#nostalja

Listen to: Nostalja by Bluefaces

An idle mind is not kind Our insecurities Plant the most vicious seeds And taking root deep in our heads it is the poison, and as it spreads we wither with each passing thought that darkens each bit of light we sought in this time of need.

And desperate thoughts cause desperate deeds. Without mercy this parasite feeds on every doubt to cross your mind. A doubting mind is far from kind.

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder But what if it can only make it wander? And we can ask questions And let our imaginations run And fabricate the worst

And as I drown in all this self-made despair and come up for one last bit of sweet air The one thought pulling me through: I'm suddenly reminded of you. I'm slowly coming up to breathe, and breathe, and breathe We breathe.

And broken as we are, we come together Beaten by our doubts, and weathered by harsh insecurities. But in the end there's something greater To push us past corrosive thoughts And we come out polished.  Though it feels as if we're stretched apart across the distance, still our hearts refuse to be demolished. 

Oh my beloved please forgive my wrongs I know that I have done you a bad deed And if I could, I'd sing a thousand songs Whose gentle melodies would plant a seed This seed would surely grow into a tree Whose roots would bury deep beneath the ground Tall branches would reach out and cry to thee: The wind whispers my love, please hear its sound. Forgiveness is all I can ask of you Without it, I can hardly bear to live I beg you to believe my words are true And find it in your heart the grace to give

We're all ghosts of our futures, living in a false state of reality; Trapped inside our web of deception woven by forbidden dreams.

Slip beneath the surface of "security" and make-believe. Silently we'll all die.

And when I look up to the heavens that look back down and dance on the surface of the waters in my eyes, slowly trickling down this face and back where it belongs...

O! Who am I to speak of things like love? My heart is just as empty as my head. A bitter cynic undeserving of Naïve romance on which I dared to tread. A vacant cage sits, lonely, in my chest, Nostalgic for me to again believe The fairy tale; I was a dreamer dressed In foolish dreams, my heart pinned on my sleeve. I came to learn that if I gave my all, Nothing was left for me to safely hide. So when, inevitably, I did fall, My hollow frame cracked and crumbled inside.

On a tall shelf sat my piggy bank, I dreamed of filling it with gold Waiting my turn to be the queen of all the fairy tales they told

Inside this dreamer’s piggy bank I let coins form a mountain: A penny for each adolescent wish thrown in a fountain

I didn’t hide my piggy bank A foolish display for all to see But I knew if I wanted to be rich I needed you to be rich with me

And soon you owned my piggy bank And you filled it, each night and day with real gold, and, though I didn’t know, promises of gold you couldn’t pay.

Yet still we shared my piggy bank You showed me wealth I never knew And though it was filled to the brim, My heavy piggy bank, it flew

But my unsuspecting piggy bank One night, to my surprise, Was knocked off its place atop your shelf Right before my desperate eyes

I watched as my poor piggy bank Crashed helplessly to the floor And burst out all our gold, our wealth Which I could call “ours” no more

Quite empty was my piggy bank And as you walked away I knew that all the wealth we’d shared was never meant to stay

But I held onto my piggy bank That you could no longer fill And where we had once shared hundred Was left a single dollar bill

I had let you steal my piggy bank Shamelessly gave it all to you But I was wrong when I believed That I had stolen yours too

Still, I won’t give up on my piggy bank I had listened when they said:  “If I had never once been rich, I’d rather have been dead.”