Jag hittade en liten grej som jag påbörjade i våras men som sedan, likt det mesta av min lyrik, föll i glömska och gömdes i en mörk hörna i "Mina Dokument". Jag putsade upp den lite och skrev resten i några ögonblick av ren inspiration och har numera ingen anledning att låta den ligga längre.
Den må sakna både skärpa och stil, men hur mycket jag än avgudar rimflätningen som exempelvis Alex bemästrar så väl så tycks jag inte komma någon vart med den. Njut eller få huvudvärk, bara ni läser.
Och hur mycket jag än hatar att säga det: om ni finner rytmen svår att följa, läs det som om det vore rap. Nu beordrar min hjärnas musikcentra mig att gå och skära av ett finger som straff för att jag överhuvudtaget skriver saker som kan associeras till den scenen.
Jehovah's answering machine
Hiya there Iahve, got a minute to spare?
Pickupickupickup! Okay, I guess you're not there.
But hell, it's been a while and I've got a lot to share.
When was last time, think you can remember?
There was snow outside and it was a night in December,
I think I denounced you in a manner quite un-tender.
No wait, there was another time after!
I think it was in church a few years later,
I think we said goodbye and parted.
I think I might have said a few words in anger,
and I guess you sort of retaliated.
But since then I've grown, I'm taller and I'm heavier.
I live on my own and try to keep it all together:
the daily life and the search for love;
money for the bills and food for the stove;
hold the apathy at bay and be a chevalier;
walk with a straight back and ignore any fear.
But still, I've come to think, and that has to be good --
how'd anything look if we didn't re-evaluate were we stood?
I don't regret much, and most things I'd redo, yes I would
but that don't mean I don't wonder how it all would have been
had I chosen this instead of that or done as well as I could:
or kissed her when I loved her, or thought more of things I've seen.
I think about you too man, what you're doing now and what's up.
I really only feel like chatting, come on, pick up!
To be honest with you, and I do prefer to be,
everything ain't all that good, I've got brain ghosts you see.
It's days and it's nights and it's weeks of confusion,
walking in a trance as if on the road to execution.
It's sleepless nights when I feel uncalled for and useless
and gloomy mornings when the world smells like ratpiss,
it's those fucking summer evenings when I freeze despite the heat
'cause I miss a loved one's touch and feel I've lost the beat--
It's when I stand by the sea and feel like boarding a boat
and leave without telling and go wherever it might float
and maybe in a decade's time send a postcard home,
saying "Sorry for leaving you" to the friends I postponed
and see if they answer, if they still remember him,
him that disappeared and restarted on a whim.
Damnit man, day tax is expensive and 'tis making me poor--
pick up the bloody phone, you're making this a chore.
I know without you saying, I'm a miserable bitching sod.
But that's yet another problem, so me knowing ain't that odd.
I hate my complaining and despise my depressions
but what on Earth can I do, I'm not one for shrink sessions.
But maybe it's just a natural course of life:
thinking, brooding and finding a wife,
then let her listen as you grow older and older
and your desillusion runs deeper and you worldview turns bitter.
But I don't want to end that way, I'd want to spare her:
I need to talk man, pick up the receiver.
I've plenty of friends and I love them dearly,
I've got people I trust that'll listen if I ask them.
But I'm not without insight, I'm quite bloody wary:
nobody likes a whiner if he does his trade too often.
So I'll spare them from my broodings
and my ponderings and moodswings
and let them enjoy my company
without risking yet another elegy!
I'd just need another outlet, somewhere to get it all out.
I know I'm asking much, but'd you mind if I give you a shout?
You don't need to stick around, you've got nothing to prove.
All I'd need is a prod, or be turned the right way and given a shove.
I'm sorry for taking so long to get in touch
but let's not be sullen, I've excused that part enough.
So I see you're not around, but could you give me a call?
That is, if you've got the time, if you feel like it at all.
So I might see you around, we'll see how it goes.
Take good care of yourself Iahve, and good luck with your shows.
Maybe you'll call and some things might make sense,
or you might not and it's still OK, you've got your own dance to dance.
So don't feel any pressure, 'tis just a little plea
from yet another lost soul in life's wide-ranging, stormy sea.