#amber schmidt
This month we published two nonfiction pieces by Amber Schmidt, both with dark themes. “The Stag” told of a dream encounter between a ghost and a stag in the woods, while “My Release” detailed Amber’s struggle with self-harm. When Amber told me that she had also written songs along the same lines, I jumped at the chance to pair them with her pieces as a sort of soundtrack to what she had written. Below are three of her songs and lyrics: “If I Stayed,” “Mary, A Prayer,” and “Can’t Be Trusted.”
-Jen Lombardo, Non-Fiction Editor
If I Stayed:
https://soundcloud.com/modestjune/saturday-11-20-pm
If Satan was my partner and he wants to go dancing, would I be a fool to stand upon his shoes?
If Lucifer was a lover, loved me more than another, would it be alright if I stayed?
If I stayed..
Take me in your strong arms
Take me, I have no alarms,
Bars are always better after dark.
Lucifer walks with me, even when I disagree.
Tells me that he’s gonna do me harm.
If I stayed… If I prayed.
___
Mary, A Prayer:
https://soundcloud.com/modestjune/mary-a-prayer
Mary oh saint, I was told I should pray for a reason or savior or grace,
But it’s dark and it’s ugly and raw and unclean,
Oh the pain, but I swear it is sweet.
I could go from sunsets, from warmth all around,
To the pain that consumes and drags me to the ground.
And I pray for something to rest my weary soul,
And I wish God was real, I don’t wanna drink alone.
I’m mad, gone mad, too dark for this,
And I pick at my nails and I daydream of death,
Of driving towards water, cold black swallowed whole,
Or flames in my bed burning, burning me raw,
Of a ghost pulling teeth or of me all alone,
Or long haggard hands tearing flesh from my bones.
Mary oh saint, I was told I should pray for a reason or savior or grace,
But it’s dark and it’s ugly and raw and unclean,
Oh the pain, I swear it is sweet.
___
Can’t Be Trusted:
https://soundcloud.com/modestjune/trust
Careful what you say,
Can’t you hear the calm of February call you home?
It calls me home.
Careful what you say,
Don’t you know that I cannot be trusted?
Careful with who you play,
If tears could bloom, I’d plant them all in May.
If promises were cemeteries,
I would plant silver dollar at the place where I was from, and all alone,
Don’t you know that I’m not really here at all?
I’m not here, can you hear my call?
If promises were cemeteries.
