Promises

Little known fact:  I own every Cranberries album.  Don’t know exactly why, as I’ve never been a die-hard Cranberries fan, and I’ve also never been one to frivolously purchase music.  I’ve always been extremely selective with the records I’ve purchased over the years, and yet, whenever the Cranberries came out with a new album, I always managed to rush out and buy it post haste.

So today I’m sharing my favorite Cranberries track, Promises, in memory of Dolores O’Riordan.  It’s not the best Cranberries song (that nod should probably go to “Dreams” or “Ode to My Family” or “Zombie” or hell, even “Linger”) yet it’s still a kick-ass tune with brutally humanistic lyrics (this time about divorce) in keeping with the best Cranberries tunes.  R.I.P., Dolores.

You better believe I’m coming–
You better believe what I say…
You better hold on to your promises,
Because you bet you’ll get what you deserve.
She’s going to leave him over,
She’s gonna take her love away–
So much for your eternal vows, well,
It does not matter anyway.

Why can’t you stay here awhile?
Stay here awhile?
Stay with me?

Oh, all the promises we made,
All the meaningless and empty words
I prayed, prayed, prayed!
Oh, all the promises we broke…
All the meaningless and empty words
I spoke, spoke, spoke!

Do-do-do, do-do-do,
Do-do-do, do-do-do

What of all the things that you taught me?
What of all the things that you’d say?
What of all your prophetic preaching?
You’re just throwing it all away.
Maybe we should burn the house down,
Have ourselves another fight,
Leave the cobwebs in the closet,
‘Cause tearing them out is just not right.

Why can’t you stay here awhile?
Stay here awhile?
Stay with me, oh oh!

Oh, all the promises we made,
All the meaningless and empty words
I prayed, prayed, prayed!
Oh, all the promises we broke…
All the meaningless and empty words
I spoke, spoke, spoke!

Oh eh, oh eh, oh eh,
Oh eh, oh eh [Repeat]

Do-do-do
Do-do-do
Do-do-do
Do-do-do

(apologies to Dolores and The Cranberries)

Time to Move On

My favorite Tom Petty song from my favorite Tom Petty album. Enjoy.

It’s time to move on, it’s time to get going
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
It’s time to move on, it’s time to get going
 
Broken skyline, movin’ through the airport
She’s an honest defector
Conscientious objector
Now her own protector
 
Broken skyline, which way to love land
Which way to something better
Which way to forgiveness
Which way do I go
 
It’s time to move on, time to get going
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
It’s time to move on, it’s time to get going

Sometime later, getting the words wrong
Wasting the meaning and losing the rhyme
Nauseous adrenalin
Like breakin’ up a dogfight
Like a deer in the headlights
Frozen in real time
I’m losing my mind
 
It’s time to move on, time to get going
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
It’s time to move on, it’s time to get going

(R.I.P. Tom Petty)

Regret (September 16th)

Regret

One asked of regret,
  And I made a reply:
To have held the bird,
  And let it fly;
To have seen the star
  For a moment nigh,
And lost it
  Through a slothful eye;
To have plucked the flower
  And cast it by;
To have one only hope—
  To die.

–Richard Le Gallienne

(apologies to Richard Le Gallienne and Mrs. D.G.S.)

Incinerate

Incinerate

I ripped your heart out from your chest,
Replaced it with a grenade blast.

Incinerate [repeat]

The firefighters hose me down–
I don’t care I’ll burn out anyhow.
It’s 4 alarm girl nothing to see…
Hear the sirens come for me.
You doused my soul with gasoline–
You flicked a match into my brain.

Incinerate [repeat]

The firefighters are so nice.
I remember you so cooolllllld as ice.
Now flames are licking at your feet–
Sirens come to put me out of misery.
You wave your torch into my eyes–
Flamethrower lover burnin’ mind.

Incinerate [repeat]

(apologies to Sonic Youth)

Sunshowers (September 16th)

sunny-rain
the rain is full of ghosts tonight

Had the day off from work, and I’m wondering now if it might’ve been a better idea to go in, just to keep my mind occupied from nine to five, if anything. Instead, I’ve spent this mostly grey day mired in melancholy, haunted by ghosts and watching the strange weather through my window as it shifted back and forth between ominous skies and sunshine. Showers came in fits and starts all day, often even when the sun shone.

There’s an old wives’ tale that claims if it’s raining while the sun is shining, it means the Devil is beating his wife. I made that comment off-hand once at work during a sunshower, and most of my officemates were appalled. Only the oldest person in the room, one of our retired volunteers, had ever heard that expression before– to everyone else, it was arcane. Standing at my kitchen window today, wistful and watching the sun shine through the trees while the rain fell, I remembered that old wives’ tale and I couldn’t help but think how fortunate the Devil is to still have a wife, and how he should probably be treating her better.

I was originally going to post the poem “Neutral Tones” by Thomas Hardy to commemorate my old anniversary, as it’s a perfectly greyish poem for this greyish day, but ironically enough, the tone of the poem wasn’t quite right. Instead, I’m going to share a sonnet from Edna St. Vincent Millay, as it’s much more beautiful and its sentiment seems more appropriate.

rain_whiterose1

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII)

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

(apologies to Ms. Millay and to Mrs. D.G.S.)