The Moon Seven Times. “paris luna”, from the album, the moon seven times.
Take what was, no matter how long it’s been.
Some part is always floating up again.
Take my hand so I can let go of what they say.
Let the blood boil between our skin as it won’t someday.
The winds of heaven swooned so far from the way I had planned,
and as I raced around from room to room, they stayed with me, where I ran.
Once the quiet waves kept me pinned to your arm,
and they held me to a promise not to kick so hard.
Summer dies, and its passion is sneaking down the stairs.
May the blood boil between us everywhere.
The winds of heaven swooned so far from the way I had planned,
and as I raced around from room to room, I was everywhere I ran.
We are only the way we are for a while.
There is nothing to lose any time.
The winds of heaven swooned so far from the plan,
as I raced from room to room, I was everywhere I ran.
~~~~
we all have our muses
for some reason tonight (and oh how very sure i there is some reason to it), this one haunted me until i set it down. my muses do this to me from time to time, until i find a way to capture them in some form. why re-transcribing Lynn Canfield’s fine lyrics tonight was important, i’m not sure. but this album is definitely on my “it should be yours, too” list.
perhaps because so often, i feel this way. it’s one of those songs that i feel when i sing along to it. perhaps because the lyrics are so visual. there is a video to this song, but of course, that’s not how i see it in my mind. and that’s the particular beauty of the fine arts: the interpretation and internalization of a thing rarely equal the vision of its inception.
and the same is true for so many other things, the bulk of which have something or other to do with emotions, people, the world we live in, and life in general.
two points to whomever remembers the musical allusion of that last line.
