Marc M. Cogman

When the daylight broke, it stirred me from a dream, and I woke up at home with you lying next to me, and I had places to go, but instead I stayed to sit and watch you sleep.  I had a tune in my head that I didn’t want to leave.  So I sat up in bed and I pulled you close to me, and I hummed every note into your ear, into your memory to keep. 

So sing, please sing those sad songs with me.  When you do, my heart beats slow and evenly.  When you do, I swear that fragile harmony is all I need.

In the night, a spell was broken, and tore me from a dream.  And I woke up alone, no one lying next to me.  And I had nowhere to go, but I still got up, ‘cause these days I can’t sleep.  So I pulled out the old typewriter, the one you gave to me.  And I wrote another song about our bitter history.  And all the words we have spoken became melodies when I pressed down the keys.  So will you still sing, please sing that sad song with me.  When you do, my heart beats hard and rapidly.  When you do, and I hear that fragile harmony, I almost believe it’s the only thing I need.

I still got a bag packed in the car from the trip we didn’t take, and the song I wrote for you is in my head, too fresh for me to shake. The bed’s not made, and every day, I find another long blond hair clinging to my pillowcase. And though I try not to be surprised that you’re suddenly out of my life, I’m not ready to get over you tonight.

You must be the deepest darkest shadow to ever cross my path, yeah, you must be the palest ghost, still fogging up my past. But this won’t last, this too will pass, and I will lose my appetite for always looking back, and I will try, when the time is right, to get on with the rest of my life, but I’m not ready to get over you tonight.

And maybe once it gets to be too much, I’ll stop licking all my wounds and decide enough’s enough, yeah I will try, when the time is right, to get on with the rest of my life, but I’m not ready to get over you tonight.  

Welcome to the bitter end, I’m falling off the floor again, repeating routine tragedy.  Side by side it has to be: the mad-high of possibility and the feeling when I hit the street.  So I’ll put all my thickest armor on, icy cold, cause I don’t need anyone, til I melt like I snowflake on your tongue.

So welcome to my chosen rung: the dangerous place I dangle from, a melancholy music stave, and piano wire: a copper cage, and nooses out of guitar strings, and the saddest songs I’ll ever sing. Now I’ve chosen whose side I am on, and I’ll swear that I don’t need anyone, til I melt like a snowflake on your tongue, til I melt like a snowflake on your tongue.

So I sing, til the air all leaves my lungs, shut my eyes, cause I don’t need anyone, til I melt like a snowflake on your tongue, til I melt like a snowflake on your tongue.

She’s a doomed thing, darling, a song in minor key, foreign and cold, floating off the balcony. And she doesn’t have your voice, she doesn’t have your sound, but she’s the only one around. Her skin feels different, and she doesn’t have your taste, but when I move my mouth, she shakes like an earthquake.  And she doesn’t get me high, but at least I’m off the ground, and she’s the only one around.

Every day another piece - the polaroids and poetry: I phase them out with new routines. No, I won’t learn to love her but I can learn to love deceit.

I’m not out for revenge; I just like healing quickly.  And I’m grateful for all the pretty things that stepped on me. And these are the thoughts that no one wants to speak out loud. But it’s not like you’re around.

The night that she made her escape, you stood there soaking in the rain to show what’s permanent. You found the tree from that July where you put fireworks in the sky and knifed the letters in. You give your love away, give your heart away, give her everything and she dances off again.

You sent her off to see it through, convinced her what she had to do, you foolish gentleman. She fled back to her actor’s arms. No growing up, no moving on, just keep on twirling. You give your love away, give your heart away, give her everything and she dances off again.

And maybe one day she will see those letters carved into that tree and remember how to breathe.  You give your love away, give your heart away, give her everything and she dances off again. You give your love away, give your heart away, give her everything and she dances off again.

Oh Lily, turn off the American news.  We need to go somewhere soon.  The weight’s piling on and I think I’m breaking down.  Yeah, my knees are giving out.  We need to go somewhere now, where some window light comes slicing through the room. 

Oh Lily, the world’s moving faster now, and California’s got me spinning like a carousel.  I need an anchor to keep me from blowing away.  Oh Lily, I don’t mean to seem sudden, but I got a bruise on my heart that I need you to touch. So touch me, Lily don’t turn me away.  Say something.  Smile. Now, save me.

