My muse is weird. I picked up my uke this evening with the intention of either working on actually memorizing, or re-memorizing something. I think 365 has officially reached it’s life expectancy for the year, and I really need to flesh out my repertoire if I’m going to continue doing ukuele at open mics (I did a new one last night, btw. It went fine, I guess. Who knows? I can never tell, really.).

So I sat down and decided ‘gee, what were some of those chords I learned that I’ve never used in a song before? So, I grabbed Gm and C6. C6 is a stupid easy one finger chord, but Gm was one I wanted to practice because while it’s not complex, all the 3 finger chords require a little practice getting in and out of them. Then I said to myself: ‘Self, something other than the usual strum pattern. You’ve got it so ingrained that when your mind wanders you end up switching into it no matter what you’re playing.’ And, I remembered this sort of cool sounding strum I was playing with last week and went, okay, let’s try that.

Before I knew it I was throwing together a chord progression with 5 chords, and well, crap, I was apparently writing a song? But, what was the song about? It was definitely a sad song with those minor chords being so dominant.  So, I was trying to figure out what to write and just going ‘sad song, this is a sad song, blah blah sad words song…’etc – nonsense words to try and figure out how to make a melody work to that strum, I suppose.

And well, once I started writing it out, it apparently became a sea song (I will be so ready if I feel like being a pirate at the next Renaissance Faire. lol).  It’s ginourmously long, again, even without taking some strumming breaks, which I really ought to because I was definitely running out of air at points during this first run through, but if I’m going to do that, I feel like I need to maybe trim it down a bit. Even having not typed the chords out on my working sheet yet, it’s hit page 3. That’s definitely too long! You can’t fit that properly on a music stand without some serious finagling, for starters.

Anyway, here’s a new song (why am I writing more songs than I’m learning? Oh, yeah, I remember – it’s easier to write one than to learn someone else’s. lol)

I’m calling it ‘Jack & Davy’ until I come up with a title I like better. Recorded with the clip on mic – was more concerned with balance than quality for this run through.

Jack & Davy

Shadows casting shadows
dreams falling out of dreams
whispers from the shallows
always say the same damn thing:

It all comes to nothing.

All the things that you chased,
all the time you waste
are only a siren’s curse,
and the best you have,
and the rest you have,
is only an echo of the worst.

[It’s the siren,
whispering could have been,
pulling heart strings out to sea,
and the waves crack,
pulling sailors back,
and their backs break,
against the reef.

Then the water turns,
and the sun burns,
and all that’s left are memories
and sad stories.]

Davy was in the navy,
with a lady back at home.
She was crazy,
said he was lazy,
and the money almost gone.

He worked a sailing gig,
labored on the rig,
Heaved the sails,
worked to the bone.
When he came home,
she was long gone,
sold his only suit,
ran off with the loot
and some guy, to Tripoli.

Left his heart ashore,
went back to the war,
made mistress of the sea,
and that’s the last they saw of Davy.

[It’s the siren,
whispering could have been,
pulling heart strings out to sea,
and the waves crack,
pulling sailors back,
and their backs break,
against the reef.

Then the water turns,
and the sun burns,
and all that’s left are memories
and sad stories.]

They called him One-Eyed Jack
said they had his back
had a first mate named Tall Tim.
Oh the tales they told,
oh the hearts the stole,
and the purses that went with them,
and the gold they’d hold,
stored down in the hull,
and the key, Jack kept with him.

But Tim was telling tales,
to the men at the sails,
even though Jack trusted him.
He said the gold was theirs,
that Jack took more than his share.
That mutiny was deserved,
that justice would be served,
he’d be a better Captain to the men.

It was the Captain’s Hat,
that was the death of Jack,
and the ship took Tim,
right behind him.

Cast against the rocks,
blood throughout his locks,
and the captains hat
sent back to sea
to reunite with Jack and Davy.

[It’s the siren,
whispering could have been,
pulling heart strings out to sea,
and the waves crack,
pulling sailors back,
and their backs break,
against the reef.

Then the water turns,
and the sun burns,
and all that’s left are memories
and sad stories.]

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