Week 127 // Monday

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Every cent will benefit victims of the tragedies in Boston, MA and and West, TX.

View Lyrics

Monday, an age ago
Falling apart
The place I was born
Like a hole in the heart

And innocent notions
At once rearrange
Awoke Tuesday morning
All waiting on Cain

Then all Wednesday’s promise
Erupted that night
Saw faces on Thursday
That couldn’t be right

Friday like Ragnarok
What must we do?
And when it’s all over
What can we hold true?

On a Monday
We were falling apart
On a Friday
Wondering: where can we start?

Monday, incredible
What have we seen?
The object of tragedy
Would not concede

Allure of the darkness
The pitch of the night
Held onto the morning
Aspired to light

And something about them
A call they refuse
The basest of instincts
We must never use

And Friday, a bookend
A staggering sight
The roar of the evening
The still of the night

On a Monday
We looked deep in our hearts
On a Friday
Wondering: where can we start?

Notes
What is there left to be said about last week? I can’t say nothing. I was born in Boston, and when I was a kid my Dad ran the Boston Marathon each year. The Marathon route thundered through my home town at the bottom of my street, one hundred yards from my house. It was always a thrilling and wonderful day, and it lives in my memory as some of the brightest moments of my youth. So I can’t say nothing about it, even though it is hard for me to gather my thoughts on this subject. This whole thing is etched into my heart the way it is for so many others, and I’d have to ignore my heart to write about anything else this week.

Last week was one of the strangest in memory. Boston burst into violence on Monday and Friday, bookending a week that also witnessed a catastrophe beyond comprehension in Texas. What is left to say about the human drama that boiled over in America? About the heartbreaking loss? About the heroism and outpouring of human decency? About the baffling choices made by promising young men who could have embraced the opportunity of their adoptive home? About the mettle of responders to do what must be done? About the sacrifices made and lives forever altered? I’m not sure what I have to add to this narrative, so I just wrote a song about how I feel.

I usually sell these songs for whatever meager profit I can manage each week. I abhor the idea that I could write a song about this tragedy and gain any personal profit from it, so originally I was going to offer it as a free download. I changed my mind late in the game. It strikes me that Mount Everest listeners must be a caring bunch, so I decided to sell this song after all, but I won’t be keeping any of the money. Name your price for the MP3 of this song on Bandcamp, and every cent will go to charities supporting victims of the tragedies in Boston, Massachusetts and West, Texas. Thank you so much for your generosity!

Here’s hoping your Monday doesn’t totally suck.
~M.E.

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