling after you've been in the sun for a while (it's almost the way babies smell, honest), soft, secret kisses, laughter, laughter, laughter. This song inspired me to purchase red rubber boots. I can't really afford them yet, though, so technically they're just in my wishlist at www.ellos.no - but I will get them, and I'll get red lipstick and gloves too, and then I'll be ready for the beautiful summer storms yet to come. 

I have someone to call my clean white love. And I love saying that, I love the way those words taste: clean white love. Thank you thank you thank you, Lisa Mitchell.

~

I left the keys in the car, I left the door ajar

I didn't want to be alone

these are the days and the nights

of these sweet, humbling hights

and I know it used to be home

whisk me away, I'll be yours for a day

in heavenly fields which we roam

woah, oh, oh, you're my clean white love

woah, oh, oh, you're too clean, white love

what are you doing?

what are you doing?

what are you doing to me?

what are you doing to my head?

woah, oh, oh, you're my clean white love

woah, oh, oh, you're too clean, white love

I gave my heart on the morning of November sixth

oh, everybody's looking for a fix

sell me a sign, I'll cut the telephone line
just to keep expectations alive
oh, you're bleeding me dry
but the feeling is blind
so I climbed up your looking device
sell me it straight, oh it might be too late
to keep on breaking the rules

woah, oh, oh, you're my clean white love

woah, oh, oh, you're too clean, white love

what are you doing?

what are you doing?

what are you doing to me?

what are you doing to my head?

woah, oh, oh, you're my clean white love

woah, oh, oh, you're too clean, white love

I gave my heart on the morning of November sixth

oh, everybody's looking for a fix

in this nervous disease there's a cure I need

let the medicine get to the bone

remember this place, leave it up to fate

is it true that it's kind to be cruel?

woah, oh, oh, you're my clean white love

woah, oh, oh, you're too clean, white love

what are you doing?

what are you doing?

what are you doing to me?

what are you doing to my head?

woah, oh, oh, you're my clean white love

woah, oh, oh, you're too clean, white love

gave my heart on the morning of November sixth

oh, everybody's looking for a fix

China Roses

China Roses was my first ever Enya-song. I remember hearing it for the first time - where I was, what it felt like... I was alone with my dad at our summer place, our cabin. It was a southern-Norway-type-summer, blue nights and seagulls and lots of dew in the grass every night and every morning, and most of all, dreams. Dad was in his room, and though I don't remember it I am sure I could hear him turning pages in his book. I don't remember if I found the casette or if it was in the casette player thingie already or if dad put it on for me before going to bed, but... This lovely, streaming melody flowed towards me and I remember spooling all the way back and listening to it, again and again and again.

~

who can tell me if we have heaven?

who can say the way it should be?

moonlight, holly, the Sappho comet

angel tears below a tree

you talk of the break of morning

as you view the new aurora

cloud in crimson, the key of heaven

one love carved in acajou

one told me of china roses

one, a thousand nights and one night

earth's last picture, the end of evening

hue of indigo and blue

a new moon leads me to
woods of dreams, and I follow
a new world waits for me
my dream, my way

I know that if I have heaven
there is nothing to desire
rain and river, a world of wonder
may be paradise to me

Freckles

Freckles

I both curse and love this book, and I haven't even read it yet. It's just so me, so me I feel like I'm the one who wrote those words, they sound like they came from my heart and my mouth and my way of writing. I'm envious. I think this beautiful person might have written my book. It scares me a little. What if whatever I end up writing one day will be some sort of copy of this? What if the world doesn't want any fragile, confused, observant words anymore once I'm actually ready to create something worth reading? 

Anyway. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. The person who wrote the book called "Freckles" also wrote this. His words are mine now. I don't own them, but they're mine. I'm in love, you see, and when I fall in love with words, I keep them and care for them and taste them and write them out everywhere and anywhere that I can. That's one of the reasons why I made this blog to begin with; as a storage place for all the words that belong to me (they belong to anyone else who want them too, I love sharing)but weren't written by me. 

I highlighted the words I love the best.

~

There are so many failures and agendas and victories to tell you all about or to hide from you. There are clouds and Tuesday and the color yellow. There is the tea that I am drinking and there has got to be a way to get this right.

Where do we begin? Where did we leave off?
Footprints in the snow, the taste of fresh blood in the winter, are we predators or prey or does it change with the seasons and let me clear my throat and you go make yourself some tea because this is going to take a minute.

Sometimes rainbow, sometimes cotton candy piss yellow brown black, in between life with your seat belt on. Stopping for some coffee while kissing your face and forgetting everything but making appointments. Shameless self promotion, spending problem, drug habit, beautiful life. Soft sleep in the afternoon, you're sweet and I'm lies and ghost ships. Oyster, sand in between the toes, pop music, you fucker. I set sail, I wish I would.

Love Letter

My heart melted at this and I had to rebuilt it out of salty air and dusty floors and tenderness. It's very fragile now, and it still quivers every time I listen to the beauty of it - which I've done about fiftysix times now. I don't really know what to say. The words cling together like droplets of water cling to hair. It's all just so spectacularly, carefully, softly beautiful. And so, so sad.

~

I'd like a flat white, a day of pale skies
and a real kiss
inside an old house by the seaside
you can take off my blouse
but take it from me, I'm a disorderly
and you'd be off better
writing someone else your love letter
'cause I'm always on the road

and of course I wanna know you better
but you know the way it goes
a telegram is no substitute
when it comes to living proof
oh, go ahead and write somebody else
somebody else, oh, anybody
your love letter

and I need a flight home, there's no day to argue
no, I need my pillow
oh, inside an old house by the seaside
you can take off my blouse
but take it from me, I'm a disorderly
and you'd be off better
writing someone else your love letter
'cause I'm always on the road

and of course I wanna know you better
but you know the way it goes
a telegram is no substitute
when it comes to living proof
go on and write somebody else, somebody else
somebody else a love letter

oh, living in that chest there's a big, big heart
one I've known from the very start
oh, living in that chest there's a big, big heart
one I've known from the very start
oh, living in that chest there's a big, big heart
one I've known from the very start
oh, living in that chest there's a big, big heart
one I've known from the very start

go on and write somebody else a love letter
'cause I'm always on the road
and of course, of course I wanna know you better
but you know the way it goes

Letters

I found this here. 

<3

~

I say that I like certain things but I don't really like them.

Everything is screaming for something else.

I could tell you that I like swimming.
I go swimming every day. But I only go swimming because I don't know how to exercise and in my head the next time I meet some girl I can say "This is the pool where I swim every day."

"Every day?"

"Every day."

And she will fall in love with me for at least three weeks. We will wake up early to eat banana pancakes smothered in maple syrup. And we'll blow a little into our coffee if it's too hot.