Another from 2006’s aborted “Real Estate“. Bring on the anguish! The awkward call-centre-referring third lines in each chorus are awful and need rewriting, but apart from that I really like this one. Must revisit it at some stage…
On HoldI know why they call it the morning:
for every day I mourn for every day I mourn.
Once I’d have sworn on my calling –
now I can’t be sure what I’m swearing for.
I used to care too much
Declare myself insane
Now I’ve been there too much, and it’s a diff’rent kind of pain
Where every day’s a faded photocopy of the day before
A blurry facsimile stacked up in your drawer
I tell myself that I’m important to me
but I can’t be consoled
when I put myself on hold
I know it’s the curse of the city
There’s too much on the plate, so ev’ry plan must wait
And there’s nothing worse than self-pity
A whinger through and through when injuries are few
But I had my rosy dreams
That I chose to defer
Fridgefuls of frozen schemes, and now I wonder what they were
And every day’s a faded photocopy of the day before
A blurry facsimile tacked up on your door
I tell myself I’m moving up the queue towards a future I sold
When I put myself on hold
I can’t reignite
I feel drawn out and dry
Fluorescent light flickers to life but it’s quicker to die…
I’ll be with myself as soon as possible but in the meantime I’m cold
cos I put myself on hold