The Forecast Don't Look Good

Recently, the creative juices have begun to flow again. This is due, in large part, to Pat stepping forward and confiding in me that he had written some ideas for original music and is very interested in collaborating. Well, I've never needed an excuse to work on original material, and most of the time I simply complete the entire process on my own before I show it to anyone (if I show anyone). But I have a lot of respect for Pat, and I love playing music with him. We have very similar tastes in music and life, and thus he has afforded me a lot of good insight in the past.

To say I'm looking forward to writing with Pat, is an understatement. So I started going through some of my old notebooks (what can I say, I like to write by hand), to see what kinds of lyrics I had "lying around." There was way too much, and it was an intimidating idea to even scrape the surface. But low and behold, I found a separate piece of looseleaf paper sticking out of a notebook, and it turned out to be one of the very first songs I ever wrote, many years ago. Now I know it's nothing groundbreaking, but it's simple and concise with straightforward message using the weather as a metaphor for a stormy relationship. And hey, we've all go to start somewhere, right?

The Forecast Don't Look Good

Cold hard rain spits in my face,
Weather's ranting and on my case.
Clouds can smile, sun looks so grim,
Sky's a forecast of the shape I'm in.

See I was feeling like you were blind,
Missed my passes, ignored my lines.
Couldn't get your heart, or your mind,
Found out the hard way that love's unkind.

And it's well understood,
That the forecast don't look good.

Thinkin' maybe a change of pace,
Sick of running this tired race.
Done with chasing and being chased,
Always winding up in the same place.

Moral compass guides my road,
North, East, South, West, just point and go.
Though you never got, what you were owed,
Maybe I can help you lessen the load.

And I'd take it if I could,
But the forecast don't look good.

Ain't no more fighting, no more abuse.
Ain't no more using and being used.
And though I'm sorry, I'm misconstrued,
Won't ruin an apology with an excuse.

Guess it ain’t, my concern, 

Guess I’ll wait, for my next turn.

Gotta let you live, gotta let you learn,

Gotta let you give, and get burned.

And it’s well understood,

That the forecast don’t look good.