Martin sat on the stool in the recording studio with his guitar on his knee. It was covered in faded stickers from various things he could hardly remember.
His calloused fingers played the simple cords and riffs for the song. It was a song that needed the lyrics to speak for themselves.
In a cold dark place
Below a smoky sky
Need some more space
'Cause the air is chocking me.
His head swayed to the music slightly, eyes closed. He was less nervous with his eyes closed.
I know what's wrong
I always knew it would happen
Still can't make me strong
Why would it?
His voice echoed slightly, but that was ok. His strumming picked up speed with odd notes thrown in.
Because away from the aeroplanes
On the dusty cold ground
My soul tied down by chains
And my messed up love for you.
Of aeroplane wings
In midnight glow
And guitar strings
In the minor key.
I'll fly away
I won't be hurt
My soul is grey
And covered in blood.
He took a silent breath. It was like he was at rock-bottom again.
You've slapped me, you hurt me
You called me names
You wouldn't let me be free
So I'll fly away, in the dead of the night.
He had demons; he had his way of exercising them. You had to find coping mechanisms if life had fucked you over as often as it had him.
Oh, the vodka won't help forever
And the needle's calling with the cigarettes
No, I'm not being clever
Just spending nights in prison cells.
So I won't last forever
I'll go out with drama.
The dry skin on his fingers peeled slightly as they crashed over grooved metal strings.
Because away from the aeroplanes
On the dusty cold ground
My soul tied down by chains
And my messed up love for you.
Of aeroplane wings
In midnight glow
And guitar strings
In the minor key.
I'll fly away
I won't be hurt
My soul is grey
And covered in blood.
Covered in blood at the bottom of a stone staircase; high and drunk, babbling, his (now, thankfully, ex) girlfriend standing at the top, arms folded and laughing at her boyfriend that had turned to drink and drugs because of her abuse.
So I'm lying in a hospital bed
My heart broken and my soul rotting.
There's a bandage 'round my head
And restraints around my wrist.
Of course, she denied everything. What girl hit a boy? He was so much stronger than her.
Bullshit.
Of course she'd never hit me, she's a little girl
Shut up and take it, be a man
She's as dainty as a pearl
And you're a slut, a junkie, a stone-cold drunk.
Stay away from her you liar
She's a perfect little angel.
He was clean now, and getting better. Cuts and bruises healed, bones set; he'd put on a little weight after detoxing from the heroin, so he wasn't skin and bone anymore, but he was still rather thin and sickly.
Because away from the aeroplanes
On the dusty cold ground
My soul tied down by chains
And my messed up love for you.
Of aeroplane wings
In midnight glow
And guitar strings
In the minor key.
I'll fly away
I won't be hurt
My soul is grey
And covered in blood.
Who listened to what a junkie says when the perfect little girl next door burst into tears at the 'unfair' accusation.
I'm laying here, almost dead
You're playing the perfect girl
All those fake tears you shed…
Of course he was lying. He was just some criminal scum.
Because away from the aeroplanes
On the dusty cold ground
My soul tied down by chains
And my messed up love for you.
Of aeroplane wings
In midnight glow
And guitar strings
In the minor key.
I'll fly away
I won't be hurt
My soul is grey
And covered in blood.
Covered in my own blood.
"That's much better, Martin," Carolyn said from behind the glass.
"Thanks…" Martin exhaled, tears slipping down his cheekbones. He wiped his face.
"You can get out of there; Douglas should be here soon."
"Already here, actually," Douglas leaned casually against the doorframe.
"Yeah, get in there Douglas and turf Martin out."
"Hard song?"
"Emotional song. You know how his are, they're all so depressing."
"The one about flying down from the bridge, never breathing again? The one about red ribbons on wrists?"
"And more," Carolyn sighed.
"That's just Martin, he's a dark person under the ginger hair, freckles and stuttering. What was it about this time?"
"Relationship abuse, alcoholism, drugs and cigarettes."
"He needs to lighten up."
"Just get in there and do your job."
"Good luck Douglas," Martin said in passing, eyes slightly bloodshot.
"I don't need luck."
Douglas stretched his fingers before his fingers touched the ivory of the piano. He was only covering a piece, he had no motivation to write now-a-days. He sung 'Somewhere Only We Know' – Keene version, thank you very much.
His mind kept flicking back to Martin, though.