I was extremely bored today. I read several pages from Live from New York: An Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live, but I will get to that another day. I went to the library for an hour, or so, and started working on a film project. I hope to do a lot of writing while I am home for vacation. Then I decided to watch two movies back-to-back. And may I say, two great movies.
The first film I watched was The Hustler. I am not sure how much people know about cinema or what people do know, but The Hustler is probably not well known among my generation. Sure, there will be people who have heard of it, but they're the kind of people who smoke this stuff - if you know what I mean. Anyway, The Hustler is a must see. It's ranked 200 and something on the They Shoot Pictures, Don't They top 1000 films list. And it is ranked 209 on IMDB's top 250. Frankly, I believe the film should rank a little higher, but who am I?
The Hustler was produced and directed by Robert Rossen, whose work includes the original All the King's Men. Paul Newman plays Fast Eddie Felson, a pool hustler whose only ambition is to beat Minnesota Fats. Fats is brilliantly played by a cool Jackie Gleason. Every shot Gleason is in, you can't help but think, "Damn, he's too smooth, too cool. No wander he's the best." Fats is the best pool player in the United States and he hasn't been beaten in 15 years. Fast Eddie's first attempt to beat Fats leads to a 30 hour pool game; however, Eddie loses his cool a day into it, but Fats remains calm and cool. After recklessly losing his money, Eddie ditches his "manager," and heads for the bus station. That's where he meets the beautiful but complicated Sarah Packard. Sarah's complexity derives from her obsessive drinking problem and her disability, she's somewhat "lame." Neither Eddie nor Sarah reveal much about their past, but nonetheless, they spend most of the present together. Eventually, George C. Scott's character, Bert Gordon, takes Eddie under his wings but for a deadly price.
The film's dark. It's shot in black and white. The reason may be because the characters lack a heroic side. Each character is plagued by a horrible ambition to out do the other. The film was shot in 1961 and the language is tame, but the ideas coming across through the acting and the dialogue are anything but tame. Eddie's always hustling. As much as Eddie is hustling, Bert is hustling at least twice that. Sarah is an unlikely lady. She drinks excessively, she speaks her mind too quickly, and she lacks a sense of loyalty. Then again, maybe she feels betrayed by Eddie.
By the end of the movie, the audience may be cheering on Eddie, but his journey to the top is overshadowed by his own guilt and his own epiphany. Life isn't about winning to beat the winner. It's about winning what you might lose. In the end, I would consider Eddie a winner, but ultimately he lost more than he bargained.
The second film I watched was Chinatown. My friend, Luke, had been raving about the movie for the last several months. I've heard of it before, but I never had the opportunity to watch it. I am glad I did. Because the movie is a film noir, I am not going to give anything away. The movie was directed by Roman Polanski in 1974. Jack Nicholson plays J.J. Grittes, a private detective who has been hired by Faye Dunaway's character, Evelyn Mulwray, to find the truth about her husband's death. The film's writer, Robert Towne, presents many unexpected twists and turns which lead the audience shaking their head in disbelief by the outcome. But his writing isn't about the twist, that's what Shyamalan's for; it is about the characters and how they interact with each other. It's about a past we don't want to remember and a future we don't want to endure. "The future," cries John Huston's character, Mr. Noah Cross. A dim future it is.
Certain aspects, and specifically the end, of the film reminded me of Scorsese's Mean Streets; however, Chinatown has a cleaner script and a straighter plot. I am not talking about story line similarities, rather, I am talking about the feel. The way the characters come across; the way the audience relates to the characters. In that way, both films felt similar. Plus, there is an eeriness to both endings.
Polanski's directing felt very "ahead of the times." As I was watching the movie, I completely forgot that it was directed mid-seventies. Many classic films seem, well, classic. You turn the DVD player on and your first reaction is "Oh, yeah, definitely filmed in the 50s." Chinatown did not have that feeling. I enjoyed the movie, but the ending was hard to take. I am not surprised that it is in the top 50 of many movie lists.
P.S. Faye Dunaway was absolutely beautiful in the movie.
Night,
Christian Eriksson
Monday, December 17, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
DNR
I don't know why I write these things sometimes. I don't know if anyone has ever actually read these. Well, most therapy goes unnoticed.
