there it was, hidden in the lining of the coat
a roll of hundred pound bills
and i knew to keep it to myself
but i was petrified that everyone could see it in my eyes
the secret i was holding

what would dream analysts have to say about this?
that i had money coming my way?
that i was rich beyond my wildest dreams?
that i had financial woes?
that i should check my winter coat for the change i left in it last year? 
that i watch too many movies with thugs in them?  
that i am hiding something? 

birdy

excuse me while i have a bowie moment

(this one’s for you, lake)

david bowie

the leaves are falling back home
without me to witness
the waltz of yellow and orange and blood red
summer’s funeral
but i can feel them tumbling to the ground
i can feel the wind carrying
these little deaths
announcing winter’s arrival

and in the spring
will i too have grown into something new? 

sia

oh mumford & sons
i can’t quit you 

mumford & sons

this is what it feels like to be mrs. stewart

ryan adams and the cardinals

it was at somerset house
before the old black and white movie played
the sky was on fire
and we sat on blankets drinking wine out of plastic coffee cups
music bouncing off the courtyard walls
and this song came on
and collin said “nice track!”
and asked me to use the ting ting on my phone 
so i shazam’d it 

and here we are today
and you’ve both gone
and i miss you
but damn, those were good times eh?

the do

was it only 10 days ago that i was walking down the aisle to this song?
i never thought i’d say this but…
i wish i could go back and relive it all again 

etta james

dear words,

please come back to me.
until then, i’ll float on the sound 

grizzly bear

laura,

imagine this
scissor sisters
in montreal
at metropolis
me
surrounded by a bunch of sweaty gay men
good times, my friend

scissor sisters

that little part of me
that cared
(too much)
died this morning
and it left
a sense of freedom
in its wake 

moby

leaving a trail of bread crumbs
once i find my way back
i’ll never get lost again 

frank ocean

“got to kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight”

barenaked ladies

i get all the girls tonight
whatever happens at the hen party
stays at the hen party

calvin harris

such overwhelming beauty
it all goes strait to my heart
the sounds
the bleeding colours
the weightlessness 
the rip tide
the slow sail
the solitude
the escape 
the hope of soaring 

beirut

insomnia will make you watch 
when a man loves a woman
until 2am
and ball your eyes out at the part when he says:
”when my wife hurts, i want to ask her: what’s the matter, baby?”

and when you wake in the morning
(were you ever really sleeping?)
and look at yourself in the mirror 
through those tiny slits in those big puffy eyes 
you wish he was there to ask you “what’s the matter, baby?”
but he’s not

coldplay