lyrics

Never was much of a lawyer, at least not in my own estimation. (Others, who know, claim I was a perfectly skilled advocate, but that's not at stake here). Never felt particularly bright or well read, and attending and Ivy did nothing to change that- only created the wholesome impression that others in my midst were profoundly well educated. And they were.

But I knew lyrics. I always knew lyrics. From Oklahoma. (It ain't so much a question of not knowing what to do.... I've known what's right and wrong since I've been ten. I heard a lot of stories and I reckon they are true... about how girls are brought upon by men. I know I musn't fall into the pit. But when I'm with a feller... I forgit."

to "She's goooooooooone oh oh I... "

And, more recently, "Think I'll find a pair of eyes tonight to fall into and maybe strike a deal: You're body for my soul. Fair swap, 'cause cheap is how I feel."

Lyrics have been, for much of my life, my poetry, my sounding board, my sanity. My mood determinant, and mood swinger. There is the song i played after that boy left me. The song I heard when my car was stolen, except that it wasn't actually stolen. The song I was listening to at the moment when my grandmother died. WHAM. How could I? I suppose all of this makes me narrow or hollow or less valuable. Less.

I guess it does.

But what if lyrics aren't bad? What if they aren't a distant wayward cousin? What if they matter? What if words.

Living by the Word. Only Words.

that's my book. Only Words.

That's all I had. Words in my journals. Words on the radio. Words at the dinner table that did not add up to what happened after dinner. Words wafting up the stairs. words piercing. Words ending.

Words set to music.