Early Friday morning I finished two things. At three in the morning, right before I crept into my bed, I finished off my final pack of cigarettes - at least, I hope my last pack. Around 9:00, after several hours of much needed sleep, I finished my semester by typing and printing off six papers. Because of my lazy nature, I didn't finish everything until a couple of hours before I left. Yet, in light of everything, it was still better than other semesters I have had. For example, last year I didn't finish until a month or so after school was finished.
The mental clock struck noon and I was sitting in the back of a van waiting to head home. My seventh semester finished. I can't believe I have gotten this far. The semester went by faster than the last 24 hours. It isn't that I don't like being home; it's just that I received bad news Friday afternoon.
I stepped out of Dewey's van. I unpacked my belongings, along with my sister's, and I carried them inside. Pumpkin and Gracie, the family greyhounds, greeted me at the backdoor. They pranced and yelped until they realized that I was the only one that was going to come through the door. They returned to the living room and I started heading for my room. There's a bitter-sweet nostalgic feel I get whenever I enter my room. It's almost as if the carpet is kindly telling me that I am no longer standing in my room, but a room I occupy. The subtle, empty unfamiliarity of the room quickly haunts me. The feeling will sleep with me for a few days, but soon the feeling is replaced by a desire for my childhood. But by that time, I am usually heading back to school.
There were three letters waiting on the dresser for me. The first was a bill from Geneva. I forget what the second letter contained. The final letter was earth-shaking. It was the messenger everyone wanted to shoot. To think that a letter can throw someone into an emotional tornado, but it happens.
When I first saw the letter I thought, "CTY, oh, this must be repetitive tax information." I was wrong. Dead wrong. Here is a portion of the letter:
Wow, talk about shit hitting the fan. See, I usually keep the fan running on high, so as you can see or smell, that's a lot of shit hitting the walls - and I have white walls. I should have hired a different interior decorator. Maybe I should have bought a fan that didn't attract shit.
Before I say anything about the letter, I want to say something about CTY. I loved CTY. There has never been a job that I enjoyed doing more. I loved the kids, I loved working with the people I worked with, and I love the challenges it provided. However, I guess it doesn't love me - a pattern I am starting to recognize everywhere. CTY taught me that I could work with people who were radically different than me. I came to love people I never thought I could love. Secondly, the memories I made are ones that are going to last a lifetime. I hope a lifetime. I grew attached to my students because many of them came from homes that weren't the best. I loved them because no one else would, and because of my emotions, I have been booted off the island.
After the summer session is over, parents and others can comment on any aspect of the program and these comments are taken into consideration. I guess some people made too many comments about me. "He didn't treat my son the way he treated everyone else." Well, maybe if your son didn't make blow job gestures than I would have been nicer. Maybe if your son didn't make grotesque dolls out of duct tape, I would have accepted him better. Maybe if your son learned to respect other cultures, I would have asked him how his day was going more often. Yes, I did become "close" to some of the guys on the floor. I didn't do anything wrong with them. I was friendly with them because they didn't treat me like shit. I care about the people I work for, with, and who I have to take care of. Yes, I am guilty for being emotional. My faith calls me to be compassionate. I guess my faith isn't accepted at CTY. Can you believe the nerve of my 19 year old SRA, "You need to be less emotional." That's easy for someone who was a self-indulging Hedonist.
Sure I had some run-ins with some of the people I worked with, but they were being dicks. It wore on my pretty fast, but I guess I got to pay for it, too. Maybe it was the fact that I wanted to tell the "Blue Balls" story the first night I got there. The story is a lot less vulgar than something of the things that were going on during CTY. Maybe it was the fact that I told my boss that I was attracted to her. Everyone else thought she was attracted to me, too. I guess that's a mistake I am willing to make. I am glad I had the balls to tell her. I am a blunt person. I am not going to sit on my hands and wait for things to blow over. I just don't live my life that way.
Then again, maybe I was just too depressed to do anything useful. Maybe they hated the way I acted. Maybe they couldn't deal with the fact that I make an ass of myself so that everyone else can relax.
Whatever, this letter shook me to the bone. Why? Because no matter what, I loved the job. And I guess I thought I did the job pretty damn well. What I can't believe is the way people treated me. During the summer they would say how I was doing a wonderful job or how they enjoyed working with me. I guess I am a gullible dipshit. But the nerve of some people, you tell people one thing and then you mean a completely different thing.
I just wish they wouldn't have been so foggy with their description of what I did wrong. How the hell am I supposed to change my behavior? And why wouldn't you give me a second chance? Did I do something that awful? Maybe I just get stuck with awful kids, or maybe I just don't know how to interact with kids that don't know Christ.
