I dreamed a dream when hope was high...
There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong
I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame
He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came
And still I dream he'll come to me
And we'll live our lives together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed
I remember I first heard this song when I was really small. I just liked the way it sounded. I liked the climax, the crescendo. I loved how beautiful it was. It got loud and exciting, and that's all I really knew of it. I remember wanting to see Les Mis even before I knew what it was. Maybe it was when I first heard this song or when I saw Fallon wearing a T-shirt bearing its unmistakable trademark: the roughly drawn face of a sad, young girl. I wanted to see the musical before I even knew what musicals were. Eventually I forgot about it, when NSYNC, Britney Spears and Backstreet Boys occupied too much of my musical interest.
Then, in an early episode of Dawson's Creek, I watched Joey, a shy, tomboy girl with a secret crush sing "On My Own," and all of a sudden, I wanted the musical again. I rewound the VHS tape over and over again and listened to her sing the words, and the words were my words, my feelings. I was maybe 11 years old, and I was certain I knew exactly what she was singing about. I wanted to see the musical even if it stretched no further than these two songs.
In years to come, I became intensely romanticized by the idea of living in New York City. Maybe it's because I grew up in such a small town, but I saw no other end for me than in the massive, world-famous, bustling city. My aunt brought me there repeatedly when I was young. I fell in love with the idea of living in some beautiful apartment in upper Manhattan. Of standing in lightly falling snow, watching other tiny girls in their red winter pea coats staring longingly up at the world's most famous Christmas Tree. It's this image I've always had ... one of those memories you feel like you were born with. I'm not even sure if I actually remember it or if I've just seen so many pictures and fantasized about it so many times. I connected my need for the city and my desire for the musical. They were one in the same. The city was where you saw musicals. I remember when we got our first computer, I stared at and wrote out on notebooks the lyrics to these two songs. I scrawled out the words repeatedly until I memorized them completely. I looked up the story. I searched whatever pictures I could find. I don't know if there were videos of it, but if there were, I never found them. After a while, again the desire dimmed, and I forgot about Les Mis and the big city, though it never really disappeared. Once I started making CDs, On My Own and I Dreamed a Dream made frequent appearances on my earlier mixes. And though it was foggy and rough around the edges, the city was still my assumed destination, my eventual future.
A few nights ago, I was watching Glee, and there it was again. A beautiful, yet slightly altered, rendition of I Dreamed A Dream. It blew me away. I've spent the last two hours listening to it on repeat. Over and over again. It's one of those songs you just can't get sick of. It's interesting how songs can be with you your whole life. It's remarkable that I can remember listening to this when I was so young, again when I was older and intermittently through the years until now, and how it suddenly takes on such a different meaning than it did before. On My Own, too, means something so different to me now. When I heard these songs before, they resonated so strongly; I couldn't see an end to those emotions. I never imagined myself getting past whatever I was dealing with at that time. But I did. It's so strange to me to hear this song now and have it represent something so entirely unrelated. And for whatever reason, I find myself grasping for the new necklace resting on my chest. Suddenly I've realized what a different place I'm in now, how old I actually am. The reality of what I'm standing on the edge of just hit me so strongly. I'm on the brink of something new. I'm realizing something I was never even willing to realize before, and it's utterly terrifying. It's like I'm poised on this line separating two halves of me. I can remember what was there before, but I see the future that is too soon going to be my present. I'm sure someday again I'll hear these songs and remember this moment, these feelings, and the songs will of course mean something new by that time. To imagine what they may mean is both exciting and terrifying. I'm afraid to imagine too much. I always have been. Maybe the next time these songs strike me will be from the seats of a beautiful theater. Maybe I'll finally see the musical and it will be exactly what I imagined all those years ago, but I'm betting it will be more.
I imagine it will be one of those strange moments where you suddenly feel 5 years old again, and 11 and 15 and 18 and 21. All these different years I've worn. Some so much more significant than others.
This started as a need to write out the lyrics. I wanted to jot down quickly how much I loved the song and how I still desperately wanted to see this musical. Maybe I just needed to write, or cry or sing so loud and long my throat hurt. I haven't had a ton of time to do any of these things lately. But it feels wonderful to finally get around to it. Complete unadulterated musings. No spell check, no second thoughts. Just writing till I have no words left. Crying until I have no tears left. Singing till I have no voice. Letting myself feel whatever it is I feel and think without wondering why. It feels good to finally have the time, the privacy, the perfect soundtrack.
