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THE GREAT LOVE LETTER OF THIS GREAT WORLD
Everybody's walking around,
as if they didn't know
that we're in this together.
Everybody's talking loud,
as if raising a voice
made anybody feel better.
Everybody's living so damn small,
trying to argue and blame.
They dig a little bit and see we're different
but if they dug a little more
they'd see we're all the same.
In the black of your night
let your light be un-killable.
On the white of your page
let your heart be unfurled.
For each of us is a single syllable
in the great love letter of this great world
the great love letter of this world.
Everybody's got a worried mind:
what if they're the ones
who have to carry the weight?
Everybody's got a story-line
how they stood there starving
while some other folks ate.
No good deed goes unpunished.
At least, that's what everybody says.
They give a little bit and get bitter about it,
but if they gave a little more
they'd see how sweet life is.
In the black of your night
let your light be unkillable.
On the white of your page
let your heart be unfurled.
For each of us is a single syllable
in the great love letter of this great world
the great love letter of this world.
Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield/Tam Lin Music Publishing (BMI, 2018)
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THE WALLS OF AN OLD CITY
I realized this evening
just how much I’ve gone astray.
I passed the churchyard
you once showed me,
but I could not find my way.
Tears were in my eyes
as the sun was sinking low,
behind the walls of this old city,
built such a long time ago.
My mind is traveling faster now
to the things that might have been:
to a room in New York City
where you’re waking up with him.
I light a candle of acceptance
but it never casts a glow,
behind the walls of this old city,
built such a long time ago.
Honey, do you still think of me?
Do you think of what went wrong?
Are we too good at letting go
when we should be holding on?
Do you think of me as your roots
or just a tree that would not grow
behind the walls of this old city,
built such a long time ago.
You told me once this city
was built without a plan.
People made it like a maze
they themselves don’t understand.
Now no one knows the way out;
they just sit here getting old
behind the walls of this old city,
built such a long time ago.
So what I’m trying to say
is that I’m coming back
to the land of cold concrete.
And I will wander New York City
till I pass you in the street.
Honey, we could be together
if we could let our feelings show,
behind the walls of this old city,
you and I built a long time ago
behind the walls of this old city,
you and I built a long time ago.
Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield/Tam Lin Music Publishing (BMI, 2015)
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MY UNLIVED LIFE
There are places I would go,
places I could never take you to,
love affairs I’ll never know
in my unlived life.
I dreamed I had a different name
and I wore the dress he gave to me
but when I woke I was the same
in my unlived life.
There’s always someone else
I want to be.
There’s always something else
I want to see.
I look through the looking glass
but it’s always just me
dreaming my unlived life
me and my unlived life.
And I might never work it through.
I might always mourn the things I’m missing.
But I will give myself to you
and all of my unlived life
me and my unlived life.
Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield and Kristin Diable, 2018
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DYE ME IN THE COLOR OF SPRING
Out in the streets
I see the bleeding sight
of blossoms in the rain.
Here in my lonely room
I touch myself
and notice I am stained.
I don’t care if I am changing.
I don’t care if I am changed.
Dye me in the color of your spring
when everything is new.
Shake me like a cherry tree.
Scatter me in buds of red
till I forget the life I once knew.
There was no time
before my time with you.
Lover, come and thread my soul.
I’ll follow where you weave.
My bags are packed; I won’t look back.
I have no will to grieve.
I don’t care if I am leaving.
I don’t care what I must leave.
Dye me in the color of your spring
when everything is new.
Shake me like a cherry tree.
Scatter me in buds of red
till I forget the life I once knew.
There was no time
before my time with you.
Like flowers born
just for a day
to be ravaged and torn,
come what may,
I’m going to give myself to you.
Dye me in the color of your spring
when everything is new.
Shake me like a cherry tree.
Scatter me in buds of red
till I forget the life I once knew.
There was no time
before my time with you.
There was no time
before my time with you.
Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield/Tam Lin Music Publishing (BMI, 2018)
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GOLDEN APPLES
While you were still sleeping, I dreamed a wondrous dream:
I walked across a meadow with Adam Nazarene.
And the wounds of desire that I thought had long been healed
were blooming deep inside me like the flowers of that field.
And he showed me golden apples hanging heavy from the trees,
on boughs all bent and broken with the weight of memories.
