Hands.
I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift, the baffled king composing Hallelujah.
Sometimes things happen in our lives and we find ourselves stuck. Our records spin in the same groove over and over and as much as we try to ignore them when we least expect it those words keep playing.
They keep playing. And playing. They play in the middle of the night when no one is there to hold you.
They keep playing. In that pit of your stomach, that spot that makes it turn. That spot that makes your face change.
And you keep playing. Because how can you know what will make it stop? Something has to make it right, something has to put it back on track. But what?
Sometimes it seems like nothing but revenge will put the record spinning right.
Then something happens.
You are driving down the street. And suddenly you stop. Someone at the side of the road needs your help and you see the little white tag.
You know. She is one of you. And she needs your help.
But then you meet her and you see the tag again.
She is not one of you. She is one of them.
So you stay. You call 911. And you stay.
She isn't one of you. But you stay.
And then the record plays again. It doesn't skip a beat. It doesn't stop. It sets itself right.
I could have done it. I could have made her life hell. I hated her so much and I wished she were dead. I couldn't hate anyone as much as I hated her.
But I never knew that revenge wasn't going to make it right. All I ever wanted was for her to hurt as much as I did. For her to burn from the inside out and to lay awake for hours on end thinking of me. And burn.
I never knew that the this was the way to make it right.
I never knew that all I ever had to do was just be me.
All I had to do was what I always do.
I reached out. And it stopped. The repeat stopped.
"I'm going to help you" I said.
"Stay with me" I said.
"It's okay"
"Help is here".
It's here. It's me.
Maybe there's a God above, and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
And its not a cry you can hear at night, its not somebody who's seen the light, its a cold and its a broken Hallelujah.
I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift, the baffled king composing Hallelujah.
Sometimes things happen in our lives and we find ourselves stuck. Our records spin in the same groove over and over and as much as we try to ignore them when we least expect it those words keep playing.
They keep playing. And playing. They play in the middle of the night when no one is there to hold you.
They keep playing. In that pit of your stomach, that spot that makes it turn. That spot that makes your face change.
And you keep playing. Because how can you know what will make it stop? Something has to make it right, something has to put it back on track. But what?
Sometimes it seems like nothing but revenge will put the record spinning right.
Then something happens.
You are driving down the street. And suddenly you stop. Someone at the side of the road needs your help and you see the little white tag.
You know. She is one of you. And she needs your help.
But then you meet her and you see the tag again.
She is not one of you. She is one of them.
So you stay. You call 911. And you stay.
She isn't one of you. But you stay.
And then the record plays again. It doesn't skip a beat. It doesn't stop. It sets itself right.
I could have done it. I could have made her life hell. I hated her so much and I wished she were dead. I couldn't hate anyone as much as I hated her.
But I never knew that revenge wasn't going to make it right. All I ever wanted was for her to hurt as much as I did. For her to burn from the inside out and to lay awake for hours on end thinking of me. And burn.
I never knew that the this was the way to make it right.
I never knew that all I ever had to do was just be me.
All I had to do was what I always do.
I reached out. And it stopped. The repeat stopped.
"I'm going to help you" I said.
"Stay with me" I said.
"It's okay"
"Help is here".
It's here. It's me.
Maybe there's a God above, and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
And its not a cry you can hear at night, its not somebody who's seen the light, its a cold and its a broken Hallelujah.
posted by Laura at 7:14 PM
add a piece to my puzzle
