June 26, 2008

The Guest Room (lyric)

I live in a house in the city
On a street that turns green in the spring
With the man who calls me his woman
And the woman that he thinks I am.

We've got plants on all of the windows
Our living room's sunny and bright
Our kitchen is painted soft yellow
And our bedroom gets plenty of light.

There are days when I feel almost happy
There are nights when it's almost enough
To see him smiling above me
As we make our Old Hollywood love.

There's a room in our house, on the top floor
Where nobody ever goes
There's no lock, but it doesn't matter
The door always stays closed.

And we call it "our little guest room"
To be used when the time is right
But, although friends often visit,
They never stay the night.

The sheets are always fresh on the bed,
There are fresh pencils on the desk.
It would be such a welcoming little room
If ever there was a guest.

There are times when I'm feeling lonely
Or when I want to be alone,
I walk up the stairs and open the door,
And pretend that I've come home.

I'll sit down at the desk and write a few words
On the notepad so thoughtfully placed.
Sometimes, they're honest, but always in pencil
So they can be safely erased.

I'll smooth out the sheets and the pillows
On the bed no one has lain upon,
And I'll wonder before I go back down
If ever a guest might come.

June 24, 2008

Dark-Haired Miriam's Song

One autumn eve, on a dusty street
He crossed my path and smiled.
He spoke to me, he gently asked
To walk with me a while.
His words were kind, his voice so sweet,
His hand was warm over mine.
And the evening breeze stirred through the trees
And made their shadows twine.

One snowy winter's night, he swore
Before the Lord above,
That never before had he loved more,
That ever more he'd love.
I trembled as he held me close
But never did I move from his side.
And my heart took wing, my blood did sing
As the morning dawned outside.

One fine spring day, I came to him
And whispered what I knew
Of what life brought, of what love wrought,
When love was strong and true.
To my surprise, he closed his eyes
He could not look at me
And he told me, too late, of the wife
Who waited for him across the sea.

On a warm summer day, I stood on the shore
And watched his ship sail away
And there, I swore, I'd not forget
Of how love is betrayed.
For, to keep his secret, I took our sin
Upon my mortal soul
I did the unspeakable, and ever since
Will I walk, unholy, unwhole.

So you who now speak to me of love,
I tell you, say no more
There's nothing you can ever say
To undo what's been done before
And do not offer me your heart
Don't reach out for my hand
For all your sweet, your pretty words
And your pretty poems be damned.

Inspired by Patrick Kavanagh's "Raglan Road." This is the imaginary response of his protagonist's object of affection.