Stay

Sorry in advance if this gets heavy.
If you know me, and chances are if you are reading this, you do, you know I don't really talk about the music I write too much offstage. I don't think I do at least. But lately I've kind of been thinking a lot about Shoreline and all we did. What it meant to me. I'll tell you, it meant everything to me. It was all I thought about at times. It was all I ever really wanted to do. Like some "what do you want to do with your life" type shit. I wanted to be in Shoreline and that's it. As you probably know, that has been interrupted by the death of my best friend Kevin. I don't know if that means the end of Shoreline, but for right now, it is on hold.
I have avoided for a long time really talking about it, but truth be told, that really bums me out. All I want to do, especially right this instance, is plug in my Jazzmaster, turn it way up, and play the song Stay with Kevin, Craig, and Slanga. Really fucking loud. That song was always my favorite to play. We usually started practice with that song. It was one of the first songs I wrote for Shoreline. It was so simple. I play three chords the whole time, but it was always one I connected to the most. I felt it the most. The lyrics started out as one thing, but evolved into the way the song sings now. That lyrics holds more weight now than ever. I've said it before, but when I write songs, they aren't always autobiographical. It's always really interesting when they become autobiographical. I need to start writing songs about people coming up on a bunch of money, or inventing really dope shit or something instead of writing about things like heartbreak and loss.
These are the lyrics to Stay

I'm in love with a voice
You're in love with the noise we make
All around all around on the town
They don't know that it breaks me down

I'm in love with a vice
You're in love with the lies you say
Just to save face when you want
But you can't save me cause I'm gone

Stay above the water
Remain the same as you always were
Leave me standing here on my own
Stay above the water

You come down, we have to choose
One or the other, both of us (I) loose
And I know and I know what you want
But you know and you know that I can't

Stay above the water
Remain the same as you always were
Leave me standing here on my own
Stay above the water

I'll keep you up nights, keep you asking those questions
You can call it a promise
Call it a promise

Stay above the water.

If you want, you can listen to that song here
There is an inherent sadness to the song. A feeling of intensity. But also, a tone of acceptance. That's a hard place to get to. But there is this really calming feeling when you do get there. The song is a sort of good bye. A bookend to a dramatic situation. A denouement of sorts. All these things happened, and that's ok. But it's over now, and we are left with the remains of our actions. And these things, these feelings won't just go away, but that's the way it is. We are left to deal with these consequences on our own.
It's kind of crazy to me how close those words relate to a situation I have recently gone through.
I am really proud of that song. I'm proud of my band for the way it turned out and the way we performed it. I'm glad it exists. At the very least, it means a lot to me. Right now. And that is enough. Listening to this song makes me really happy and really sad at the same time. For a number of reasons. That's an ok thing I think.
Maybe my public blog isn't the best place to get this out, but that's where I'm putting it. Rock and Roll.