Overall about difficult moments of disappointment and vulnerability. Having hope and longing, while remaining optimistic for the future. Encourages the belief that with each new morning there is a chance for things to improve.
The chorus offers a glimmer of optimism and a chance at a resolution and redemption in the future.
Captures the rollercoaster of emotions of feeling lost while loving someone who is not there for you, feeling let down and abandoned while waiting for a lover. Lost with no direction, "Now I'm up in the air with the rain in my hair, Nowhere to go, I can go anywhere"
The bridge shows signs of longing and a plea for companionship. The Lyrics express a desire for authentic connection and the importance of Loving someone just as they are. "Just in passing, I'm not asking. That you be anyone but you”
True story: In eighth grade I was short, had glasses and a squeaky ass voice that refused to change. Two things dominated my thoughts: James Cartino and John Lennon. Cartino I came in contact with daily, in gym class where he beat the shit out of me at every opportunity...Lennon I came in contact with in my wildest dreams.
In 1971 John Lennon spent a week in my hometown of Syracuse NY. Yoko gave an exhibition at a museum there. Some friends of mine skipped school and got hired to do odd jobs for her. I'd tell them of my day of Cartino poundings and they'd tell me about their day with John and Yoko, I was envious as hell.
My friends told me there was to be a private party and I begged them to let me in. They were skeptical but agreed. I outside the museum for about eight hours, I had to piss real bad but I didn't dare leave. At about midnight the back door opened and I snuck in, I couldn't believe my luck, I'd be invisible, I'd watch, I'd wait.
The room was dark and crowded. I saw Allen Ginsberg and some others I recognized but no John and Yoko. After an hour I felt I could make a much needed trip to the men's room. I made my way through the crowd, entered a hallway, took a few steps and saw Lennon approaching. A group from the party had targeted him and from behind me they rushed. I was carried as if in slow motion, straight as a bullet, closer, closer until my chest slammed into Lennon's. John Lennon looked down at me and barked, ""Fuck off!"". It sucked to be me, I hit the restroom.
The hometown buzz from Lennon's visit lasted a month for me, of course it lasted longer. Cartino thrashed me the following Monday but it didn't seem to hurt as much...something had changed for all my life.
I didn't cry when Lennon was murdered, I was angry and bewildered, I respected him so much I may even have felt guilty. Last year, while getting my baggage at LaGuardia Airport I found myself next to his son Sean. Tall, handsome like his father, with his mother's beautiful eyes, the son Lennon never got to see become a man. And now that I'm a father I understand this more than ever, it was then I noticed I was crying.
In 1971 John Lennon spent a week in my hometown of Syracuse NY. Yoko gave an exhibition at a museum there. Some friends of mine skipped school and got hired to do odd jobs for her. I'd tell them of my day of Cartino poundings and they'd tell me about their day with John and Yoko, I was envious as hell.
My friends told me there was to be a private party and I begged them to let me in. They were skeptical but agreed. I outside the museum for about eight hours, I had to piss real bad but I didn't dare leave. At about midnight the back door opened and I snuck in, I couldn't believe my luck, I'd be invisible, I'd watch, I'd wait.
The room was dark and crowded. I saw Allen Ginsberg and some others I recognized but no John and Yoko. After an hour I felt I could make a much needed trip to the men's room. I made my way through the crowd, entered a hallway, took a few steps and saw Lennon approaching. A group from the party had targeted him and from behind me they rushed. I was carried as if in slow motion, straight as a bullet, closer, closer until my chest slammed into Lennon's. John Lennon looked down at me and barked, ""Fuck off!"". It sucked to be me, I hit the restroom.
The hometown buzz from Lennon's visit lasted a month for me, of course it lasted longer. Cartino thrashed me the following Monday but it didn't seem to hurt as much...something had changed for all my life.
I didn't cry when Lennon was murdered, I was angry and bewildered, I respected him so much I may even have felt guilty. Last year, while getting my baggage at LaGuardia Airport I found myself next to his son Sean. Tall, handsome like his father, with his mother's beautiful eyes, the son Lennon never got to see become a man. And now that I'm a father I understand this more than ever, it was then I noticed I was crying.
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