Hang On.
Today, in a change to my
usual text-based posts, I thought I’d share a song.
I wrote it when I was a mere slip-of-a-lad, at eighteen. It was meant to be a blissful come-down song, if there was ever such a thing. It’s written from the perspective of someone who’s in the midst of an out-of-body experience; floating above everything and everyone he knows, and through seeing it all, learning to appreciate the things he’s got.
(NB. I've never taken a hallucinogenic drug in my life.)
Listening back to it now, the lyrics sound a little twee and simplistic. Perhaps I’m being too self-critical. I still like the sentiment. It’s my mum’s favourite song of mine, so I must have done something right. Sadly, the only copy I had to hand was a live version, recorded at a solo gig at Hitchin Football Club in 2004. You can’t hear the percussive stuff I’m doing with the body of the guitar, which was the hook of the song, but you should still get the idea.
It’s called Hang On, and it goes like this:
I wrote it when I was a mere slip-of-a-lad, at eighteen. It was meant to be a blissful come-down song, if there was ever such a thing. It’s written from the perspective of someone who’s in the midst of an out-of-body experience; floating above everything and everyone he knows, and through seeing it all, learning to appreciate the things he’s got.
(NB. I've never taken a hallucinogenic drug in my life.)
Listening back to it now, the lyrics sound a little twee and simplistic. Perhaps I’m being too self-critical. I still like the sentiment. It’s my mum’s favourite song of mine, so I must have done something right. Sadly, the only copy I had to hand was a live version, recorded at a solo gig at Hitchin Football Club in 2004. You can’t hear the percussive stuff I’m doing with the body of the guitar, which was the hook of the song, but you should still get the idea.
It’s called Hang On, and it goes like this:
