manage

So this'un was a long time coming. First verse and chorus were written way back last fall, inspired by guess what, my job. I'm not entirely satisfied with it, there will probably be some edits. (As there were to the soundpost, though I still haven't updated the post text referring to the need for them.) But it's what it is. There are some similarities between songwriting and taking an enormous dump, especially if the song carries a tone of great emotional strain.
If you're a creative type, try composing on the toilet! If you don't like what comes out, you know where to flush it!
Updating currently in progress while bosses are on phone with other people...
Done now! HA-HAH, AWESOME! I didn't think this would end up a with love song ending but it is much better this way! Take, that, all other songs that have ever been partially composed on the toilet!
Oh yeah, and I remembered that word. A song or poem with a verse-chorus-verse structure is "strophic." [manage] is strophic, [the world's alive] is not. Vocab lesson over for today. :)



I am tired of giving orders
number me with the recorders
I will stay within the borders
of a solitary pride
fingers trailing in the dust
the last clear railing on the bus
I cannot keep the balance
of the thing I stand inside

go, earn some advantage
go, learn to speak Spanish
don't seem to be damaged
you'll manage, you'll manage
run your tongue over the tips
of the teeth behind your lips
they don't seem to have vanished
you'll manage, your

every phone line rings
I speak and scream and never sing
it aches and bleeds but never stings
in where I used to feel the flame
I cannot pay them what I owe
the sidewalk crack begins to grow
the green within begins to show
to push beyond the frame

I'll earn some advantage
I'll learn to speak Spanish
don't seem to be damaged
I'll manage, I'll manage
run my tongue over the tips
of the teeth behind my lips
they are hidden, not vanished
I'll manage, I

love you from a distance
only one who really listens
I am sick of only missing you
who lifts me when I sink
into the cold, stochastic firmament
the gutless bastard government
the mutilated innocent
a fine and fitting testament

we'll earn some advantage
once burned but twice bandaged
yearn for you, I'm famished
we'll manage, we'll manage
find a shelter and a space
press your lips against my face
it's just hidden, not vanished
we'll manage, we'll manage
we'll manage, we'll manage
we'll manage