I wrote my first-ever song lyrics yesterday. It's a musical theater workshop, so keep in mind that the parameters are very different from the kind of music (or comedy) most of us like: more storytelling than rocking, more wit than funny.
It's also written for a specific (female) singer, based on an interview I did with her - I have no embarrassment or shame whatsoever that I wrote a love song for a guy, though it is ironic, as I'm the only straight male writer in the room.
Here are the lyrics: I'll post an .mp3 if there ever is one. Forrest, this is all happening in your neck of the woods if you want to get coffee sometime.
"My Israeli Guy"
Music by Marisa Michelson, lyrics by me
I wake up smelling coffee
From gay husband/roommate, Greg
The radiator hisses
As he boils me an egg
I think of my Israeli guy
I mean, The Israeli guy
We dated once, and nearly kissed
But I refuse to get invested
In this thing that can't exist
I'm hustling down Fifth Avenue
Avoiding killer moms,
A fleet of speeding taxis,
And a madman shouting Psalms
I dream of my Israeli guy
My hairy sweet Israeli guy
I think about
The time that he
Won ten bucks in the lottery
He bought ten more
Gave nine to me
I love his generosity
I really should call my mother
And practice piano more
The last thing I need's another
Entanglement with a man
I think he'll understand
At my desk, he texts me
My Mediterranean expat
Before I know what I am thinking
My thoughts have turned to sex chat
I drift to my Israeli guy
His shoulders and his lisp
My rugged, cute Israeli guy
I float off in a wisp
I can't believe
The ways that he
Remains lodged in my memory
We talk all night
Stay up 'til three
The romance of philosophy
I really should stop this dreaming
This magical thinking's bad
It really is unbeseeming
This mania for a man
He wouldn't understand
I wish these thoughts could be dismissed
I'll hold my heart in my clenched fist
I'll wait for my lust to subsist
If he's not here he won't be missed
Please don't let me get invested
In this thing doesn't even really not even a little
This thing - my Israeli guy and me - doesn't even exist
(I'm picturing a sort of improvisational Lena Horne scat-like thing here)