EMILY HURD

Fine, Fine Line

I’ve gone and closed my eyes, and I’m seeing him again.

It comes as no surprise that he’s flashing me that grin.

I watch it hover round, just like a floating Cheshire cat.

Hard to recover when I see him smiling like that.

There is a fine, fine line between loving you a man, and how he makes you feel.

It’s a fine, fine line, and it’s one thing to love something, but a good thing to love something real.

He’s got a wicked wink, and he’s directing it at me.

And now I dare not blink, for fear I’ll miss where he might be.

'Cause he’s a charmer, and he’ll move right in just like a snake.

I could wear armor, but I want to be his to take.

There is a fine, fine line between loving you a man,and how he makes you feel.

It’s a fine, fine line, and it’s one thing to love something, but a good thing to love something real.

You rolled out of the past and into a fantasy going on right now, and it’s making me feel

That you’ll roll out of my head and into my bed, and it’s making me feel something,

But is it something real?

He’s filling up the room just like a balmy summer’s eve,

And I’m a rose in bloom. He’s gonna put me in his teeth.

If I had more control, I would have surely backed away,

But I obey my soul, and so my body starts to sway.

There is a fine, fine line between loving you a man, and how he makes you feel.

It’s a fine, fine line, and it’s one thing to love something, but a good thing to love something real.

Written by Emily Hurd

In Time

Every time you’re near, everything I hear in my ears is your rhythm.

Movin me inside, startin with my eyes, every time you look in em.

It rises and it falls—kinda like a pulse—racing all through my bones.

And as you lay me down gently on the ground, I look around, and I find I’m home.

I’m movin to you, movin to me. You’re in time with me.

And as you begin to come and take me in, you touch my skin, soft and bare.

And you rake your hands through the auburn and golden strands of my hair.

Tempo’s pickin up—heavy as a drum—liftin me up to the ceiling.

And the music swelled, but I couldn’t tell. All I felt was the feeling.

I’m movin to you, movin to me. You’re in time with me.

My mind goes numb. Words become feelings of “hard and soft”

When you send tears of sweat down my neck and kiss em off.

Slower now. Lower now. Don’t know how you know I want you to come into me in time.

And now I’m breathin to the tune comin from the room where I watch you lay beside me,

Movin up and down to the steady sound of the beat down deep inside me.

As I watch you rest layin on my chest with your lips pressed to my shoulder,

I brush my finger tips down your back and hips and feel this rhythm all over.

I’m movin to you, movin to me. You’re in time with me.

Written by Emily Hurd

Shadow

I see your shadow in my shade. I see you walkin through my bolted gate.

And when it’s time for me to go to sleep, I see the sheet beside of me still wrinkled where you laid.

I see your breath in the wind, See you in mirrors I am lookin in.

And I guess it’s quite a blessing—but depressing—when I think of you undressing me again.

What’s this I hear about you leaving? What’s this I hear that you are gone?

Tell me, what is this I hear about you movin out And that you doubt that I should come along?

What’s this I hear about you leaving? What’s this I hear that you are gone?

Won’t you tell me, what is this I hear you’ve disappeared to leave me here where I do not belong?

I feel you comin down my hall. I smell your body in my faded shawl.

And you still look awfully fetching in that etching I am letting hang upon my lonely wall.

I hear you singin in the bath. I see you smilin in a stranger’s laugh.

And you know, I still take comfort in just coverin my sufferin with thoughts of what we had.

What’s this I hear about you leaving? What’s this I hear that you are gone?

Tell me, what is this I hear about you movin out And that you doubt that I should come along?

What’s this I hear about you leaving? What’s this I hear that you are gone?

Won’t you tell me, what is this I hear you’ve disappeared to leave me here where I do not belong?

I’ve got your matters to attend. I’ve got some letters that you never sent.

And it’s funny how I shutter, and I stutter When I try to utter your name to a friend.

I hear you ringin on my phone. I hold your hand when I am on my own.

And I guess it’s quite poetic—yet pathetic—you’re embedded in most every song I know.

What’s this I hear about you leaving? What’s this I hear that you are gone?

Tell me, what is this I hear about you movin out And that you doubt that I should come along?

What’s this I hear about you leaving? What’s this I hear that you are gone?

Won’t you tell me, what is this I hear you’ve disappeared to leave me here where I do not belong?

Now that you are gone; now that you’re gone, I see your shadow.

Written by Emily Hurd

Let Her

She won’t let you down. She won’t let you down. You’ll be together, if you let her.

She will make you smile. She will make you smile. In cloudy weather. If you let her.

Thank your lucky stars that you have found her. And pray that you don’t let her slip away.

