It's funny -- it's uncanny -- how a measure of notes and lethargic whispering of a song can mean so much in just so many verses.
The timing has to be there, too. The mathematical precision of the moment about to pass, and, enter, first chorus. Perfectly synced with heartbeats and intangential ideas. What is this emotion, and why does a song run, crawl, flow, drift, exist so frustratingly, so perfectly, next to it?
Frustration in perfection. That's where we are.
So, let's see. Number one.
5 Years' Time
Following?
Number two.
The First Days of Spring
And I wish I could detach the associations and the memories and the overarching relativities, but that's what songs do to you. That's what lyrical bars and human experiences are. Just words and guitars.
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