Week 28: Hovering on the edges

This started out with the opening guitar part, which I really liked, and after playing it for a day or so, on and off, words started to pop into my head and so I just sat down and wrote whatever came, thinking I would try to work it into something more melodic, but then when I found the chorus, I decided the flatness of the verse was nicely offset by the melody of the chorus and it was fine just to leave the words as a sort of chant. It was a song I was not entirely sure was good enough to post, because of the kind of directionless way it evolved, with no clear plan. But then I played it to Chris, the producer of these song a week songs, at one of our recording sessions, and he said I should definitely put it out there, so here it is.

28 Hovering on the edges
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I was hovering on the edges and I was aching to be loved and I was taking the strain as I shoved to try to rise above and I was trying to find a way to make you see me
I was heavily engaged in some kind of dimly-felt rage and I was rattling my cage and I was trying to hide the fact that I was scared and I was needy

Where’d you go? I sat on the edge of the world and waited
But you didn’t show, leaving me lonely and unregulated
And slow to know, the world only sees the things you choose to show

I was a meddler on the make I was the rattle in the machine I was the sun-baked rain-drenched cloudburst landscape of all that comes when all your hopes have slid the ropes to nothing
I was the corona on the sun I had just turned 71 I was looking for some last-minute fun before I fired the gun that shook my frozen glaciated mind to gushing


In the cadences of my thoughts there’s an echo of feeling out of sorts and like when it’s Tuesday and it’s sports and I forgot to bring my shorts and like the dream you had again that you were failing
I was accorded an officious role in the curating of my soul and I was vicious in my control and single-minded in my goal but then the heart of me came bursting free and sailing


I was in an elastic state of knowing and in an elated space of nowhere and excited about nothing and I was talking about nothing much of consequence to no-one
I was the cold that creeps beneath the door when you forgot what love is for and as the rain began to pour I was trying to make my choice between the high road and the low one


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