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Could I just share a video with you tonight? Or perhaps three? If one of these doesn't bring a smile to your face, then something must be wrong with your face.
Enough said.
Goodnight
And I couldn't get this one to embed...
Showing posts with label song. Show all posts
Showing posts with label song. Show all posts
Monday, March 29, 2010
10:42 P.M.
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I lie here awake tonight still. Sleep just won’t come and I find myself reaching for my laptop to write about it. That should give you an idea of just what an obsessed blogger I really am.
Pitiful.
I scrolled through playlist after playlist on my iPod, searching for something to induce slumber, but I came up with nothing. After trying two different audio books, I switched to decades playlists.
Nothing still.
Song after song came on which didn’t lull me to sleep, but rather made me think even more; my mind careening through dozens of things over which I have absolutely no control. I find this increasingly distressing since I retired to bed well over an hour ago, and I am still wide-awake.
A certain song came on which made me think of a longtime friend who used to live across the street; if I saw her light on, I’d call—and vice-versa. We’d have long discussions into the night until we’d both felt ready to truly retire for the evening.
We’ve both moved to different places since those days, and the luxury of simply looking out the window to see if the other was sleepless is now gone. Sometimes I miss the fact that it was all that easy.
I also hate the fact that tomorrow morning I’ll wake up, and instead of feeling refreshed and invigorated; I’ll be sluggish from the lack of hours I had to rest.
Okay, shutting up…
Pitiful.
I scrolled through playlist after playlist on my iPod, searching for something to induce slumber, but I came up with nothing. After trying two different audio books, I switched to decades playlists.
Nothing still.
Song after song came on which didn’t lull me to sleep, but rather made me think even more; my mind careening through dozens of things over which I have absolutely no control. I find this increasingly distressing since I retired to bed well over an hour ago, and I am still wide-awake.
A certain song came on which made me think of a longtime friend who used to live across the street; if I saw her light on, I’d call—and vice-versa. We’d have long discussions into the night until we’d both felt ready to truly retire for the evening.
We’ve both moved to different places since those days, and the luxury of simply looking out the window to see if the other was sleepless is now gone. Sometimes I miss the fact that it was all that easy.
I also hate the fact that tomorrow morning I’ll wake up, and instead of feeling refreshed and invigorated; I’ll be sluggish from the lack of hours I had to rest.
Okay, shutting up…
Labels:
friend,
friendship,
music,
sleeplessness,
song
Sunday, December 6, 2009
How I thought It Would Be
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I feel that I need to preface this post with the following.
Set your way-back clock to 9 years ago. My brother and I were both attending BYU – he before his mission for one semester, and me just having completed my degree and readying to start my first year as a certified schoolteacher.
It was a Sunday evening. We sat in apt. 210 of Centennial. I plucked away at the strings of my dad’s old 12-string guitar, and a set of chords kept repeating themselves underneath my questing fingers. Again and again these chords played, and a picking pattern emerged, filling the room with the sweet tones that that old guitar could give.
My brother, reading something for one of his classes—or perhaps just the newest Harry Potter book –stopped what he was doing, and started to hum a melody.
What happened next could only be described as magical. We had a song.
No words. No lyrics. Just a tune and some chords.
Over the next hour we wrote what came to be known as “How I Thought It’d Be.” We then recorded it…either through a set of headphones made into a makeshift microphone into an old computer, or by using our answering machine—I simply can’t remember which.
Over the course of the years, I started to save files onto hard drives, and I threw away a lot of disks; I couldn’t find the file of Yancy and me singing our song. I thought for sure that this particular disk was one which made its way to the trash heap, and was now buried deep in the earth, as part of a landfill.
Until today.
I found a disk; written on it in my all-to-familiar hasty scrawl it said, “Songs with my brother.”
I slipped the disk into my laptop.
From the speakers poured our song. The one we wrote and recorded. I can’t remember if we’ve sung it since that day we wrote it, but a friend of mine recorded a version of it in a studio after Yancy had departed to Nevada for two years, and I had moved across town.
So, today I present you with the song my brother and I wrote nine years ago. It is the original version with the hiss and the poor quality you’d come to expect from two poor college students.
And it still reminds me of how life could be…
How I thought It Would Be
Jason and Yancy Zimmerman
There’s a road somewhere lost in my past
Dusty dreams echoing in my head
Times gone by, days of carefree hearts
There’s a place, way back far in my mind.
