lyrics of INSPIRATION

[schmerica]

Copying another meme from musesfool. According to her:

I list a bunch of (hopefully inspirational) song lyrics. You write drabbles or ficlets inspired by them in the comments. You post this in your LJ, and I try to do the same for you. Fun ensues. *g*

I haven't done this on either hers nor callmesandy's where I've seen it, but I blame that a little on the fact that I can't write anything but dS lately. But I like *reading* anything, so if any of you want to play here are some lyrics.

1. If you're going way too hard
If you're feeling way too much
But inside you can't stop
Desire she eats you up
Sleater-Kinney, "Dance Song 97"

2. When you're in a room
it's all that I can feel
Get so used to loving
what's not real
Sleater-Kinney, "Leave You Behind"

3. Do his hands in your hair
feel a lot like a thing you believe in
Iron & Wine, "Bird Stealing Bread

4. Will you say to them when I’m gone
I loved your son for his sturdy arms
We both learned to cradle then live without
Iron & Wine, "Each Coming Night"

5. Well you may not be beautiful
But it's not for me to judge
I don't know if you're beautiful
because I love you too much
Magnetic Fields, "Asleep and Dreaming"

6. When you betray me
Betray me with a kiss
Damn you
I've never stayed up as late as this
Magnetic Fields, "Come Back From San Francisco"

7. But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Jeff Buckley, "Hallelujah"

8. Every other day is a kick in the shins
Every other day it's like the day just wins
Old 97's, "Rollerskate Skinny"

9. You are the reason
You are because
Talking to you girl is like long division
Old 97's, "Singular Girl"

10. Now don't fool yourself
Into thinking you're more than a man
Cause you'll probably end up dead
Rilo Kiley, "With Arms Outstretched"

11. Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Johnny Cash, "Sunday Morning Coming Down"

12. I could bitch, I could moan
Say I want to be left alone
But that's not really true
Because I like my time with you
Jill Sobule, "Bitter"

13. I said, ‘Honey, I don’t feel so good, don’t feel justified
Come on put a little love here in my void,’ - he said
‘It’s all in your head,’ and I said, ‘So’s everything’ -
But he didn’t get it
Fiona Apple, "Paper Bag"

14. Still now you're waiting to grow
Inside you're old
Sew wings to your pigeon toes
Put paper to pen
Decemberists, "Song for Myla Goldberg"

15. Well I met up with my common sense
And I knew her by the rose in her hair
She said: Son, if you don't make a noise
God will never know you're there
Bishop Allen, "Things Are What You Make of Them"

The best thing about the day after a shopping trip is the refreshed soda supply. Mmmm, Coke.

Comments

[sophia-helix.livejournal.com]

Still now you're waiting to grow/Inside you're old/Sew wings to your pigeon toes/Put paper to pen

When she is five she sucks and chews the ends of blue Bic ballpoint pens until the ink spills onto her pale pink lips. Chas is disgusted, complains to his mother; Richie's eyes tear up, and he hides beneath the couch at the sight of her mottled mouth. Her small hands cramp as she fills lined legal pads, five good fingers gripping the pen, five good fingers splayed out on the paper. Poetry comes first, mostly sonnets, then two short novels, and finally three one-act plays heavily influenced by Chekhov. Nothing she writes is genius until she's at least seven.

Richie watches her write, nude, on her stomach on the bed in their apartment. Her words are a secret, she says, until they're ready. She has perfect turnout, her feet at right angles to her body, and he remembers that she took ballet lessons when they were small. He doesn't remember why she stopped. He runs his fingers up under the arches of her feet, over the thin, strong calves, and then higher, where it's warm and wet. It's a mystery there; her head is a mystery; and as he kneels behind her the words come and come and come.

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Oh my god, I love this so very much.

This is *perfect*: Nothing she writes is genius until she's at least seven., and this is just wonderful: It's a mystery there; her head is a mystery; and as he kneels behind her the words come and come and come. Gah.