Fragments in the Orphanage
Shoulda, Coulda, & Woulda
Sometimes the melodies and ditties just fall into your lap and sometimes you bust your ass trying to make two things in a song play nice only to find they have no redeemable qualities or chemistry-strengthening traits and need to go away and sit quietly by themselves somewhere. It’s not that they aren’t great, it’s just that they haven’t found their crew yet. Some of them may never find their place.
“Fragments in the Orphanage” is what I’m gonna call these big-hearted but misguided n’er do wells. In a way they have it easier than the completed songs in the orphanage because unlike those fully-realized urchins with no album to call home, they at least have the slightest glimmer of hope. A hope that one day a middle eight or a soaring chorus or a slippery-tongued litany of rhymed couplets might come along and give them a home and a purpose after all.
And ain’t that all any of us are looking for anyway?
A Room of My Own
I know you’re not mine, but are you the kind to ever be anyone’s?
This town’s just too big, you can get away with, all of your old tricks.
So if it means the same thing, I’d like to kill you in dreams, let’s see what that means.
Behind a blue door for you, I waited and knew, you could never, ever be true.
I had a room of my own, down by the stones, but too close to the bone for you.
A few things:
This has nothing to do with Virginia Woolf. Well, maybe it does but that’s a coincidence, not my inspiration.
I think the last line should be “I was down with the Stones” but I‘m not, so I can’t say that. Maybe the narrator is Gram Parsons. Then I could say that.
My first room of my own was in Greenville, SC on Russell Avenue.