Standing tall holding her hand with mine
I act brave, leaving for the first time.
I say goodbye, tears on the windowpane.
Feel my heart, with her it will always stay.
(with her it will always stay)
Keep hanging onto dreams of my old home,
Back when I thought I never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…
Time goes by, by like the Autumn leaves,
Memories of how I’d thought it’d be.
But for now, I wish I could make it change
In our hearts, I pray that we are the same.
Softly falls the gentle winter snow
Iced inside warm hearts need to know,
Of the love, of family oh so dear
In our hearts, we need to know they’re near.
Keep hanging onto dreams of my old home,
Back when I thought I never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…
I stand outside the home that’s no longer mine,
feel the breeze, the same blowing from my mind.
I wish the thoughts of those days would not fade
As I grow old the world turns to gray.
Keep hanging onto dreams of my old home,
Back when I thought we never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…
We keep hanging onto dreams of our old home,
Back when we thought we never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…
Then it changed without a warning.
Then it changed without a warning.
Set your way-back clock to 9 years ago. My brother and I were both attending BYU – he before his mission for one semester, and me just having completed my degree and readying to start my first year as a certified schoolteacher.
It was a Sunday evening. We sat in apt. 210 of Centennial. I plucked away at the strings of my dad’s old 12-string guitar, and a set of chords kept repeating themselves underneath my questing fingers. Again and again these chords played, and a picking pattern emerged, filling the room with the sweet tones that that old guitar could give.
My brother, reading something for one of his classes—or perhaps just the newest Harry Potter book –stopped what he was doing, and started to hum a melody.
What happened next could only be described as magical. We had a song.
No words. No lyrics. Just a tune and some chords.
Over the next hour we wrote what came to be known as “How I Thought It’d Be.” We then recorded it…either through a set of headphones made into a makeshift microphone into an old computer, or by using our answering machine—I simply can’t remember which.
Over the course of the years, I started to save files onto hard drives, and I threw away a lot of disks; I couldn’t find the file of Yancy and me singing our song. I thought for sure that this particular disk was one which made its way to the trash heap, and was now buried deep in the earth, as part of a landfill.
Until today.
I found a disk; written on it in my all-to-familiar hasty scrawl it said, “Songs with my brother.”
I slipped the disk into my laptop.
From the speakers poured our song. The one we wrote and recorded. I can’t remember if we’ve sung it since that day we wrote it, but a friend of mine recorded a version of it in a studio after Yancy had departed to Nevada for two years, and I had moved across town.
So, today I present you with the song my brother and I wrote nine years ago. It is the original version with the hiss and the poor quality you’d come to expect from two poor college students.
And it still reminds me of how life could be…
How I thought It Would Be
Jason and Yancy Zimmerman
There’s a road somewhere lost in my past
Dusty dreams echoing in my head
Times gone by, days of carefree hearts
There’s a place, way back far in my mind.
Standing tall holding her hand with mine
I act brave, leaving for the first time.
I say goodbye, tears on the windowpane.
Feel my heart, with her it will always stay.
(with her it will always stay)
Keep hanging onto dreams of my old home,
Back when I thought I never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…
Time goes by, by like the Autumn leaves,
Memories of how I’d thought it’d be.
But for now, I wish I could make it change
In our hearts, I pray that we are the same.
Softly falls the gentle winter snow
Iced inside warm hearts need to know,
Of the love, of family oh so dear
In our hearts, we need to know they’re near.
Keep hanging onto dreams of my old home,
Back when I thought I never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…
I stand outside the home that’s no longer mine,
feel the breeze, the same blowing from my mind.
I wish the thoughts of those days would not fade
As I grow old the world turns to gray.
Keep hanging onto dreams of my old home,
Back when I thought we never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…
We keep hanging onto dreams of our old home,
Back when we thought we never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…
Then it changed without a warning.
Then it changed without a warning.
Labels:
Best-Favorites,
brother,
memories,
music,
song
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Repost - The Long Fall
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Originally posted on July 12, 2009
Some people might wonder why I would select this as a favorite repost of my first 500; the reason for this I believe is that I wrote it at a time this summer when things were looking their bleakest; I was literally at a place where life had taken a turn for the worst. Things had not turned out the way I’d planned.
