War On TV

"There is no problem which can withstand the assualt of sustained thinking"
~Voltaire~

This is a song that I wrote my junior year of college. I was in a somewhat depressed stage, not the kind of depressed where you don't get out of bed, say, but the kind where you deliberately ruin relationships and can't stop yourself from doing it. This song, and others that were written at the time, we my self therapy during this period. I'd like to imagine that other people, or most people, go through phases like this, not because I wish that everyone else shared in my pain, but to help with the feeling of loneliness.

I, again, have little to say about this song.

War On TV

Virginia’s in the bathroom
Mixing up some pigment
Making a painting for my birthday
I’m lying in her bed now
I feel nothing
I think back to when I met her
Try to find the words she said
(but nothing’s comin to me)

This isn’t like me
This ain’t who I am
I don’t remember
How all this began

I’m picking through her memories
Looking for my name
I don’t see distinction
Every page looks the same
I’m pulling at the binding
Hoping for a tear
She’s staring back at me now
But there’s nothing there
(I’m just hot air)

This isn’t like me
This ain’t who I am
I don’t remember
How all this began

Virginia’s just a good girl
She shares my misery
Lying naked in the kitchen
Watching war on tv
I run my fingers through her hair
Bombs bursting in air
White winter and the blues
With that rocket’s red glare

Virginia’s just a good girl
She shares my misery
Lying naked in the kitchen
Blues offset by green
We’ll make war on this world
Come home see it on tv
We’ll make war on this world
Come home see it on tv

Guernica

"Here's to the era, fill in the blanks, and to the all of the terror filled lives of the saints"
-Simon Joyner ~ Medicine Blues-

I really don't have too terribly much to say about this song, other than I'm not quite sure it's a song. It's semi-autobiographical, and semi-biographical. The first instinct I think would be to assume that, as the writer, I am the boy in the song, but I'm not. I'm not the girl either. Those of you who know me well could pick out which parts are autobiographical, and if you can't it doesn't really matter anyway.

Guernica

There’s a girl I know
Who catches rain in her hands
Stained black droplets dripping
Mascara running, frightened
And the lines left on her face
Trace maps to places I dare not go
Like feelings left unpainted
She’s got guernica in her eyes
And whispers quake at morning’s break
The basking blue of dawn unfurls
The golden beams of energy
The bird that whistles, the bird that sings

She takes her time
When she lies to me
Says she wants to melt away
Into obscurity

There’s a boy I know
Who tries to get all the girls to look
Like a pigeon on a ledge
He’s fading against a grey sky
And his nightingale songs
They screech and wail like a baby grand
And as the skies they turn hostile
He’s got a lot work to do to survive
And though the spring brought him green unmatched
He’s been lost in his blue mind and brown bottles
And on the streets of Chicago
He confesses that he misses his home

He takes his time
When he tries to replace her
Finding paint of the right tint
To cover scars and blend back in