Oh Lily, I’m burned right down to the end.  I’m punch-drunk and stumbling.  Yeah, the pressure’s on and I think I’m going to crack.  Yeah, the shakes are coming back.  We need to go somewhere fast, where there’s plenty of darkness for me to wallow in. 

Oh Lily, my grip’s getting looser now, and California’s got me swinging like a man in a noose.  I need an anchor to keep me from blowing away.  Oh Lily, I don’t mean to seem sudden, but I’m getting scared that I haven’t got anything left.  I need you in my bloodstream, don’t make me wait. Say something. Smile. Now, save me.

I need to know the answers, need to sing these anthems.  This junky crawl is for you.

Oh Lily, my grip’s getting looser now, and California’s got me swinging like a man in a noose. Oh Lily, there’s nothing more I can do.  Oh Lily, I don’t mean to seem sudden, but I’m getting scared that I haven’t got anything left. Oh Lily, this junky crawl is for you.

We were sitting on the couch, watching the fire burn down, while on the stereo: six months of the saddest stories I have ever told.  And when it all was over, you turned and stared at me with the sweetest sympathy.  But I have learned: there is beauty in this sorrow, and the girl who doesn’t love me is a song I’ll write tomorrow.  And it may take me half a year for these things to come clear, but I can say, “Baby, I’m okay.”

Then we walked outside the house to watch the stars come out and you couldn’t help but ask if all the pain had past, or was it just as bad as it was back then.  Now that we’re just friends, how does the story end?  And I said, “There’s this method I have mastered: if I quit while I’m ahead I just might avert disaster.”  And if she’s a friend instead of lover, she’ll design my record cover and I can say, “Baby, I’m OK.”

And if I make her understand, she might even quit my band, and I can say, “I promise it’s OK.”  Then I can say, “Baby, I’m OK.”

Come rolling to the middle, wrap your arms around me, and if you’re not asleep yet,

tell me another story about how the walls went up, brick by brick, high around the city where you live. You might say you love me. You might even mean it, even put a ring on, even have my children, but if the walls go up, it comes undone faster than we built it. So if it’s all the same to you, let’s pretend that we are young again, undamaged by the cold, wide-eyed children like before, never fearing for our little lives, feeling whole once more.  Ease up, now. It’s safe in here. Ease up, now. It’s safe in here.

Let’s gather up the pieces and put you back in order. We’ll learn to see the bright side

of the darkness you have spoken, or compare you to a beam of light: bent but never broken. So if it’s all the same to you, let’s admit we’ve never done this right, we’ve never had a clue.  But I’ll have all the answers soon, and when I do I promise to tell you, so you have them too. Ease up, now.  It’s safe in here. Ease up, now. You’re safe in here.

So if it’s all the same to you, let’s go hide somewhere that’s hard to find, some snowy quiet room. And I will smash all my guitars, we can use them all for firewood, and burn away the gloom. Ease up, now. It’s safe in here. Ease up, now. You’re safe in here. Ease up now.  It’s safe in here. Ease up, now. You’re safe in here.

You’re counting up your woes, one by one.  You’ve dug a hole, you’re reaching up. And I’m the branches that you climb; your exit out.  And I won’t every fall down.  You’re rising now.  But it’s out of my hands, it’s out of my heart. I know you need help, I’ve known from the start.  But I know you don’t hear, I know you don’t heed my warning.

You can cry for me, I’ll come running, but you need a hero, and I’m no hero.  You can cry for me, and I’ll come running, but you need a hero, and I’m not him.  I’m not him.

You’re taking off your clothes, one by one, and shivering cold, and reaching up.  And I’m the sun in your face to warm you up.  And I won’t ever burn out: I’m summer now. But it’s out of my hands, it’s out of my heart. I know you need help, I’ve known from the start.  But I know you don’t hear, I know you don’t heed my warning.

You can cry for me, I’ll come running, but you need a hero, and I’m no hero.  You can cry for me, and I’ll come running, but you need a hero, and I’m not him.  I’m not him.

She says, “I love my man. Love him forever. Forever and ever. I love my man.  But God forbid: if something should happen.  Don’t look at me like that.”

She says, “I love my man. Love him forever.  Forever and ever. Ever and ever.  But God forbid: if something should happen. If something should happen, I’d be at your door.  If God forbid, if God forbid, I’d be at your door.”

“Don’t look at me like that.  Don’t look at me like that.  If something should happen… Don’t look at me like that.”