There are a lot of maybes and few answers.
Yes, the tone of this blog is meant to be angry. I am angry, I am broken, and I am just too frustrated to think clear headed. I just thought I had something to offer.
What frustrates me the most is the tone of the letter. It sounded as if they didn't want me to contribute anything to CTY...ever. I mean, they freaking ended it with "Thank you for your contributions to CTY this summer. We wish you the best." First off, they obviously aren't thankful for my contributions - they FIRED ME! Second, "We wish you the best." The best of what? Luck? "We wish you the best therapy money can buy." Obviously they think I am incompetent. But because the job has always been kind to me, I thought, what the hell, maybe I will give them some money if I ever make any. But I won't now. I mean, they really don't care about me, do they? Or maybe they do? I don't know, but I can kind of tell that they don't want me involved in any way. I wish it wasn't this way.
On the other hand, God knows what he is doing with me. He knows I have something greater in my future. However, I just wish I didn't have this awful letter to deliver that news.
I am a DNR - DO NOT REHIRE. Damn, never thought three letters would hurt me so much.
With much confusion and frustration,
Christian Eriksson
Early Friday morning I finished two things. At three in the morning, right before I crept into my bed, I finished off my final pack of cigarettes - at least, I hope my last pack. Around 9:00, after several hours of much needed sleep, I finished my semester by typing and printing off six papers. Because of my lazy nature, I didn't finish everything until a couple of hours before I left. Yet, in light of everything, it was still better than other semesters I have had. For example, last year I didn't finish until a month or so after school was finished.
The mental clock struck noon and I was sitting in the back of a van waiting to head home. My seventh semester finished. I can't believe I have gotten this far. The semester went by faster than the last 24 hours. It isn't that I don't like being home; it's just that I received bad news Friday afternoon.
I stepped out of Dewey's van. I unpacked my belongings, along with my sister's, and I carried them inside. Pumpkin and Gracie, the family greyhounds, greeted me at the backdoor. They pranced and yelped until they realized that I was the only one that was going to come through the door. They returned to the living room and I started heading for my room. There's a bitter-sweet nostalgic feel I get whenever I enter my room. It's almost as if the carpet is kindly telling me that I am no longer standing in my room, but a room I occupy. The subtle, empty unfamiliarity of the room quickly haunts me. The feeling will sleep with me for a few days, but soon the feeling is replaced by a desire for my childhood. But by that time, I am usually heading back to school.
There were three letters waiting on the dresser for me. The first was a bill from Geneva. I forget what the second letter contained. The final letter was earth-shaking. It was the messenger everyone wanted to shoot. To think that a letter can throw someone into an emotional tornado, but it happens.
When I first saw the letter I thought, "CTY, oh, this must be repetitive tax information." I was wrong. Dead wrong. Here is a portion of the letter:
In reviewing your performance from last summer, we have determined that we will not have a position to offer you next summer, and so we will not be recruiting you for the 2008 summer programs. Both your direct supervisors and I were concerned that your emotional volatility did not allow you to have the necessary professional distance between you and the students on your hall. Your second session student evaluations were also problematic. This has been a difficult decision because we fully recognize your enthusiasm for working at CTY...
Thank you for your contributions to CTY this summer. We wish you the best.
Wow, talk about shit hitting the fan. See, I usually keep the fan running on high, so as you can see or smell, that's a lot of shit hitting the walls - and I have white walls. I should have hired a different interior decorator. Maybe I should have bought a fan that didn't attract shit.
Before I say anything about the letter, I want to say something about CTY. I loved CTY. There has never been a job that I enjoyed doing more. I loved the kids, I loved working with the people I worked with, and I love the challenges it provided. However, I guess it doesn't love me - a pattern I am starting to recognize everywhere. CTY taught me that I could work with people who were radically different than me. I came to love people I never thought I could love. Secondly, the memories I made are ones that are going to last a lifetime. I hope a lifetime. I grew attached to my students because many of them came from homes that weren't the best. I loved them because no one else would, and because of my emotions, I have been booted off the island.