But I felt like a beggar to be standing in front of these
treasures I could not carry home.
I reached out for his body, but he turned away in shame.
He said, “I am not here now: I am nothing but your pain.
And the wounds of desire that you want so much to feel
are all that stand between you and a love that’s really real.
And he showed me golden apples hanging heavy from the trees,
on boughs all bent and broken with the weight of memories.
But I felt like a beggar to be reaching out for these
treasures I could not carry home.
When are you going to quit your dreaming?
When are you going let your mind be clear?
When the morning sun comes screaming,
it will say, “When are you going to turn
to what is here?”
Well I’ve fought so hard for love, but I think I see at last
that what I thought was love was just a war waged on the past.
So if I wake up crying, honey, hold me in your peace.
Cut me from my garden. Help me find release.
Yes, I know the golden apples are still hanging from the trees,
on boughs all bent and broken with the weight of memories.
And I know I’m still a beggar, but I will not stoop for these
treasures I cannot carry home to you.
Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield/Tam Lin Music Publishing (BMI, 2013)
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WATCHING VERONICA WATCH THE RAIN
She’s sitting naked on your bed,
watching clouds up overhead.
The day is dark, the night has fled,
but the spark in your heart remains.
She’s talking now, but not to you,
to the ghost of something she’s been through.
You’ve never seen a more beautiful view
than her reflection in the pane,
as you watch Veronica watch the rain
watching Veronica watch the rain.
The Brooklyn sky looks like a bruise.
She points at streets that stand accused.
She’s calling out abusers and abused
but she still can’t recall your name.
Then suddenly her eyes seem like yours, somehow.
Look at your hands: your hands are hers now.
She’s in your head. She’s screaming: Get out!
and you start to feel insane,
as you watch Veronica watch the rain
watching Veronica watch the rain
Years have passed. You’re a better judge.
You’ve learned there’s a love you must not touch.
It wants to hurt you very much,
like a needle to a vein.
You look for warmth now more and more
and you’ve found friends worth fighting for
but you know you’ve left a crack in the door
that leads to a room in your brain,
where you still watch Veronica watch the rain
watching Veronica watch the rain
Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield/Tam Lin Music Publishing (BMI, 2015)
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7. |
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PORCELAIN BOY
There’s a porcelain boy
sitting on your shelf,
looking down from the ledge,
and crying to himself.
Little boy, won’t you
tell me what is wrong?
Who made you so frail?
Is your body just a jail
that keeps your soul
from moving on?
You and I
have tried so much
to keep alive so little.
But the cracks are
growing on our skin.
Our hearts are getting brittle.
We’ve polished up our porcelain love,
but the feeling’s just increased.
There’s nothing left to fake.
We’re just waiting for us to break
and another life to be released.
Other worlds are calling
to us from the street.
It’s no use to keep on stalling
at the window, you have to leap.
And sometimes it’s the falling
that brings us to our feet.
So will you love your porcelain boy
when he falls from the shelf?
Will you love him even when
you can’t hold him yourself?
Will you love me as a memory,
even when my touch is gone?
Or are you so frail?
Is my body just a jail
that keeps your soul
from moving on?
Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield/Tam Lin Music Publishing (BMI, 2004)
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8. |
Old Love
02:11
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OLD LOVE
I’ve been looking more like my father,
like you said I would some day.
I’m somebody else.
I startle myself
ever since you went away.
But then you walk right through my door
and the rafters rattle and moan.
I turn around.
I remember the sound —
that’s the heart returning home.
Old love, old love,
don’t you find it strange
how the years tear us apart
but old love doesn’t change?
I’ve been dreaming at this piano
as the end of days counts down.
My page is white.
It’s so hard to write.
The world has gotten so loud.
But then I hear you in the kitchen.
The sweetest sound I ever knew.
I think music is people
and if I am fearful
I’ll remember I’m singing for you.
Old love, old love,
don’t you find it strange
how the years tear us apart
but old love doesn’t change?
Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield/Tam Lin Music Publishing (BMI, 2018)
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Paul Weinfield New York, New York
Paul Weinfield is a singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, author, and meditation teacher whose songs have been compared to those of Nick Drake and Leonard Cohen and hailed by No Depression magazine as "unafraid of music boundaries." He is currently working on his eleventh album, As Long As It Takes. ... more
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