Bathsheeba

There was golden sun on golden skin
satisfaction of every lonely ache and whim
She was bathing on an open roof
She was beautiful, that's the honest truth


Golden skin became a golden sky
David was just a regular guy
She was life rushing through his veins
She was beautiful, she didn't need a name


David followed her wherever she went
He loved her long till he was well and spent
Still her beautiful voice called to him
and David fell to gypsy spells and loved again


(C.) She was bathing in the open air
acting like she didn't notice that David was there
but she was waiting, glowing golden just for a prince
she hasn't thought of anything since


Perched upon an old kitchen stool
David was her proud and personal fool
she sang to him in the lamplit room
Pleading with God that love would follow soon


It wasn't right but how could it be wrong
as the final chords pierced the empty night
still her song was swallowed by the traffic in a quiet town
She searched his eyes not sure to say what she found


Laughter filled the sky with the stars
David could never get quite too far
before gypsy eyes denied goodbye
Caught in the middle was that regular guy


(C.) She was bathing on an open stage
acting tame in her golden gilded cage
but she was waiting, glowing for love absent
She knew that David could not resist


(C.) She was bathing in the candle flame
Jealousy finally had a name
Bathsheeba knew how to string his heart
That yearning voice singing the perfect parts


David was just a regular guy
I can't compete with those gypsy sighs

I wrote this because I was trying to be subtle about an admittedly frivolous thought that was weighing my mind. At first I had trouble letting people see it because it didn't feel very subtle to me. I suppose it's because I'm such an awful songwriter. I can't detach myself from my work. I don't write songs about other peoples stories. I write about my stories. Every song is a little bit of Sam somewhere and so it's hard to let it go. If someone rejects the song is it the same as rejecting me? I struggle with that question a lot. However, if I don't tell my stories who will? My banner is all about leaving my mark on the world. If I want to make a mark I have to be willing to make the stamp as well and if that stamp happens to be inked with blood, sweat, tears, and maybe a few drops of coffee there; as I probably spilled coffee on the table I set the stamp on. Who better then me to wield it?

So welcome to the concert of my life.

Have fun in the amusement park of my mind.

Say hello to the stage crew of my decisions with that backstage pass to the prayers of my heart.

Subtle or not.

Besides the fact that the answer is not. Besides the fact that I'm about as subtle as a color-blind bull....

Please don't judge my grammer

<3 Patchwork Prayers