Someone Else's Song

I don't know how to start this song/All the beginnings have been taken/I'm the latest lovestruck lad/To decide to write a love song/But all of its been said before/All these words have been sung/Before they were original/This comes just after the last original one

You can guess at the love I feel for you/You hear it every day on the radio/And on your cds at home/I want to tell you in a way to impress/But every line I want to sing/Fall Out Boy has the copyright on/I can't put it into my own words/'Cause they were stolen out of my mouth before I even thought of them/This is someone else's song

What it comes down to/I love you very much/And I can't say it in a new way/Or one to hit the charts/'Cause this is just a teenage heartache/Loverboy's heartbreak song/But the words were wrote wrong/It's all already been said/This is someone else's song

For Every Boy...

For every boy with a whole heart
There's a girl with beauty and a gun
And for every lonely girl
There are five boys who promise to be the
Perfect one
Maybe you won't find out
Maybe I won't be found out
Love breaks hearts
Causes false starts
And can't you see what you mean to me
Can't you bear to see what's there
I hope you'll understand
When I kneel and take your hand
'Cause for every boy with a whole heart
There's a girl with beauty and a hammer
And for every girl with a broken heart
There are five boys who want to put back a part

I Know, or, Golden Deal

Think of your friends. I know you have them; everyone has friends, and no one is completely immune to the friendly bug. Now, do you have a friend with a golden deal on life? You know, someone who everything seems to right for. Like the world finds some compassion in its heart, and grants them happiness. They have their own little troubles, but they are not affected by them. They stay rays of sunshine, letting their friends and family be rewarded by their presence. These Golden Dealers are not egocentric, nor are they nasty. They are, on the contrary, unusually nice. People love to know them. But there is one funny thing about them: They are never Golden Dealers to themselves. They may recognize that they are lucky or blessed, but they don't see themselves as having a Golden Deal on life.

I know what it's like, knowing a Golden Dealer. I also know what it's like to have a bronze deal on life. But I can use alchemy, and turn my bronze to gold. If you want to too, all you have to do is become perfectly content with your life. That's both easier and harder than it sounds. Most of your life might be easy to accept, but there is bound to be something you'll have to work on. Or maybe not. You might have perfect contentment on Earth right in front of you. If you do, you are lucky. You are a veritable leprechaun, that's how lucky you are. But for all the Golden Dealers, stay sunny, and spread your sunshine around to make the world a better place. And for all you people down in the dirt; I know how you feel, and if you dig a little, you might find gold.

A Song, Not A Lament

I'd have done something before/If I'd only known/But time trudges on/And hopes flutter down/To land upon the dirt/With hardly a sound

I should've seen it coming/Should've read the signs/Understood what was being said/With those trifling words/If only, if only/I could have heard/But time trudges on/And hopes flutter down/To land upon the dirt/With hardly a sound

Maybe we'll meet again someday/In a foreign city, far away/Or maybe at the coffee shop down the street/I would give it all to heaven, should we meet/But time trudges on/And hopes flutter down/To land upon the dirt/With hardly a sound

Feeling So Good, Look Out World

It's coming on again
That flying high feeling
When the world's rolling too fast and you're falling off the edge
You know you're just setting yourself up to come down
Cause no one deserves to be that happy
And the world won't let it stand
But that one instant makes it all worth while
When you feel you can't go wrong when you know you will and you don't
And who can tell you what to do? you're king of the world
The laws of physics were made to be broken
All these words were made to be spoken
Now just to pick between all these one true loves
Dark eyed crows and white doves
They say just wing it, mine aren't ready yet
But the edge is coming up
Gotta pick, might be sick
But who can stop me?
I'm king of the world

I'd Make You A Sandwich

• Don't be afraid of anything I say
• I wouldn't want you to feel that way
• I'm almost a stranger, I'm a strange friend
• One who never wants our friendship to end
• Oh, I think you're lonely, I hope you are
• Cause that's the only way I'll get to you

• Crying at night, I think I hear you crying too
• Or is it the sound of the wind in the trees
• Oh wind, carry her words to me
• Be our messager, give us the air to speak

• But maybe you don't want me
• Maybe I'm not what you want from life
• Well then, tell me what it is so I can find it for you
• I would get you gold, jewels, anything you choose
• I'd make you a sandwich, make you a world
• Make the heavens tumble down
• What would you have me do?
• I think that it'd be too much to hope for
• For you to ask me to love you
  

Dead Poets Society

Last night I watched the movie "The Dead Poets Society" for the first time. Amazing. It is a very powerful movie. It didn't carry a message that was super clear, that anyone who just happened to watch the movie could see. The message required you to discover what it was, and you can only do that if you tap into the poet inside you. It's there, you just have to find it.

One of the messages in the movie is the fact that almost all men and boys have poets inside them. It's just that the poet usually gets pushed away. But he is there. Men make themselves into something other than what they should be. They should be poets, lovers, dreamers and romantics. They should look beyond their physical selves and appreciate the creative genius inside themselves. Inside each teenage boy, fueled by passion and every other emotion it's possible to have, lurks a maker of worlds, a charmer of women, a painter of beautiful paintings. Someone who dreams, and carries those dreams into the "real" world. Inside the boy who runs by himself on the football field; he has one of the most influential novels ever written, a bible of emotional rather than spiritual revelations. The middle aged man who works hard every day to support his family; he holds poems inside that could bring he and his wife back to the days when they were young and courted by the schoolyard wall. Why does this happen? This wasting of talent for the sake of "being a man." Wouldn't a real man be tapping into the revelations inside him? Or would he blindly turn away from that to a dumb, silent reactionary world? Why? Why do they sacrifice their poets for the chance to be a crude brute?