The Second Circle
[listen]
Cover Me, a song
Cover Me
[listen]
Cover me, when the darkness has no answer
Cover me when the daylight can't be asked
Cover me when my words are full of chaos
Cover me, when I'm haunted by the past
In your eyes I find the child I left behind
So cover me
Cover me like the wind over the prairies
Cover me like the moon in an eclipse
Cover me like the sky over a pilgrim
Cover me like the sunlight on my steps
In your hands I find the heart I left behind
So cover me
When my thoughts were like an open wound
And my heart was like a smoky room
I found sanctuary like and empty tomb
When you came, you came
And covered me
Cover me in the haven of your heartbeat
Cover me in the shelter of your palms
Cover me in the refuge of your eyes
Cover me in the island of your arms
In your voice I find the song I left behind
So cover me
When my thoughts were like an open wound
And my heart was like a smoky room
I found sanctuary like and empty tomb
When you came, you came
And covered me
When my thoughts were like an open wound
And my heart was like a smoky room
I found sanctuary like and empty tomb
When you came, you came
And covered me
Labels: music, songwriting
Surd, a song
In mathematics, a surd is an irrational number (the square root of an integer). In linguistics, a surd is a voiceless consonant. In theology, a surd ("surd evil") is a type of random/inexplicable evil that has no meaning. Irrationality, voice-lessness, senseless evil. In my imagination, the word surd, whether it's used in math, linguistics or theology, seems to refer to all the stuff that stands in the way of us coming to know God. That's what this song is about. Enjoy.
Surd, in the logic of my heart,
No rhyme or reason help me please I don't know where to start
It's absurd that I don't know who I am
I fear to face the mirror see the child in the man
And I would give you my everything,
if I knew what my everything was
I'm sitting here with my dreams on a string
My heart was not for sale but it got rented for a while
And now I have to use my smile to hide my broken wings
Surd, in the silence of the night
I'm lying in the darkness and I'm trying to get it right
It's that word that you whisper in my ear
I miss it when I listen could you teach me how to hear
And I would give you my everything,
if I knew what my everything was
I'm sitting here with my dreams on a string
My heart was not for sale but it got rented for a while
And now I have to use my smile to hide my broken wings
Labels: music, songwriting
Where No Light Shines
Waiting so much for spring, I thought I'd post this song today. The lyrics are sort of a mash-up between Ephesians 5:14 and one of my favorite Dylan Thomas poems. The mandolin solo is adapted from a traditional Irish reel. Enjoy.
Light breaks where no light shines
Light breaks this heart of mine
Where no seas run, burst out the heart's tide
And broken ghosts look out through my eyes, there
Light breaks where no light shines
Dawn breaks in blackened skies
Dawn breaks through all my lies
Where coursing blood slides to the sea
Through coursing veins to the heart of me
There light breaks where no light shines
Wake, O sleeper, rise up from the grave
And Christ will shine his glory on your face
Wake, O sleeper, rise up from the grave
And Christ will shine his glory on your face
And light breaks where no light shines
Sun breaks on sleeping earth
Sun breaks to bring new birth
When logics die and answers fade
And foaming seas sweep my heart away
There sun breaks where no light shines
Happy Valentine's Day
I posted this song around this time last year, but, in the spirit of the season, and for lack of new blogging material, I thought I'd post it again today, on this day dedicated to all things romantic. It's a song I wrote a number of years ago for my sweetheart, my partner, the love of my life and my best friend. Just imagine me singing outside her windowsill by moonlight and the image would be complete. Happy Valentine's Day everybody.
Let me grow old with you
I could tell you all the
things I know I didn't have to
You may already know them
That only goes to show
I got here just in time
To grow old with you.
Let me stay young with you
We could laugh at all the
things we know we're not supposed to
Or stop and smell the flowers
Or talk in bed for hours
While we wait around
To stay young with you.
Let me grow old with you
I could tell you all the
things I know I didn't have to
You may already know them
That only goes to show
I got here just in time
To grow old with you.
Sacred Head Sore Wounded, a song
O Sacred Head, sore wounded
Weighted down with grief
Crowned with thorns and bruised with
All our unbelief
But the cruel key that pierced you
And opened your side
Unlocked the mystery of heaven
And flung the doors of heaven wide
O Sacred Body broken
Lashed with all our sin
And those hands stretched open
Held salvation in
But the cruel key that locked them
And drove them to the cross
Unloosed the mystery of heaven
And offered back what we had lost
O Sacred Head sore wounded
Sacred body broken
Sacred blood and water, spilled for me
O Sacred Thirst unquenched
And parched with suffering
Mocked with vinegar
It thirsted there for me
But the cruel key that pierced you
And opened your side
Unlocked the mystery of heaven
And flung the doors of heaven wide
O Sacred Head sore wounded
Sacred body broken
Sacred blood and water, spilled for me
O Sacred Head sore wounded
Sacred body broken
Sacred blood and water, spilled for me
Labels: music, songwriting
The Gift, a poem
Some gifts we must receive
Before they can be given us;
passionate kisses
and warm embraces
number high among these.
Others seem to sort of
steal in the giving:
a long afternoon with nothing
important to do
but rest or read
is such a gift
as this.
And the gentle but determined
prying loose of fingers, stiff
with too long clutching,
and too hard,
things unneeded and
long since unwanted, leaving nothing
but a promise in their place:
of empty hands healed
and still and blessed and graced--
this gift is a bit of each.
Labels: poetry
Corpus Christi Carol, a song
Corpus Christi Carol
text based on a 16th Century English hymn;
original setting
[listen]
Lullay, lullay, lullay, lullay
Falcon has born my mate away
He bore her up, he bore her down
He bore her to an orchard brown
And in that orchard there was a hall
It was hanged with purple and pall
And in that hall was laid a bed
That was hanged with gold so red
And on that bed there lieth a knight
His wounds a-bleeding day and night
And by that bed there kneeleth a maid
And she weepeth night and day
And by that maid there rests a stone
Corpus Christi written thereon
Jacob after Peniel, a poem
Did anyone ever tell you
your limp was beautiful
or that it's going to be?
Other men stride into
rooms with all the raw
confidence and numb vigour of
bulls in China shops
(breaking more than
dinnerware with their
untried horns).
But those tender, stumbling
tentative steps of yours--
on healing legs and broken heart--
they tell a story
more beautiful than words:
of wrestling with the un-nameable
One,
clinging in darkness desperate
till he touched you-- blessed
you on the hip--
and you walked away
transparent,
shining in the final knowledge
of who you are.
Did anyone ever tell you
the ungainly gait he
left you with
was beautiful?
They will.
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