>Finally Do Collide

>

I have got a melody

that will make you mine

look in my eyes

and read from my lips

that everything i've got is fine


sign the papers 

that hand you over to me

cause i've been waiting far too long

for you to finally be

the one that i can't quit

the girl that i saw in my dreams


when your eyes and mine

finally do collide

we'll be all that's left


i have got the beating heart

to prove that i'm alive

a rhyme on my lips

and a love in my eyes

that none but the jealous despise

and i have got a melody

that will make you mine


so sign the papers 

that hand you over to me

cause i've been waiting far too long

for you to finally be

the one that i can't quit

the girl that i saw in my dreams


when your eyes and mine

finally do collide

we'll be all that's left

when this song is over

and you're done with what we were

just remember i'm right here



This is a love song to nobody. Well, technically speaking I suppose it is for somebody, in some existential, futuristic, extremely foresightly sense of the word. 


Basically, Finally Do Collide works on two levels. The first level is the level is that of myself. Deep down, anything anybody writes relates to themselves in some way or another, because everything comes down to the matter of the soul from which the lyrics are penned. No more to say about this, cause it wasn't really written for me.


The second level it works on is the level juxtaposed with the viewpoint from the world. We have built love up to be this grand moment that suspends out into a cadence stretching until forever, and frankly, I don't think any of us have any idea what love is. That's why it's so enticing, because only a select few have it figured out, and to the rest of us it flits about and prances in front of our eyes, just out of view. We see the effects that it has on the things around it, and the harder we look for it the more fun it has eluding us. Only then do we see what is wrong with our tactic in finding it. 

Tell a child that there is a dinosaur shaped ink blot on a card, and that's what he'll see. It's been proven multiple times in psychological research that if the subject is fed knowledge about the ink blot before viewing it, his mind will be automatically bent towards that view. 

Go out looking for love and you'll find "love."


I'm not exactly sure if Finally Do Collide is supposed to be serious or sarcastic or hopeful or ironic. I suppose it can be taken any of those ways.

Hamilton Barber

The subject of this page is an introverted writer/musician/lunatic from Chattanooga, TN who dabbles in lexical dexterity, unorthodox thoughts on prosperity, and being overwhelmingly undeserving of the privilege of waking up every day. He hopes that everybody who reads these words takes them to heart and leaps higher than he ever could. He reads, thinks, and speaks too much; he listens, works, and loves too little; and he says “I” entirely too often. The words on these pages are not his: they are the words that were given to him.