Lay your silent sorrows down upon her. For on her, they are safe.

She will let you in. She will let you in. She will surrender, if you let her.

She’ll be on your side. She’ll be on your side. Now and forever. If you let her.

Cast aside all you believe is tragic. She sees the good in everything you do.

And if there comes a day when all the magic fades away, she will still love you.

She will hold you close. She will hold you close. She will be tender. If you let her.

She will take your heart. She will take your heart and make it better. If you let her.

Written by Emily Hurd

Somewhere to Fall

There in the city that’s rarely asleep, she sits in solitude staring

Out at the pretty men walkin the streets. They like to watch what she’s wearing.

She knows it’s only a matter of time before someone will see through her,

But she’d take loneliness rather than find someone she trusted had used her.

She needs somewhere to fall when she gets home.

She needs someone to come over, someone who will shoulder her load.

She needs someone to love when she feels small.

There has just got to be someone that she doesn’t run from at all: somewhere to fall.

She is a riddle in so many ways, but you can guess what she’s doin.

She is a little uneasy these days (since she found out she was human.)

Everyone knows her, but nobody knows all of the things she’s afraid of,

Or how she shows that she secretly hopes you’re gonna see what she’s made of.

She needs somewhere to fall when she gets home.

She needs someone to come over, someone who will shoulder her load.

She needs someone to love when she feels small.

There has just got to be someone that she doesn’t run from at all: somewhere to fall.

She doesn’t know why she always gets close to the ones who never hold her.

Guess she just goes by “who hurts her the most,” that’s the one who gets to know her.

But there is a reason that she can’t confide. You’d do the same if you’d gone through

All of the seasons that she’s been denied someone that she can belong to.

She needs somewhere to fall when she gets home.

She needs someone to come over, someone who will shoulder her load.

She needs someone to love when she feels small.

There has just got to be someone that she doesn’t run from at all: somewhere to fall.

Written by Emily Hurd

Anne

She gets away with mistaking the day for an endless dream. Isn’t she something.

She knows a smile never goes out of style 'cause it’s bright and free. It’s somethin for nothing.

If you deny her the things that she likes, she will let it slide. Isn’t she something.

Maybe next year she will be far from here, if she gets a ride. It’d be something for nothing.

I’ve known one too many who run on empty, but none like Anne.

Where she has been, that’s where people begin to believe in life. Man, she’s got something.

And all that she has is inside of her hands, but she’s got it right. She’s got something for nothing.

I’ve known one too many who run on empty, but none like Anne. See that light? It just might be her walking by.

She doesn’t care bout the state of her hair 'cause she knows her name. She is Anne.

And all she takes in mixes up—mixes in—so it tastes the same. She’s got something for nothing.

I’ve known one too many who run on empty, and there’s two too little who make it to the middle.

And it’s three-fold trouble, when they go to crumble. And it’s foregone many, but it’s taken plenty, and one is Anne.

Written by Emily Hurd

Lines On Your Face

I think I hear what you are trying to say.

It isn’t clear, 'cause your words complicate

And jumble all the rumblings in your heart these days.

So strip it down to its truest form.

Make it sound just like it did before,

When I knew what was inside you just by looking at the lines on your face.

Recall the oath that you gave to me;

That we both would find a way to be

Truthful and youthful in our loving ways.

So take it off to show its truest form.

Make it soft or make it a thunderstorm.

Just make it…naked…as the lovely lines on your face.

It’s always hard to say the easy things,

But you can start by releasing things.

Don’t be nervous. Sometimes the surface is the safest place.

So break it down into its truest form.

Let it drown out pain and all your

Sorrows, and tomorrow, it will all be as natural as the lines on your face.

It ain’t over. We have just begun

To find an older way of being young

By freeing our real feelings from their hiding place.

So get inside to the truest form.

Let it shine. All we’re living for

Is just to say “I love you” with a smile made of the lines on your face.

