Here are some more lyrics that I wrote yesterday. They seem a bit irregular, so I might want to try and straighten them out later:
Nervous, Before Breakfast
Nervous, before breakfast
In a strange house,
I am wide awake,
But the host is still sleeping,
Not a peep, not a ghost of a footfall or voice.
I am hungry, but I have no choice;
I can only wait.
Or should I climb the stairs and wake him
Knowing that he’ll wake you, too?
Because this morning I am going far away
And before I do, there are so many things
I want to say to you.
And the sun behind the curtains
And the clock tick tock tickling my nerves
Tell me there is little time remaining.
Twice already,
I have stood in the doorway to your room
And watched your sleeping face
Your steady breathing
Just hoping you would wake,
But I dare not presume to disturb your dreaming.
And it seems eternity is a destination wide
Always disappearing to the side
Whose attainment hangs on the narrow morning
Of a great, uncertain journey
A great uncertain journey
That involves me, but may lose me,
That I fear will quickly lose me.
And all my life it’s been this way,
Waiting for the host to wake,
Just waiting for the host to wake,
While my stomach rumbles
And my lonely heart wilts away.
Just to pass the time till my departure
I read some pages of a novel
From the nineteenth century
And begin to dream a horse-drawn carriage
Will be coming here to take me,
Just to take me, just to travel.
Without destination, endlessly.
And I open French windows
Where the crows strut on the lawn
And peck at rotten apples
In the dew still wet from dawn.
The minutes tick away,
And I linger in the doorframe.
At first a waif, I am become a wraith
And I may not be real, but I do have feelings.
And in this nervous trembling
There is something I must say to you
Before I fade in the sunlight
Of the ascending day
With the last remaining traces of the morning dew,
I must put a stop to this dissembling and reveal my real name.
There is something I must say.
My heart thumps on the treads of the stairs
And I stand by the head of your bed again.
Your hair in disarray on your pillow
And the counterpane.
Your breathing peaceful, deep and slow.
And I have this desperate choice
To somehow find my voice and wake you now
Or go.
