Ok, we all get the Joyce reference. Bloomsday is coming up, and in honor of that, my good friend (and equally good writer) Ian MacKenzie wrote some lyrics for this here threesixfive project that I now present to you in song form. He also commanded, or suggested, that this be a song in the vein of bands like The National — in other words, it should be a slow burn kind of affair rather than a typical verse/chorus deal. I hope I’ve satisfied those criteria.
Say, while you’re listening, perhaps you’d like to go buy Ian’s book or read his blog. Both are quite worthwhile, I assure you.
—Lyrics (by Ian MacKenzie)—
Can you help me with this, love?
I’ve never been able to do it right;
The wrong end always hangs too low.
I feel like a teenager trying on his father’s ties.
What kept you up? You didn’t sleep well.
I always know.
The sheets at the end of the bed
Tell me you were fighting with your feet.
I can’t take myself seriously in this get-up.
I can’t even look at myself in the mirror
Without a smirk.
I’ve never been good at playing a part.
What do you mean, New York is hard this time of year?
What are you not telling me?
Your voice in the morning isn’t your voice at night;
You’ll believe things then you won’t believe in sunlight.
It’s Bloomsday, remember, I’ve told you this before.
It means they’re drinking in Dublin;
They’re drinking in Dublin today.
Let’s talk tonight.
You have drinks with coworkers and I have drinks with friends,
I know, but we’ll talk after.
We’ll talk again tonight.