Written by Emily Hurd

Sangria

Baby, it’s that time of the year when the winter disappears

And we cackle on the sidewalk like crows

And everything’s a black and white picture, except that Spanish pitcher

That we empty like the cafes we close

And we dress up nice for the folks that we mainly think are jokes

But still we don’t mind being part of their game

You are wearing black. I’m in brown. And we compliment the town

That’s full of people that think we are insane

Now Saturday is closing in—feels like a re-run

And Castaways is opening; my table’s for one

Because you’ve gone to California

And you say you’re fine there

But I’m here to inform ya

You’re still in my mind

Where you and I are sippin on sangria again

Sayin that you know I’m gonna see ya again

Prayin that I’m never gonna leave ya again

Baby, it’s that time of the night when we stop to get a bite

And talk of love with different men for awhile

Maybe not so much to begin making friends but just to spin

The tale on rainy days when we need to smile

The city smells of grills and of sweets people dropped upon the streets

And of the ashes from the smokes that you light

And you breathe it in 'cause you bet that tomorrow’s cigarette

Won’t taste as good as it’s been tasting tonight

The waves are getting stronger over by the lake shore

And days are getting longer; mine are growing short

Because you’ve gone to California

And you say you’re fine there

But I’m here to inform ya

You’re still in my mind

Where you and I are sippin on sangria again

Sayin that you know I’m gonna see ya again

Prayin that I’m never gonna leave ya again

Baby, it’s that time of the morning where the lines are quickly forming

For some breakfast somewhere down on Racine.

And we look like remnants of hours spent below the giant towers

In this city where my laugh made a scene.

You got a blister on your big toe 'cause your shoes were just for show

And we went walking til we wore out your sole

And so I take you home on my back like the heavy kind of sack

We used to wear when we were 13 years old

An arid wind is hanging all around Chicago

Sara could be changing and I would never know

Because she’s gone to California

And she says she’s fine there

But I’m here to inform ya

You’re still in my mind

Where you and I are sippin on sangria again

Sayin that you know I’m gonna see ya again

Prayin that I’m never gonna leave ya again

Written by Emily Hurd

Point of View

You sent me for water and I brought you back rain.

I gave you the picture when you wanted the frame.

I made for the ocean when you said to go home.

You said to be still so I turned into stone.

Well maybe I’m not right, but baby I’m not wrong.

Mine is just a little different.

And baby it’s no lie, maybe it’s the truth.

That mine is just a little different point of view.

You sent me for cover and I brought you back night.

I gave you a smile when you asked for a light.

You wanted the wind and I offered a breeze.

You said let’s get high so I took for the trees.

Well maybe I’m not right, but baby I’m not wrong.

Mine is just a little different.

And baby it’s no lie, maybe it’s the truth.

That mine is just a little different point of view.

You sent me for water and I brought you back rain

. I gave you the picture when you wanted the frame.

You asked how I feel so I started to cry.

You said to be happy so I told you goodbye.

Well maybe I’m not right, but baby I’m not wrong.

Mine is just a little different.

And baby it’s no lie, maybe it’s the truth.

That mine is just a little different point of view.

Written by Emily Hurd

Give What You Take

Love is wise. It hides in your eyes til you realize who to give it to.

Love is smart. It doesn’t start to get to your heart unless it’s true.

Love is good to the misunderstood who never could seem to catch a break.

Love is kind. It doesn’t mind; keep what you find, just give what you take.

Love likes to laugh. It takes all you have, then gives it all back when it comes again.

Love needs a home, 'cause if you roam, it leaves you alone wondring where it went.

Love is fast. It gives you a chance, and if you choose to pass, then it doesn’t wait.

Love is free, but it costs everything. Have what you need, just give what you take.

Love needs to breathe, so if it leaves, you gotta believe that it just stepped out.

'Cause love is just; it hurts if it must, but you gotta trust that it comes around.

Love is life. It’s what makes us cry, but it’s how we get by when it’s all at stake.

Love is long. It goes on and on. Get what you want, just give what you take.

Written by Emily Hurd

T-Spot

He’s a breath of fresh air in a smoky bar.

He’s a little leg room in a crowded car.

He is a little light rain when I’ve run for miles.

He’s a little bit strange just to see me smile.

And he’s where I go when I’m feeling low. And he’s all I know.

He’s a mezzanine on a spiral stair.

He is a little more rock in my rocking chair.

He is a little caffeine in a lecture hall.

He’s a clever rhyme on a bathroom stall.

And he’s how I sleep when I’m in too deep. And he’s all I see.

He’s a U-turn sign on a dead end road.

He’s a sweet little ten spot in my winter coat.

He’s a little more time to lie in bed. A

nd he’s a little more light when there’s none to shed.

He’s a photograph in a book of words.

He’s the only skin in a game of shirts.

He is a sip of wine when my lips are dry.

He’s a funny face just before I cry.

And he’s what I need when I’m feeling weak, and he’s into me. I know he is.

He’s a steady spot in an aftershock.

He is my favorite night and a broken clock.

He is a crimson red in a world of grey,

And he’s the rationale for why I should stay.

Written by Emily Hurd

The Way It Used To

It was years ago, but I still can go to places in my mind of a better time

When people said hello on the narrow roads where you could almost taste dew on Queen Anne’s lace,

And rain was good news.