I had no idea where I was going this particular evening, or what it was that I was going to do; I just needed to be alone for a little while. I had to be somewhere that wasn’t around the incessant droning of that oxygen machine.
I wrote this post and shortly after publishing it, removed it from my blog. I had a few friends who’d read it in the short life it had online asked why I’d deleted it; the best I could come up with was that it was such a personal experience I didn’t feel like relating it just then. As I was rereading over my posts tonight I realized that this was a pivotal moment just as much as was this one was in my life. I’m not saying it was easy, but it was a moment.
Tonight I put it back online where it originally was; along with a repost here.
I have nothing more to say.
July 6, 10:47 P.M.
It was a heinous night, one more so than usual; I just had to be not here.
I slipped from the house and soon I found myself walking along the railroad tracks down at Lake Pend Oreille.
The rails stretched across the shadowy waters, glinting in the moonlight and vanishing into the pine trees nearly a mile off on the distant shoreline.
I began to walk the ties of the bridge, the smell of creosote filling my nostrils along with the thick sultriness of humidity in the air.
The angry lake crashed and splayed below me, as the choppy wind buffeted me from time to time.
My head was a flurry of thought, much like that wind as it carried me along with it.
Questions.
There were so many questions.
Overhead the orange harvest moon moved slowly from behind the clouds; we gazed at each other across that vast space which separated us.
The distance seemed like a million miles; maybe more.
To be honest, I’d been feeling that same distance with God, too. He and I seemed to be worlds apart, neither one of us seeming to understand the other.
As I walked, I thought longingly of my headphones back at my car, I wished that I had them; had them to drown out the turbulent sounds which continued to moil through me like that tempestuous blast.
I wanted to play what had unofficially become the soundtrack of my life as of late, their lyrics tumbling about my head even as I traversed footfall after footfall.
“…the long fall back to earth is the hardest part...”
At the quarter mark of the bridge I stopped. Here was a spot to stand and look over the lake. I found myself sitting against the handrail as the waves lapped hungrily at the trestle supports some thirty feet below. Out across the water I watched the distant headlights of cars on the long bridge as they came and went in a flurry of tail lights—each headed to destinations unknown.
In the moment I petitioned the heavens, like I had so many times before.
Questions.
There were so many questions.
The trestle started to vibrate slightly; in looking back at the direction of the city, I saw one bright light hastening toward me.
It was a train.
There was nowhere to go. There was nowhere to run.
Was I afraid?
I was terrified.
I sat at my perch above the water, four feet from the tracks as the thundering locomotive drew nearer. Moments later it was upon me, screaming as it passed in a flurry of whatever heavy cargo it carried. The sound was deafening. The wind buffeted me. I stood, letting the fear consume—let it fill me to overflowing—terror bristling through every tendon and nerve.
Let it be gone.
As suddenly as the fear had overtaken me, it ebbed away.
For several minutes the boxcars kept coming, sparking and groaning on their silver wheels until there was nothing.
The train had passed, the shaking of the long bridge ceased, and the night took on its usual stillness...the last sounds of the locomotive vanishing into distant obscurity.
The wind blew, the waves lapped, I stood.
The moon was swallowed behind a cloud.
I walked back the way I had come, my head still a storm of questions.
I had no answers.
But I wasn’t afraid.
Some people might wonder why I would select this as a favorite repost of my first 500; the reason for this I believe is that I wrote it at a time this summer when things were looking their bleakest; I was literally at a place where life had taken a turn for the worst. Things had not turned out the way I’d planned.
I had no idea where I was going this particular evening, or what it was that I was going to do; I just needed to be alone for a little while. I had to be somewhere that wasn’t around the incessant droning of that oxygen machine.
I wrote this post and shortly after publishing it, removed it from my blog. I had a few friends who’d read it in the short life it had online asked why I’d deleted it; the best I could come up with was that it was such a personal experience I didn’t feel like relating it just then. As I was rereading over my posts tonight I realized that this was a pivotal moment just as much as was this one was in my life. I’m not saying it was easy, but it was a moment.
Tonight I put it back online where it originally was; along with a repost here.
I have nothing more to say.
July 6, 10:47 P.M.
It was a heinous night, one more so than usual; I just had to be not here.