After the summer session is over, parents and others can comment on any aspect of the program and these comments are taken into consideration. I guess some people made too many comments about me. "He didn't treat my son the way he treated everyone else." Well, maybe if your son didn't make blow job gestures than I would have been nicer. Maybe if your son didn't make grotesque dolls out of duct tape, I would have accepted him better. Maybe if your son learned to respect other cultures, I would have asked him how his day was going more often. Yes, I did become "close" to some of the guys on the floor. I didn't do anything wrong with them. I was friendly with them because they didn't treat me like shit. I care about the people I work for, with, and who I have to take care of. Yes, I am guilty for being emotional. My faith calls me to be compassionate. I guess my faith isn't accepted at CTY. Can you believe the nerve of my 19 year old SRA, "You need to be less emotional." That's easy for someone who was a self-indulging Hedonist.
Sure I had some run-ins with some of the people I worked with, but they were being dicks. It wore on my pretty fast, but I guess I got to pay for it, too. Maybe it was the fact that I wanted to tell the "Blue Balls" story the first night I got there. The story is a lot less vulgar than something of the things that were going on during CTY. Maybe it was the fact that I told my boss that I was attracted to her. Everyone else thought she was attracted to me, too. I guess that's a mistake I am willing to make. I am glad I had the balls to tell her. I am a blunt person. I am not going to sit on my hands and wait for things to blow over. I just don't live my life that way.
Then again, maybe I was just too depressed to do anything useful. Maybe they hated the way I acted. Maybe they couldn't deal with the fact that I make an ass of myself so that everyone else can relax.
Whatever, this letter shook me to the bone. Why? Because no matter what, I loved the job. And I guess I thought I did the job pretty damn well. What I can't believe is the way people treated me. During the summer they would say how I was doing a wonderful job or how they enjoyed working with me. I guess I am a gullible dipshit. But the nerve of some people, you tell people one thing and then you mean a completely different thing.
I just wish they wouldn't have been so foggy with their description of what I did wrong. How the hell am I supposed to change my behavior? And why wouldn't you give me a second chance? Did I do something that awful? Maybe I just get stuck with awful kids, or maybe I just don't know how to interact with kids that don't know Christ.
There are a lot of maybes and few answers.
Yes, the tone of this blog is meant to be angry. I am angry, I am broken, and I am just too frustrated to think clear headed. I just thought I had something to offer.
What frustrates me the most is the tone of the letter. It sounded as if they didn't want me to contribute anything to CTY...ever. I mean, they freaking ended it with "Thank you for your contributions to CTY this summer. We wish you the best." First off, they obviously aren't thankful for my contributions - they FIRED ME! Second, "We wish you the best." The best of what? Luck? "We wish you the best therapy money can buy." Obviously they think I am incompetent. But because the job has always been kind to me, I thought, what the hell, maybe I will give them some money if I ever make any. But I won't now. I mean, they really don't care about me, do they? Or maybe they do? I don't know, but I can kind of tell that they don't want me involved in any way. I wish it wasn't this way.
On the other hand, God knows what he is doing with me. He knows I have something greater in my future. However, I just wish I didn't have this awful letter to deliver that news.
I am a DNR - DO NOT REHIRE. Damn, never thought three letters would hurt me so much.
With much confusion and frustration,
Christian Eriksson
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sex
It's a thought I can't seem to shake. Our culture has been saturated with sexual images, jokes, and desires. Our culture has been defined by sex.
I was reading someone's facebook note, and they were talking about the amount of sexual exposure Americans live with. They naively stated that we are exposed to sex twice in a day. I wish that was the case.
Sex is used to sell everything. Magazines (and I am not talking about Playboy) - Rolling Stones often features a nude celebrity on its cover, fitness magazines try to appease to the "thin is perfect" mentality, and the list drags on forever. Music has become the cesspool for sex. Lyrics endlessly refer to sexual acts or the desire for sex. And that's just the music. Musical advertisement involves music videos with scantly clad women, CD artwork contains risqué material, and some concerts are sponsored by condom companies. Cars are sold because a beautiful babe is riding in the passenger seat. Whenever I see a car commercial from a local car distributor, I am not enticed into buying one of their cars - there is no appeal. However, there are national car commercials were their is the promise of sexual gratification and I am hooked. Clothing companies are showing less to sell more. Abercombie and Fitch's website includes a model photo gallery. If one was to navigate the gallery, it would be almost impossible to tell if the site sold clothes. Television has resorted to reality shows focused on the sexual nature of individuals. Americans watch "Big Brother" in hopes of couples hooking up. We crave relationships that lack real intimacy. One night stands become "cool" experiences, but couples devoted to courting have been looked down upon. Beer commercials exploit both men and women. Average men can only meet beautiful women if they are drunk (Knocked Up), and "average" women look beautiful only if men are drunk. Spring break celebrates wet t-shirt competitions, bikini contests, and beer pong. Bigger has become better. Plastic has replaced flesh. Sex has infiltrated every aspect of our international society.
