I'm not one to post somebody else's writing, even in the way of lyrics, on my own blog, but I think it can't be helped.
About a month or so ago while I was at a show, the band I went to see did a cover of "Joey" by Concrete Blonde. It was the first time I'd heard it in ages. If you don't know it, it goes like this (lyrics-wise, of course; if you don't want to imagine the tune, you're going to have to do some YouTubing):
Joey, baby,
Don't get crazy,
Detours, fences,
I get defensive.
I know you've heard it all before,
So I don't say it anymore,
I just stand by and let you fight your secret war.
And though I used to wonder why,
I used to cry till I was dry,
Still sometimes I get a strange pain inside.
Oh, Joey, if you're hurtin', so am I.
Joey, honey,
I'll save all my money,
All is forgiven,
Listen, listen.
And if I seem to be confused,
I didn't mean to be with you
And when you said I scared you,
Well, I guess you scared me too
But we got lucky once before,
And I don't wanna close the door
And if you're somewhere out there
Passed out on the floor
Oh, Joey, I'm not angry anymore.
And if I seem to be confused,
I didn't mean to be with you.
And when you said I scared you,
Well, I guess you scared me too
But if it's love you're looking for,
Well, I can give a little more
And if you're somewhere drunk and
Passed out on the floor
Oh, Joey, I'm not angry anymore.
Well, the song made me sad. Really sad. And it made me even sadder when I went home and listened to it a few days later. Coupled with thoughts I'd been having (which turned into musings that turned into a small amount of Facebook stalking), it made me realize--really, really realize--that I missed something--someone--I hadn't expected to miss. While not everything in the song applies to my situation, the sentiment does one-hundred percent.
I had a friend. I was angry. I was confused. I'm neither of those things any longer.
What I am is sad. I'm sad that a week ago today, I listened to my newly-deceased cousin's best friend of over fifty years, Richie, talk about her in a way that only a friend of over fifty years could and that my Richie no longer exists.
At least not for me.
About a month or so ago while I was at a show, the band I went to see did a cover of "Joey" by Concrete Blonde. It was the first time I'd heard it in ages. If you don't know it, it goes like this (lyrics-wise, of course; if you don't want to imagine the tune, you're going to have to do some YouTubing):
Joey, baby,
Don't get crazy,
Detours, fences,
I get defensive.
I know you've heard it all before,
So I don't say it anymore,
I just stand by and let you fight your secret war.
And though I used to wonder why,
I used to cry till I was dry,
Still sometimes I get a strange pain inside.
Oh, Joey, if you're hurtin', so am I.
Joey, honey,
I'll save all my money,
All is forgiven,
Listen, listen.
And if I seem to be confused,
I didn't mean to be with you
And when you said I scared you,
Well, I guess you scared me too
But we got lucky once before,
And I don't wanna close the door
And if you're somewhere out there
Passed out on the floor
Oh, Joey, I'm not angry anymore.
And if I seem to be confused,
I didn't mean to be with you.
And when you said I scared you,
Well, I guess you scared me too
But if it's love you're looking for,
Well, I can give a little more
And if you're somewhere drunk and
Passed out on the floor
Oh, Joey, I'm not angry anymore.
Well, the song made me sad. Really sad. And it made me even sadder when I went home and listened to it a few days later. Coupled with thoughts I'd been having (which turned into musings that turned into a small amount of Facebook stalking), it made me realize--really, really realize--that I missed something--someone--I hadn't expected to miss. While not everything in the song applies to my situation, the sentiment does one-hundred percent.
I had a friend. I was angry. I was confused. I'm neither of those things any longer.
What I am is sad. I'm sad that a week ago today, I listened to my newly-deceased cousin's best friend of over fifty years, Richie, talk about her in a way that only a friend of over fifty years could and that my Richie no longer exists.
At least not for me.
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