april in paris. my favorite thing from the musee above. beautiful, yet missing something. but it appears complete. haunted. mysterious. it wouldn't have the same draw without the vacancy. at least i don't think so.postscript...
when you know the place where a song comes from it ceases to be subjective. time goes by and you might look at it in a different way. but the images are still there.
angels. bed time stories. that bat cave in austin she told me about but i still never made it to. distance...
"people like you and me never felt the breeze
people like you and me will never know the easy way
i scream into the wind and laugh
as the words slap me in the face
i would gladly trade a lifetime of convenience
for an honest day or two
it's just not the same when you're staring
into a perfect golden sunset
and thinking about how you sold your soul
to send the rain away....
i'd really rather lay here and pretend
but people like you and me never get that peace
it comes from denying that everything is so screwed up
it's so screwed up
i stand on a building and throw up my arms to the sky
i swallow my pride and admit
that it's not always best to understand the reason why"
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