Yet, the question still remains, what do we as Christians do?
Psalm 119:9-16
How can a young man keep his way pure?
By living according to your word.
I seek you with all my heart;
do not let me stray from your commands.
I have hidden your word in my heart
that I might not sin against you.
Praise be to you, O LORD;
teach me your decrees.
With my lips I recount
all the laws that come from your mouth.
I rejoice in following your statutes
as one rejoices in great riches.
I meditate on your precepts
and consider your ways.
I delight in your decrees;
I will not neglect your word.
How do we make this passage real in our present life? It isn't easy to respond to this question. And I am more less asking because I don't know the answer. My mind always drifts to sex. Whether it is pornography, jokes, or just lustful curiosity - it doesn't matter, it's sin. How do we escape the inevitable sexual barrage? If your right eye causes you to stumble, cut it out. Maybe we should cut it out so we don't stumble.
If we remove sex from our culture, how much would remain standing?
With much love and confusion,
Christian Eriksson
I was reading someone's facebook note, and they were talking about the amount of sexual exposure Americans live with. They naively stated that we are exposed to sex twice in a day. I wish that was the case.
Sex is used to sell everything. Magazines (and I am not talking about Playboy) - Rolling Stones often features a nude celebrity on its cover, fitness magazines try to appease to the "thin is perfect" mentality, and the list drags on forever. Music has become the cesspool for sex. Lyrics endlessly refer to sexual acts or the desire for sex. And that's just the music. Musical advertisement involves music videos with scantly clad women, CD artwork contains risqué material, and some concerts are sponsored by condom companies. Cars are sold because a beautiful babe is riding in the passenger seat. Whenever I see a car commercial from a local car distributor, I am not enticed into buying one of their cars - there is no appeal. However, there are national car commercials were their is the promise of sexual gratification and I am hooked. Clothing companies are showing less to sell more. Abercombie and Fitch's website includes a model photo gallery. If one was to navigate the gallery, it would be almost impossible to tell if the site sold clothes. Television has resorted to reality shows focused on the sexual nature of individuals. Americans watch "Big Brother" in hopes of couples hooking up. We crave relationships that lack real intimacy. One night stands become "cool" experiences, but couples devoted to courting have been looked down upon. Beer commercials exploit both men and women. Average men can only meet beautiful women if they are drunk (Knocked Up), and "average" women look beautiful only if men are drunk. Spring break celebrates wet t-shirt competitions, bikini contests, and beer pong. Bigger has become better. Plastic has replaced flesh. Sex has infiltrated every aspect of our international society.
Yet, the question still remains, what do we as Christians do?
Psalm 119:9-16
How can a young man keep his way pure?
By living according to your word.
I seek you with all my heart;
do not let me stray from your commands.
I have hidden your word in my heart
that I might not sin against you.
Praise be to you, O LORD;
teach me your decrees.
With my lips I recount
all the laws that come from your mouth.
I rejoice in following your statutes
as one rejoices in great riches.
I meditate on your precepts
and consider your ways.
I delight in your decrees;
I will not neglect your word.
How do we make this passage real in our present life? It isn't easy to respond to this question. And I am more less asking because I don't know the answer. My mind always drifts to sex. Whether it is pornography, jokes, or just lustful curiosity - it doesn't matter, it's sin. How do we escape the inevitable sexual barrage? If your right eye causes you to stumble, cut it out. Maybe we should cut it out so we don't stumble.
If we remove sex from our culture, how much would remain standing?
With much love and confusion,
Christian Eriksson
Monday, November 19, 2007
Taxi 646
The last few months have been extremely difficult. The last year has been life changing. I no longer see events or people in the same light. My eyes have seen more than my heart will ever comprehend. As each day passes by, I just can't help but thank God for the grace he has showered upon us. My whole life I grew up thinking God's grace was given to people who truly needed it. I did not consider myself to be one of those people. I was a meritist. I believed living the perfect life. Salvation was a call from imperfection to a more attainable perfection. This notion is deadly and dangerous. Perfection will come, but not in this time. What scared me the most about this sort of thinking was individualism. It's only by God's grace that I have been called to be a child of God. Nothing I have done has merited heaven. Salvation isn't the product of my works, but rather, the Holy Spirit's convicting and calling nature. Praise be to God that I was never in control of my soul for I was bound on a one way train to hell.
