Thought Horse

(The Pencil Piece)
by Sarah Passemar

I composed this when I was living in the Writing House at Principia college... winter quarter my senior year... ...2007?

It's the first song I ever composed in my life.
Well... besides a little piano ditty when I was in second grade for Odyssey of the Mind that everyone said sounded like the Adams Family theme song, despite the fact that I didn't even know who the Adams Family were.  (Our family had rabbit ears, and thus, our tv only sported 3 channels.)
Oh, yeah, and that hymn assignment thing for Diatonic Harmony class.

But this is the first one that counts.
Say I.
(And so say we all.)

I started by writing the lyrics, then recording the piano part, then the vocals, a bit of guitar, then a bass line (that was the quarter I bought my bass), and then, late at night, I recorded the percussion.  The percussion is pencils being tapped on the desk in a quiet "I don't want to disturb anyone, but I really can't stop making this music 'cause I'm in the zone" kind of way.

It was the first time I had used any sort of recording program, so it sounds a little messy and doesn't quiiiite line up. I had intended to re-record it, which is why it is still titled "Thought Horse (Draft)" (I don't actually really like the title, but it kind of stuck.) When I played it for the band a couple months ago, I explained how I had recorded it, and they dubbed it "The Pencil Piece."


(music players equipt with fancy colors for your viewing pleasure)

The lyrics:


I saddle my thoughts
And go for a ride
Through the foggy fields
Of tomorrow

I follow a path
Familiar and tried
Which I imagine
You've ridden before

Oh, but somehow
It seems that yesterday's lies
Are barricading
My way

And what little that is left
Of our cirulean skies
Is a friendless, godforsaken
Grey

Tomorrow is just
Another yesterday
With little left
Left up to chance

An overcast memory
On constant replay
Living out
A lifeless romance

I guess I should put
Your memory to pasture
But it's hard to change habits
Midstream

But the fragments of you
Are dissolving faster
Than the shrouded whisper
Of a dream