Tuesday, December 28, 2004

I wish I'd written that

I've written the occasional country song; I even had a couple of them published by a small, now-defunct local publisher.  Some of my writing is pretty decent. 

Once in awhile, I'll hear a song that just takes my breath away with the picture it paints and I'll say, "Boy, I wish I'd written that!" 

Not because the song was a money-maker, but because it paints a picture so well, and shows such raw emotion.  Kris Kirstofferson has written several I envy:  here's one.        

 SUNDAY MORNING COMING DOWN, by Kris Kristofferson

Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day. 

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somehow, somewhere along the way. 

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short of dying
Half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down. 

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday. 

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short of dying
Half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

I haven't actually felt like that since before I was married, but I've been there; and that song brings back the feeling so strongly it almost makes me cry.  I close my eyes and I'm in my apartment in North Kansas City, sad and very alone.

Why would I do this to myself?  Because when I return to my present life, I'm thankful for every little bit of it.  You can't appreciate where you are unless you remember where you've been.

4 comments:

cyandfayedavis said...

It came to me one day that God left the dark in the world so the light would be brighter by comparison.

skisseberth said...

Amen, sister

ksquester said...

God gave us memories so there would be roses in December.   Anne

csandhollow said...

Bittersweet memories.