I slipped from the house and soon I found myself walking along the railroad tracks down at Lake Pend Oreille.
The rails stretched across the shadowy waters, glinting in the moonlight and vanishing into the pine trees nearly a mile off on the distant shoreline.
I began to walk the ties of the bridge, the smell of creosote filling my nostrils along with the thick sultriness of humidity in the air.
The angry lake crashed and splayed below me, as the choppy wind buffeted me from time to time.
My head was a flurry of thought, much like that wind as it carried me along with it.
Questions.
There were so many questions.
Overhead the orange harvest moon moved slowly from behind the clouds; we gazed at each other across that vast space which separated us.
The distance seemed like a million miles; maybe more.
To be honest, I’d been feeling that same distance with God, too. He and I seemed to be worlds apart, neither one of us seeming to understand the other.
As I walked, I thought longingly of my headphones back at my car, I wished that I had them; had them to drown out the turbulent sounds which continued to moil through me like that tempestuous blast.
I wanted to play what had unofficially become the soundtrack of my life as of late, their lyrics tumbling about my head even as I traversed footfall after footfall.
“…the long fall back to earth is the hardest part...”
At the quarter mark of the bridge I stopped. Here was a spot to stand and look over the lake. I found myself sitting against the handrail as the waves lapped hungrily at the trestle supports some thirty feet below. Out across the water I watched the distant headlights of cars on the long bridge as they came and went in a flurry of tail lights—each headed to destinations unknown.
In the moment I petitioned the heavens, like I had so many times before.
Questions.
There were so many questions.
The trestle started to vibrate slightly; in looking back at the direction of the city, I saw one bright light hastening toward me.
It was a train.
There was nowhere to go. There was nowhere to run.
Was I afraid?
I was terrified.
I sat at my perch above the water, four feet from the tracks as the thundering locomotive drew nearer. Moments later it was upon me, screaming as it passed in a flurry of whatever heavy cargo it carried. The sound was deafening. The wind buffeted me. I stood, letting the fear consume—let it fill me to overflowing—terror bristling through every tendon and nerve.
Let it be gone.
As suddenly as the fear had overtaken me, it ebbed away.
For several minutes the boxcars kept coming, sparking and groaning on their silver wheels until there was nothing.
The train had passed, the shaking of the long bridge ceased, and the night took on its usual stillness...the last sounds of the locomotive vanishing into distant obscurity.
The wind blew, the waves lapped, I stood.
The moon was swallowed behind a cloud.
I walked back the way I had come, my head still a storm of questions.
I had no answers.
But I wasn’t afraid.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The long fall
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July 6, 10:47 P.M.
It was a heinous night, one more so than usual; I just had to be not here.
I slipped from the house and soon I found myself walking along the railroad tracks down at Lake Pend Oreille.
The rails stretched across the shadowy waters, glinting in the moonlight and vanishing into the pine trees nearly a mile off on the distant shoreline.
I began to walk the ties of the bridge, the smell of creosote filling my nostrils along with the thick sultriness of humidity in the air.
The angry lake crashed and splayed below me, as the choppy wind buffeted me from time to time.
My head was a flurry of thought, much like that wind as it carried me along with it.
Questions.
There were so many questions.
Overhead the orange harvest moon moved slowly from behind the clouds; we gazed at each other across that vast space which separated us.
The distance seemed like a million miles; maybe more.
To be honest, I’d been feeling that same distance with God, too. He and I seemed to be worlds apart, neither one of us seeming to understand the other.
As I walked, I thought longingly of my headphones back at my car, I wished that I had them; had them to drown out the turbulent sounds which continued to moil through me like that tempestuous blast.
I wanted to play what had unofficially become the soundtrack of my life as of late, their lyrics tumbling about my head even as I traversed footfall after footfall.
“…the long fall back to earth is the hardest part...”
At the quarter mark of the bridge I stopped. Here was a spot to stand and look over the lake. I found myself sitting against the handrail as the waves lapped hungrily at the trestle supports some thirty feet below. Out across the water I watched the distant headlights of cars on the long bridge as they came and went in a flurry of tail lights—each headed to destinations unknown.
In the moment I petitioned the heavens, like I had so many times before.
Questions.
There were so many questions.
The trestle started to vibrate slightly; in looking back at the direction of the city, I saw one bright light hastening toward me.
