Could Be A Song, If I Were Musical ...

Blogger's Note: Been thinking about this one for awhile now. Feels like a good first draft. Jinglebob oughta like it; maybe Doug'll set it to music ...

The Pressure Of No Pressure
She thinks I do no wrong – each night
I let her know just how I’m right
She lets me lie to her despite
She thinks I hung the moon

She’s heard the good stuff and the best
I never bother with the rest
What she sees I haven’t guessed
She thinks I hung the moon

And every little slight is dissolved
In her arms each night
And I find warmth and grace and light there
But no pressure

All that she wants me to be
Is here beside her and happy –
And I’d give her the earth, the sea,
The starry skies and yes the moon

And every little slight is dissolved
In her arms each night
And I find warmth and grace and light there
But no pressure

There’s no place to hang a moon here
Cracking paint and peeling paper
And there’s no place to write a song here
But I’ll try
And there’s no place to stash the stars here
Come high tide we’ll flood the neighbors
And I can’t give her this whole world now
But I’ll try

She’s all I know but I don’t say
It wouldn’t matter anyway
She knows I know what’s what – and hey
She thinks I hung the moon

And every little slight is dissolved
In her arms each night
And I find warmth and grace and light there
But no pressure

And every single sin
Proclaims what kind of shape I’m in
And Lord knows how a man can grin
With all this pressure

J. Thorp
25 Feb 2008

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