Skip to main content

Lyrics

I think my love for song lyrics goes back to my teen years, when I was filled with angst and confusion and their accompanying flood of hormones. Songs are poetry you can dance to, cry to, forget with, remember with. Sometimes songs just exist like background noise and other times they become such a part of the moment that if your life were made into a movie, they'd be on the soundtrack. I'm sure you've thought of it...who'd play me in the movie? Who'd play my friends, my family, my enemies, my lovers? Only in fiction could Natalie Portman be me, surrounded by Mom Glenn Close and Dad Harrison Ford, with friends Katie Holmes, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Topher Grace, Gael Garcia Bernal...and two men duking it out for my affections—Colin Farrell and Rob Lowe.

*sigh*

So if I were to make the ultimate mix tape, with the theme songs of my life, these would be on it:

It's a Sunshine Day — The Brady Bunch
Here's Where the Story Ends — The Sundays
These Are Days — 10,000 Maniacs
Does Your Mother Know — ABBA
Stop! — Erasure
Everybody Hurts — REM
Amie — Pure Prairie League
I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) — Proclaimers
Imagine — John Lennon

And this would be my favorite, in part because it's the song I have stuck in my brain. It reminds me of college on a warm day, sitting in Wade's Chrysler LeBaron Convertible with the top down, trying not to...but thinking too much...about life, missed chances, and new possibilities.

Closer to Fine
by Indigo Girls

I'm trying to tell you something about my life
Maybe give me insight between black and white
The best thing you've ever done for me
Is to help me take my life less seriously, it's only life after all
Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable
And lightness has a call that's hard to hear
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it, I'm crawling on your shore.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I went to see the doctor of philosophy
With a poster of Rasputin and a beard down to his knee
He never did marry or see a B-grade movie
He graded my performance, he said he could see through me
I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper
And I was free.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I stopped by the bar at 3 a.m.
To seek solace in a bottle or possibly a friend
I woke up with a headache like my head against a board
Twice as cloudy as I'd been the night before
I went in seeking clarity.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

We go to the bible, we go through the workout
We read up on revival and we stand up for the lookout
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in a crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine

Comments

Brianne said…
You know, if you wanted, I could burn you that very CD. I already have that Proclaimers song (I just made a great '90s mix). Eh? Whadda ya say?
10:53 AM
Anonymous said…
Amy, That's my song, too. I blast it when I'm in a funk. The girls haven't learned to sing it yet - but they know the Proclaimers and Lennon. Make sure you sing it to H. I love the IG's.
11:23 AM
Amy said…
Sure Brianne, sounds great! I'm probably contributing to your delinquency, you music theft'er, but at least you're not a minor anymore! :-)
7:01 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ho, Ho, Ho, How Many Times Can I Use "I'm too busy" as an Excuse?

I haven't had time to write. Work, swim meet volunteering, holiday decorating and shopping. But truthfully, I've not been in much of a mood to write anything anyway. Last night we put up the tree and Santa chachkies, and I drank my first egg nog of the season, so perhaps I'll be in a cheerier mood. Also, I have spent some time writing the annual Schoon holiday newsletter. If you happen to get a copy, treat it like a drinking game. Every time I make you roll your eyes, take a drink. Nog, wassail, Everclear. Whatever gets you through. One sure way to assist with merriment motivation is listening to Christmas carols. I'm not going to get into a debate over what truly constitutes a carol. You can "Jesus is the reason for the season" yourself until you turn blue; I generally lean toward the secular end of the holiday tune spectrum. And if you just gasped at my use of holiday instead of Christmas, go suck on a candy cane. It's my blog and my opinions. Deal. ...
2 comments
Read more

IHATE IHOP Update

Tim went a few rounds, verbally, with the IHOP manager on Sunday and ended up getting our meal for half price. He still had to pay, though. I do not think that these people understand the severity of their incompetence. Or perhaps they just do not care. Someone commented to us that perhaps we should tell the IHOP folks what happened to the last restaurant that did us wrong. Recall the lactating masses who came out in support of us when we were booted from Hoover House restaurant in West Branch because I refused to breastfeed my baby in the bathroom? Remember the stories that ran in every newspaper and on every TV news show in the state -- and beyond? I'd like to point out that the Hoover House (which interestingly enough doubled as a venue for wet T-shirt contests on weekends) went out of business after our little incident. And for those of you who were befuddled and wondering how the police got involved on Sunday...someone from IHOP took the time to run out and write down our lice...
8 comments
Read more

In memoriam...

I remember the first time I heard the name "Les Anderson." A bunch of Wichita State University communication majors were sitting around on campus, talking about classes they planned to take. Several people warned me: watch out for Les Anderson. He was tough. He had a murderous grading scale. It was nearly impossible to get an A. They weren't kidding. But he wasn't tough just to be a tyrant. From his teaching sprang a fleet of incredible, successful journalists, writers, editors, broadcasters, public relations experts, advertisers, non-profit professionals...I could go on and on. Most importantly, he created a legion of people who wanted to make a difference in the world. The greatest gift Les gave to them all? He believed in them, cared about them for their own personal stories as well as the stories they told for class assignments or in the pages of his hometown newspaper. Les was my teacher. My boss. My mentor. My conscience. My champion. My friend. When I started c...
5 comments
Read more