It was a train.
There was nowhere to go. There was nowhere to run.
Was I afraid?
I was terrified.
I sat at my perch above the water, four feet from the tracks as the thundering locomotive drew nearer. Moments later it was upon me, screaming as it passed in a flurry of whatever heavy cargo it carried. The sound was deafening. The wind buffeted me. I stood, letting the fear consume—let it fill me to overflowing—terror bristling through every tendon and nerve.
Let it be gone.
As suddenly as the fear had overtaken me, it ebbed away.
For several minutes the boxcars kept coming, sparking and groaning on their silver wheels until there was nothing.
The train had passed, the shaking of the long bridge ceased, and the night took on its usual stillness...the last sounds of the locomotive vanishing into distant obscurity.
The wind blew, the waves lapped, I stood.
The moon was swallowed behind a cloud.
I walked back the way I had come, my head still a storm of questions.
I had no answers.
But I wasn’t afraid.
It was a heinous night, one more so than usual; I just had to be not here.
I slipped from the house and soon I found myself walking along the railroad tracks down at Lake Pend Oreille.
The rails stretched across the shadowy waters, glinting in the moonlight and vanishing into the pine trees nearly a mile off on the distant shoreline.
I began to walk the ties of the bridge, the smell of creosote filling my nostrils along with the thick sultriness of humidity in the air.
The angry lake crashed and splayed below me, as the choppy wind buffeted me from time to time.
My head was a flurry of thought, much like that wind as it carried me along with it.
Questions.
There were so many questions.
Overhead the orange harvest moon moved slowly from behind the clouds; we gazed at each other across that vast space which separated us.
The distance seemed like a million miles; maybe more.
To be honest, I’d been feeling that same distance with God, too. He and I seemed to be worlds apart, neither one of us seeming to understand the other.
As I walked, I thought longingly of my headphones back at my car, I wished that I had them; had them to drown out the turbulent sounds which continued to moil through me like that tempestuous blast.
I wanted to play what had unofficially become the soundtrack of my life as of late, their lyrics tumbling about my head even as I traversed footfall after footfall.
“…the long fall back to earth is the hardest part...”
At the quarter mark of the bridge I stopped. Here was a spot to stand and look over the lake. I found myself sitting against the handrail as the waves lapped hungrily at the trestle supports some thirty feet below. Out across the water I watched the distant headlights of cars on the long bridge as they came and went in a flurry of tail lights—each headed to destinations unknown.
In the moment I petitioned the heavens, like I had so many times before.
Questions.
There were so many questions.
The trestle started to vibrate slightly; in looking back at the direction of the city, I saw one bright light hastening toward me.
It was a train.
There was nowhere to go. There was nowhere to run.
Was I afraid?
I was terrified.
I sat at my perch above the water, four feet from the tracks as the thundering locomotive drew nearer. Moments later it was upon me, screaming as it passed in a flurry of whatever heavy cargo it carried. The sound was deafening. The wind buffeted me. I stood, letting the fear consume—let it fill me to overflowing—terror bristling through every tendon and nerve.
Let it be gone.
As suddenly as the fear had overtaken me, it ebbed away.
For several minutes the boxcars kept coming, sparking and groaning on their silver wheels until there was nothing.
The train had passed, the shaking of the long bridge ceased, and the night took on its usual stillness...the last sounds of the locomotive vanishing into distant obscurity.
The wind blew, the waves lapped, I stood.
The moon was swallowed behind a cloud.
I walked back the way I had come, my head still a storm of questions.
I had no answers.
But I wasn’t afraid.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Dream big
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We all have dreams.
We have aspirations and things we wish to accomplish before our limited time on this earth has reached its conclusion; things to see finished before the curtain is drawn on the final act of our lives.
I know that I do.
Whatever the dream, don’t let it die.
Dream on
Dream
It’s a little bit funny, I remember as a kid thinking that world was entirely at my disposal; a very large place which was just waiting to be explored and discovered.
You know what though?
It.still.is.
Labels:
dream,
inspiring,
possibilities,
song
Saturday, August 23, 2008
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I am always on the lookout for a good song. One which I can add to my collection of favorite music. Every once and again though, I ‘rediscover’ a song I hadn’t heard in awhile. This is one of those songs which will always be up there on the list of timeless classics.
