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Dec. 4th, 2006 05:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oakandashAngel came down from heaven yesterday
She stayed with me just long enough to rescue me
And she told me a story yesterday,
About the sweet love between the moon and the deep blue sea
And then she spread her wings high over me
She said she's gonna come back tomorrow
And I said, "Fly on my sweet angel,
Fly on through the sky,
Fly on my sweet angel,
Tomorrow I'm gonna be by your side."
Can the moon really love the sea? How? Is it literal or just a metaphor? Who thought to write that description into words: was Jimi Hendrix the first? How like magic they are: he wishes he could write things like that. But writing songs and lyrics isn't his gift at all.
Setting down the acoustic guitar, he stretches his arms to the ceiling. He can't quite reach it but it's close; he's tall but so is the room's ceiling. Giving up, he opts instead to pace back and forth: he's restless. This is an enclosed world and there are few people and he could be more sociable, but at night the robots are programmed to play music and during the day... well... that's when he makes his music. It takes his mind off certain things, certain frustrations, certain fascinations.
There's only so much alone a man can stand. Putting on a fresh white shirt, he tucks his room key into a pocket along with that money card he never really seems to need and bids his room farewell for the moment. The walk down the hall doesn't take so very long; he knocks at the door to Room 498. When he hears the latch being turned by a princess's nimble fingers, he smiles.
He can't help it.
She stayed with me just long enough to rescue me
And she told me a story yesterday,
About the sweet love between the moon and the deep blue sea
And then she spread her wings high over me
She said she's gonna come back tomorrow
And I said, "Fly on my sweet angel,
Fly on through the sky,
Fly on my sweet angel,
Tomorrow I'm gonna be by your side."
Can the moon really love the sea? How? Is it literal or just a metaphor? Who thought to write that description into words: was Jimi Hendrix the first? How like magic they are: he wishes he could write things like that. But writing songs and lyrics isn't his gift at all.
Setting down the acoustic guitar, he stretches his arms to the ceiling. He can't quite reach it but it's close; he's tall but so is the room's ceiling. Giving up, he opts instead to pace back and forth: he's restless. This is an enclosed world and there are few people and he could be more sociable, but at night the robots are programmed to play music and during the day... well... that's when he makes his music. It takes his mind off certain things, certain frustrations, certain fascinations.
There's only so much alone a man can stand. Putting on a fresh white shirt, he tucks his room key into a pocket along with that money card he never really seems to need and bids his room farewell for the moment. The walk down the hall doesn't take so very long; he knocks at the door to Room 498. When he hears the latch being turned by a princess's nimble fingers, he smiles.
He can't help it.
