She waits in the air,
She sleeps in a chair
In her sad America.
When you feel a song is about you or written just for you. That is the connection I think songwriters long to make with their audience. Make a song so universal anyone and everyone can feel it too. This song may not be quite so far-reaching, but for me I feel it to be ‘my song.’
How appropriate that it should be on an album called ‘Discipline.’ I feel life is disciplining me in many ways, humbling and refining me. I wouldn’t exchange it for the world, however unpleasant it is at the moment. And it is. But it is unearthing me. I am the tiny green sprout, struggling to pop out of the soil so I can feel the wonderous sun and really get to growing. And then, to grow so large, ‘the birds of the air come and make nests in my branches.’
So, I wait. In the air. While earthly me sleeps, uncomfortably in a chair. Not fully in bed, but not yet fully aware of what is happening in her sad America.
And it is a very sad America.
I love the crying seagull guitar. I can hear beauty and loneliness. Flying alone over the ocean must be a beautiful and lonely way to fly. I can only imagine.