Fitting tribute as well to those who lost their lives on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Fitting tribute as well to those who lost their lives on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The fly
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It kept landing on my computer, my head, my hands. No matter how often I would swat at it, it continued its annoying behavior. What is up with this? I thought to myself, That stupid fly has a 2,000 square foot house to be in, and yet it still feels the need to be right where I am. I noticed too that if I move to another room, this stupid fly does the same.
It kept landing on my computer, my head, my hands. No matter how often I would swat at it, it continued its annoying behavior. What is up with this? I thought to myself, That stupid fly has a 2,000 square foot house to be in, and yet it still feels the need to be right where I am. I noticed too that if I move to another room, this stupid fly does the same.
Is it lonely?
My dad and I go to this little restaurant whenever I go to Sandpoint; the Hoot Owl. He always jokes about the flies which buzz about the place, and how they are actually trained flies. He told me that they were kept in little cages and all had names. It made me laugh.
But I still hate them.
Chris Rice wrote a song several years ago entitled Deep Enough to Dream which makes me think of this pesky little fly…
Lazy summer afternoon
Screened in porch and nothin’ to do
I just kicked off my tennis shoes
Slouchin’ in a plastic chair
Rakin’ my fingers through my hair
I close my eyes and I leave them there
And I yawn, and sigh, and slowly fade away
Deep enough to dream in brilliant colors
I have never seen
Deep enough to join a billion people
For a wedding feast
Deep enough to reach out and touch
The face of the One who made me
And oh, the love I feel, and oh the peace
Do I ever have to wake up?
Awakened by a familiar sound
A clumsy fly is buzzin’ around
He bumps the screen and he tumbles down
He gathers about his wits and pride
And tries again for the hundredth time
‘Cause freedom calls from the other side
And I smile and nod, and slowly drift away
I like the song; I hate flies.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Playing on the radio
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Leaving the past behind me
I’m seeing all of these new horizons
The things I’ve been too blind to see (because I’m)
A child’s heart that’s broken
A person lost and not found
So I’m…
They drop away like autumn’s leaves
I’m leaving behind my yesterday self
My new life I’m trying hard to seize
Always seems to come a time I’m lost
But I’m done with the map, away with the charts,
I’ll follow on the wind and yet not be tossed
A child’s heart that’s broken
A person lost and not found
So I’m…
A soul to find rest it needs peace
A ship to be moored needs an anchor
And a soul it requires release
I let the wind it all carry away
I live my life, I live each moment
Not just for tomorrow but for today
And I’m
A lover in love
A child’s heart that’s broken
A person lost and not found
So I’m…
Leaving the past behind me
I’m seeing all of these new horizons
The things I’ve been too blind to see (because I’m)
A child’s heart that’s broken
A person lost and not found
So I’m…
Turning the dials, scanning the stations
And I’m searching high and low
I’m trying to find, hoping to hear
This song, that song, my song
Playing on the radio
And I’m searching high and low
I’m trying to find, hoping to hear
This song, that song, my song
Playing on the radio
They drop away like autumn’s leaves
I’m leaving behind my yesterday self
My new life I’m trying hard to seize
Always seems to come a time I’m lost
But I’m done with the map, away with the charts,
I’ll follow on the wind and yet not be tossed
A child’s heart that’s broken
A person lost and not found
So I’m…
Turning the dials, scanning the stations
And I’m searching high and low
I’m trying to find, hoping to hear
This song, that song, my song
Playing on the radio
And I’m searching high and low
I’m trying to find, hoping to hear
This song, that song, my song
Playing on the radio
A soul to find rest it needs peace
A ship to be moored needs an anchor
And a soul it requires release
I let the wind it all carry away
I live my life, I live each moment
Not just for tomorrow but for today
A lover in love
A child’s heart that’s broken
A person lost and not found
So I’m…
Turning the dials, scanning the stations
And I’m searching high and low
I’m trying to find, hoping to hear
This song, that song, my song
Playing on the radio
And I’m searching high and low
I’m trying to find, hoping to hear
This song, that song, my song
Playing on the radio
No tune other than that which plays incessantly in my head.
This, my friends, is a hit.
By the way, the photo was by somebody else...
Labels:
Best-Favorites,
life,
newness,
poetry,
radio,
San Rafael Swell,
song,
summer,
writing
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