sing a song for six pence

Before the gold and the glamour have been replaced;
Another sun-soaked season fades away.

It would have been the perfect song – on E.

Slight hope, it dangles on a string,
Like slow-spinning redemption.

And I watch it, hanging in front of me.

Vindicated,
I am selfish, I am wrong,
I am right, I swear I’m right; swear I knew it all along
Now I am floored
Maybe not cleaning up too well
But nearly seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself.

Let me slip away, against current.

We are a beautiful letdown,
A bane to the uncool,
The church of the dropouts, the losers, the sinners, the failures and fools.


What happens next?


Between who I am and who I could be,
Between how it is and how it should be,

Maybe redemption is coming to town,
Maybe forgiveness is right were I fell,
Where can I run to escape from myself
When salvation is here?


Maybe I’ll move like today never happened before.

I drew a line for you;
Oh, what a thing to do.

Between my head and my heart and all the lies I assure myself with.
This is difficult.

Oh who cares if you disagree?
You are not me,
Who made you king of anything?
So you can’t tell me who to be;
Who died and made you king of anything?

Loose screws.

It hurts.
But I don't want to take a Panadol.
And I don't want to talk.
I've said enough, and all the talk in the world wouldn't right me anyway.
I think a couple of springs have snapped in my head, and a screw or two fell loose too.
I can't find the other screw. I think it's a Panadol, but I can't afford to take medication now. There's still much to do.
Much I don't want to do.
I think I'll just staple Justin Leong to a sheet of paper and pass it to Pn. Zurina.
I would give up trying to lead worship anymore, but I've never given up leading worship, no matter how inclined towards doing so I may be, and I never will.
No circumstances big enough could make me. Except maybe my death. But that's a pathetic excuse.
My heart and head are heavy now, but they are not enough to make me give up.
It's a long cold war.
Even if I'm dying, I'm not yet dead.
I am so definitely not here at the right time. I'm sorry. I know I'm such a downward force.

procastination - I think I'll do it later.

I shouldn't be blogging now but I don't want to print my script, I don't want to pack and I definitely don't want to do my homework.
It is day - 3, I think - of being sixteen and I am well on the road to self-destructive workaholicism.
Ah, the good old days of stress and nothing but. :) I miss it so.

Google Docs for Dummies. Soon to be Waved. (And I thought it was foolproof.)