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong
I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame
He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came
And still I dream he'll come to me
And we'll live our lives together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed
I remember I first heard this song when I was really small. I just liked the way it sounded. I liked the climax, the crescendo. I loved how beautiful it was. It got loud and exciting, and that's all I really knew of it. I remember wanting to see Les Mis even before I knew what it was. Maybe it was when I first heard this song or when I saw Fallon wearing a T-shirt bearing its unmistakable trademark: the roughly drawn face of a sad, young girl. I wanted to see the musical before I even knew what musicals were. Eventually I forgot about it, when NSYNC, Britney Spears and Backstreet Boys occupied too much of my musical interest.
Then, in an early episode of Dawson's Creek, I watched Joey, a shy, tomboy girl with a secret crush sing "On My Own," and all of a sudden, I wanted the musical again. I rewound the VHS tape over and over again and listened to her sing the words, and the words were my words, my feelings. I was maybe 11 years old, and I was certain I knew exactly what she was singing about. I wanted to see the musical even if it stretched no further than these two songs.
In years to come, I became intensely romanticized by the idea of living in New York City. Maybe it's because I grew up in such a small town, but I saw no other end for me than in the massive, world-famous, bustling city. My aunt brought me there repeatedly when I was young. I fell in love with the idea of living in some beautiful apartment in upper Manhattan. Of standing in lightly falling snow, watching other tiny girls in their red winter pea coats staring longingly up at the world's most famous Christmas Tree. It's this image I've always had ... one of those memories you feel like you were born with. I'm not even sure if I actually remember it or if I've just seen so many pictures and fantasized about it so many times. I connected my need for the city and my desire for the musical. They were one in the same. The city was where you saw musicals. I remember when we got our first computer, I stared at and wrote out on notebooks the lyrics to these two songs. I scrawled out the words repeatedly until I memorized them completely. I looked up the story. I searched whatever pictures I could find. I don't know if there were videos of it, but if there were, I never found them. After a while, again the desire dimmed, and I forgot about Les Mis and the big city, though it never really disappeared. Once I started making CDs, On My Own and I Dreamed a Dream made frequent appearances on my earlier mixes. And though it was foggy and rough around the edges, the city was still my assumed destination, my eventual future.
A few nights ago, I was watching Glee, and there it was again. A beautiful, yet slightly altered, rendition of I Dreamed A Dream. It blew me away. I've spent the last two hours listening to it on repeat. Over and over again. It's one of those songs you just can't get sick of. It's interesting how songs can be with you your whole life. It's remarkable that I can remember listening to this when I was so young, again when I was older and intermittently through the years until now, and how it suddenly takes on such a different meaning than it did before. On My Own, too, means something so different to me now. When I heard these songs before, they resonated so strongly; I couldn't see an end to those emotions. I never imagined myself getting past whatever I was dealing with at that time. But I did. It's so strange to me to hear this song now and have it represent something so entirely unrelated. And for whatever reason, I find myself grasping for the new necklace resting on my chest. Suddenly I've realized what a different place I'm in now, how old I actually am. The reality of what I'm standing on the edge of just hit me so strongly. I'm on the brink of something new. I'm realizing something I was never even willing to realize before, and it's utterly terrifying. It's like I'm poised on this line separating two halves of me. I can remember what was there before, but I see the future that is too soon going to be my present. I'm sure someday again I'll hear these songs and remember this moment, these feelings, and the songs will of course mean something new by that time. To imagine what they may mean is both exciting and terrifying. I'm afraid to imagine too much. I always have been. Maybe the next time these songs strike me will be from the seats of a beautiful theater. Maybe I'll finally see the musical and it will be exactly what I imagined all those years ago, but I'm betting it will be more.
I imagine it will be one of those strange moments where you suddenly feel 5 years old again, and 11 and 15 and 18 and 21. All these different years I've worn. Some so much more significant than others.
This started as a need to write out the lyrics. I wanted to jot down quickly how much I loved the song and how I still desperately wanted to see this musical. Maybe I just needed to write, or cry or sing so loud and long my throat hurt. I haven't had a ton of time to do any of these things lately. But it feels wonderful to finally get around to it. Complete unadulterated musings. No spell check, no second thoughts. Just writing till I have no words left. Crying until I have no tears left. Singing till I have no voice. Letting myself feel whatever it is I feel and think without wondering why. It feels good to finally have the time, the privacy, the perfect soundtrack.