On Writing Ridiculous Subconscious Song Lyrics

Sometimes something comes to you naturally when you're in the shower or on the bus or (to be totally honest) when you just heard a song you want to steal. But sometimes you just have to stare at a blank page or screen for a while then write as quickly as you possibly can in stream of consciousness style. I'm always paranoid that if a song like the one below becomes reality, people will wonder if I'm talking about them and talking autobiographically and they'll be weirded out by the words. But when you type the first things that come to mind and rhyme, it's never really about you or people in your life directly, it's more like a crazy puzzle spilled all over the kitchen table. so that's what this one is, and I thought I'd preface it with some sort of context and put the lyrics here.

The music I'm imagining with it is like Stones-lite or something, a twist on some acoustic guitar riffs that Ben sent my way. But I kinda doubt this one becomes a Morals song because there are too many words for me to remember live and there's no chorus, just one long blah blah blah. Which is also what this introduction now sounds like. So without further ado, here is a thing called "Tinnitus Blues" which is way too something, to be sure. Also, I have never named anything "____ blues," so sorry about that.

Well the days are getting longer
and I’m shaking in my boots
and when the night finally arrives
I’m up here laying on our roof
half-dozen bottles and no opener
but my belt will always do
oh while the sun is spinning circles
throwing shadows on the moon

and somewhere trash is heating up
and spilling into the lagoon
that all the locals use for water
much more green then it is blue
it’s not your son it’s not my daughter
and there’s nothing we can do
but brand new bands are getting louder
brand new bands are really new

then your ears step up their ringing
when you’re trying to get some rest
you spill your guts with your right thumb
to get it all off of your chest
and what it seems is beamed to me
is always “god I’m such a mess”
but you’re not beaming ‘less you’re broken
bored and basically undressed

so stuff your ears with toilet paper
and cry your old self to sleep
because you know the known unknowns
and I’m a man so you know me
but 'fore you finally give in softly
and pray the lord your soul to keep
you don't remember that you sold it to me
for old new york city whiskey?

the fire escape is rusted and
my feet are far from steady
one last look at the city skyline
and I think I’m finally ready
and yes you’re surely out there looking
at the same stars as me but
that light split a billion years ago
and reached us individually
oh!

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