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One More Cloud


So then out of nowhere, I write a serious song. And not serious like "When You Get There", but serious and not even a little bit geeky. For this one, I'm going to leave it up to you. The lyrics are pretty ambiguous, so if you like mystery in your music then listen, enjoy, and imagine that it means what you imagine it to mean. It was written for the SpinTunes songwriting contest as a sequel to "3 A.M." by Matchbox Twenty. If you'd like to know what it means to me, feel free to read...


The opinions of this song were about as varied as it can get. Out of 6 judges, 2 liked it and placed it in the middle of the pack (partially because of poor mixing which has mostly been fixed), three placed it at or near last place, and one thought it was the best song of the round and placed it first. The optimist in me makes the argument that any great work of art must necessarily be unacceptable to a sizable portion of those who experience it. The pessimist in me counters with the premise that the optimist is "a doo-doo head". They may both be right.

The judge that placed me first -- Dr. Lindyke -- wrote up a detailed review. It gives away almost as much as the bio, and indeed I replied in the comments section with thoughts that I have since added to the bio itself. So read if you don't mind the mystery being spoiled:

Deconstructing "One More Cloud"


[Verse 1]
I don't seem to sleep a lot now when it's raining.
I don't need to watch my step, I know this road.
The winter snaps at my skin. I guess that I should care, or something,
But I don't seem to notice lately when it's cold.
Breath embraces the mist, becomes it, hides away in the shadows.
There's nothing left but letting go,

And then there's one more cloud.
Like a final breath into the wind, she dances away.
And the tolling echoes loudly,
And the raindrops eat away, bite by bite 'til nothing remains
And as the chiming fades it's 3 a.m. I must be lonely.

[Verse 2]
She'd have wanted to be somewhere else that's warmer.
She always liked herself a sunny, tropic shore.
Who knows? Maybe that's where she'll be carried, maybe not,
But this is really not about her anymore.
Every word that was said or wasn't, every torturous regret
All I can do is let them go,



A life in ashes and a raincoat, and immutable, final loss
The simple act of letting go,