They chased pots of gold instead of each other.  Reunited on a flight, they recognized that they made a mistake.  Maybe time is a river bringing them back to shore, or perhaps a current keeping them apart forevermore.  

The One That Got Away

So much to say about these lyrics. I didn't realize until I finished it and listened with my mother when she said to me "you have battled these very insecurities, wishes and regrets too often. How many times have I told you to just put things in God's hands and have faith?" that I realized much of what I wrote did in fact relate to my own feelings and life. Now at 54 years of age, I feel anxious about time running shorter.
*AS WITH ALL MY SONGS ON HERE. I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR THE LYRICS AND MELODY ONLY. THE VOCALS AND MUSIC HAVE BEEN CREATED IN ORDER FOR ME RO HE ABLE TO SHOWCASE AND SHARE MY LYRICS.* 
I am hoping to find established artists who find as much interest in my stories and are willing to put their own touch on them. 
#countrymusic #southerncountry #faith 

NOT YOUR CROSS TO BEAR

BACKROOM THUNDER

The front room was all smiles and sweet tea,
voices polished smooth as river stones.
But the backroom —
that’s where the weather lived.

You could hear it through the wall
if you stood still long enough.
Low voices.
Pauses heavy enough to bend the air.
A chair scraping back just a little too slow.

Nobody ever said fight.
They said talk.
But thunder don’t need permission.

That room held secrets like humidity —
thick, breathing, unavoidable.
Deals made without handshakes.
Truths spoken low so they couldn’t be repeated loud.

When the door cracked open,
silence rushed out first,
like it was afraid to be seen.
Then came the smell —
sweat, smoke, something electric and old.

You learned young
which footsteps meant calm
and which meant you’d better stay quiet
and let the storm pass.

Backroom thunder never strikes outside.
It waits.
Builds.
Rolls around your chest
long after everyone pretends the sky’s clear.

Even now,
every raised voice sounds like a warning.
Every closed door
feels like it might remember me.

What If We Don't

Chris Bandi