Neighbors talked each day. Strangers weren’t so strange. And life had slower pace. Now it’s just a race

To see who’s got the most, who’s the better host. But this seems like a show. Won’t you make it go

The way it used to.

My old house is gone. Now it’s just a lawn. For someone else’s place. Everything’s a maze of

Pretty picked fence. And I get the sense that this is the new trend. Soon will be the end of

Days that I knew.

Flowing fishing brook. Reading an old book. By gold and yellow spun underneath the sun.

But we’ve built around where there once was ground where grass grew high as me. Won’t you make it be

The way it used to.

It’s funny how we all cling to all the small things keeping us in tact. I know I do that.

Every little smell triggers a whole well of feelings from inside. And all the lovely times

I’d stay beside you.

Breakfast in the night. Sleeping in the light. Fires on the shore. Lying on the porch.

Now my heart has grown. Harder than a stone. It’s turnin into steel. Won’t you make it feel

The way it used to?

Written by Emily Hurd

Wade

It’s windy in Chicago, and the ghosts are out tonight

But I’m not opposed to spirits, so I go in for some wine

The bar looks like an island made of light and smoke

And you’re eying me so silently and smiling 'cause you know

I wanna wade into your mind

And float away all through the night

And then, I wanna wake up by your side

And wade again

The man that sits behind me is high upon his pain

And the woman right behind me likes to hide behind her name

And Donny dons his history just like a gaudy glove

And you, you’re still a mystery, but you’re longin to be loved

I wanna wade into your mind

And float away all through the night

And then, I wanna wake up by your side

And wade again

Ryan’s buyin glory by lyin through his teeth

But his cryin sells his story well, so I try to believe

And you are pourin heavy, some heady kinda brew

And though I am unsteady, I am ready now for you

I wanna wade into your mind

And float away all through the night

And then, I wanna wake up by your side

And wade again

Well, I ain’t got a penny, but Benny foots my bill

And many now have emptied out, and we are standin still

You move like a movie, and I’m viewin frame by frame

And you’re doin somethin to me, and I’d like to do the same

I’m gonna wait for you outside

I’m gonna take you for a ride

Then I’m gonna stay with you tonight

I wanna wade into your mind

And float away all through the night

And then, I wanna wake up by your side

And wade again

 Written by Emily Hurd

Anything Holy

Father who art in the sky, can you hear your children cry?

They are calling you to rise up fighting.

Saints are showing signs of hate. They won’t pray outside your gate.

With all of this fragile faith, I’m finding no signs of anything holy.

Preacher says the sinner’s way is to save it all away,

So he guilts us into paying double.

We all watch him demonstrate how to hoard the Lord’s estate,

But passin round the collection plate, I had trouble finding anything holy.

Sunday morn, a man we know made a quiet cameo.

He was lookin for a hand to hold through his sorrow.

The congregation shook their heads, and judged him while in pious threads,

They went on drinking wine of red. I saw no sight of anything holy.

Christian man with Christian face says, “Man we gotta get some grace.”

So into strangers’ sacred space, he burrows.

He says, “See the helpless heretics. Let’s save their souls through politics.”

But in his stained-glass rhetoric, I heard no sound of anything holy.

Once I knew a girl who thought she must fear the word of God.

Now she’s made a life she’s not ashamed of.

Father who art in the sky, baptize me with rain and light.

That may be the only right way of feeling anything holy.

Written by Emily Hurd

Journal Entry #11

He’s heading down from London town where he has lived his life.

She’s bedding down from running round in Venice for the night.

He happens outside her hotel as she is waking up.

And there they meet in Italy. And they hold hands outside a trattoria.

They walk to La Giralda. They carve their names in its walls.

They talk throughout Granada about dancing in Nepal.

She tells him of her passions, and they fit his like a glove.

They thank their stars for Italy where they held hand outside a trattoria.

He gets accepted to a school where she does not apply.

She only says, “I do hope you return before I die.”

They kiss inside the subway to remind them they’re in love.

And of that time in Italy when they held hands outside a trattoria.

He finds himself a steady road and a job in New Orleans.

She finds herself a steady bloke who treats her like a queen.

He tells her that she’s beautiful, but still, it’s not enough.

To compare to Italy where she held hands outside a trattoria.

She goes to the market and returns later that night.

To a letter marked with his handwriting scrolled inside.

It says, “I have found and a fortune, friends, and fame, but all this stuff

Can’t compete with Italy when we held hands outside a trattoria.”

She doesn’t even pack before she takes off for the train.

She never does look back until it drops her in the rain.

She shows up wet and finds him cross the crowd with his hands up.

And there they meet in Italy. And they hold hands outside a trattoria.

Written by Emily Hurd