As I reflect on my gradual change to reformed thinking, I cannot help but think about the hardships I have and am dealing with - especially in the realm of dating at
Let me express this through another analogy. Imagine yourself in a dark room. The only thing you desire is a light. As you stand in the corner of the room, afraid to move for fear of what lies within the room, you see a light. You start to head for it, but when you reach the window you realize that the light is only a car driving down the road. It vanishes. And again, you are left in the dark. In some ways, this is the dating world at
However, the older I get the more I understand what I desire in life - and in a spouse. My response may sound shallow and many of my friends think it is, but hear me out. I love movies, music, and literature. If a woman doesn't have these same interests, I find it very unlikely that the relationship would work out well. I love these things because I would love to do something regarding them - make a film, write a song, or complete a novel. If a woman doesn't share these interests, how can she truly support me? Now with that said, I do not look for just these three items. There is so much more involved in a healthy relationship. I desire to be with someone who loves their family, who loves my family and I love her family, and someone who devoted to God (and hold similar theological beliefs that I hold). It's hard to find someone at
As the doors quickly slam shut, I start to realize that Christ has someone else in mind. Most likely I will meet someone outside the
The second response to the question was "I think it's easier to date inside the bubble because there's more of a chance of finding someone who's a Christian and believes similar things as you. People outside the bubble are bad news." This response comes from a sophomore girl. Her first sentence is verily accurate. With a collective setting one is more likely to meet someone who is interested in the same things. My qualm lies in the second statement. People outside the bubble are not bad news. This over generalization just shows the narrow mindedness of some Christians. People outside the bubble are sinners just like the rest of us. In fact, Christians live outside the bubble. The bad news doesn't live without the bubble, it lies within it. Think about it, if you fart outside is it overwhelming? No. However, when you fart inside a bubble, it's excruciatingly unbearable.
These sorts of responses have only reaffirmed the idea of waiting until I graduate to date. I am just a "post college" guy. What I mean is this, I think I possess the qualities that women are looking for after they graduate. They want to date the cool guy when they first enter college, but after college, they want a guy that will be chill, provide for them, and who will guide them spiritually. I would like to think I have these things. But then again, I am still working on them.
I've said enough...for now. I would like to leave you with a song I wrote a couple of days ago. The song's message deals with all of these issues, but it strongly reflects the disappointment of "false hope." The song may seem really depressing, but in a way, it shimmers with some hope. To find peace, I sometimes have to metaphorically kill myself. With all that said, I just keep on reminding myself that one day one of those cars will pull into my driveway. The song is called Taxi 646 (don't ask about the title).
Taxi 646
I shot myself in the head.
Still wondering why I'm not dead.
The bullet ricochets inside.
I'm walking, longing to die.
Death has never been kind to me.
I stumble through the crowd blindly.
I breakdown in front of my home;
The cold knob is just a reminder,
Everything inside is empty and alone.
Chorus:
The town's to my back,
The wind in my face,
But I've been here before,
Whispering for grace.
I'm the shadow offspring
Of two lights in love.
The Crows are screaming in the trees,
And again I fall to my knees.
I know I've been here before;
Last time she left through the door.
I am left with nothing of everything.
All I ever wanted to be was the rain king.
Now I'm begging for one last cigarette.
The devil's dancing on my head,
Reminding me of everything I regret.
Chorus:
The town's to my back,
The wind in my face,
But I've been here before,
Whispering for grace.
I'm the shadow offspring
Of two lights in love.
Then the rain creates an angel,
But it's only an empty shell.
Once again I'm left with everything and nothing.
My arms beg to hold anything, something.
Fluttering in the sky is another feather,
Remnants of something much better.
I climb into the cab to get away;
Sorrow and I split the fare.
"To the withering desert," I say.
Bridge:
Happiness lies in the next town.
I just gotta let go for now.
Eventually it'll come around.
Until then I'll weep in the lights
Of those who shine bright
So the glow may reach my corner, someday.
La dada da, La dada da da
Chorus:
The town's to my back,
The wind in my face,
But I've been here before,
Whispering for grace.
I'm the shadow offspring
Of two lights in love.
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