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Hindsight

by Annie Moriondo

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1.
(When I Grow Up) I Want to be Old 02:18
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Every poet and fool From the romantic school Sings of youthful love and dreams And the vain hedge their bets With immense cabinets Full of anti-aging creams They say time is unkind Well, I pay them no mind Why believe what I am told? Go proclaim your untruth About the pleasures of youth When I grow up I want to be old I’ll get wrinkles, of course And gravitational force Will take its toll on my physique But I’ll have plenty to flaunt Because who wouldn’t want To appraise a true antique Now I’m not even thirty And already dirty Old men say I leave them cold Well, guess what Mr. Humbert You’re badly outnumbered When I grow up I want to be old They say don’t ask a lady’s age Unless you want to send her into fits of rage Well, if you just can’t tell by guessing Ask me and you’ll have my blessing Each silver thread That I find on my head Is worth its weight in gold You can sit back and watch While I age like Scotch When I grow up I want to be old To sleep, to dream, well there’s the rub I’d rather join the hundred-twenty-seven club And I’ll say to each prospective member Hello May, my name’s December I won’t be done Having my kind of fun Till those funeral bells have tolled I don’t care if you need me Just don’t try to feed me When I grow up I want to be old
2.
Virtually Nobody 02:44
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Hello Mister President Do you recognize us? We’ve been hoping for a while You’d drop by and surprise us We are the unlucky ones Friends and neighbors, daughters, sons The thousands you were too proud to see We are virtually nobody Hello Mister President How have you been feeling? Lying in your private room Staring at the ceiling We’re the ones that you ignored Gasping in our crowded wards Look at us, who else could we be? We are virtually nobody When your muscles start to ache When your fever will not break Just remember it’s all fake Be optimistic See your doctor’s worried frown As inside your lungs you drown Rest assured they’ll round you down As a false statistic Hello Mister President What are you afraid of? Isn’t this a little flu? Show us what you’re made of Scream and yell, take off your mask God forbid you stop to ask Once it takes you, who will you be? You’ll be virtually nobody If on your surveillance tape You should see a flickering shape Don’t try making your escape We’re right behind you When tonight you close your eyes You’ll sit up and realize You can hear our dying cries Let them remind you Hello Mister President If you do recover What will you tell our grieving friends, Children, and lovers? If instead you join our ranks History will owe us thanks Where your name belongs they will see He was virtually nobody
3.
Dulcenea 03:01
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Sounds like a devil’s bargain Let’s cut away the part that’s gone wrong Lucky for you this is not a fable, there’s nothing to prove Sometimes what doesn’t kill you Only makes the pain last too long And there’s no reason to repress what you can remove I know the timing feels like the cruel kind of joke I know the future feels like a handful of smoke I know you’re leaving and you’re not coming back This is one thing you don’t have to pack Dulcenea, it didn’t take this long to find That every time you move you leave a little bit of you behind Dulcenea, what they don’t tell you about Is sometimes what you leave is something you’d be better off without They ask a dozen questions About the kids you might someday want As if you hadn’t had enough flesh and blood for one life As you repeat your answer Your eyes are firm, your smile nonchalant And you go in to shake the hand that will hold the knife It’s not an epic, unless you want it to be It’s not a drama, unless you need sympathy It’s not a slapstick, but you could use a good laugh Take a bow when they saw you in half Dulcenea, it didn’t take this long to find That every time you move you leave a little bit of you behind Dulcenea, what they don’t tell you about Is sometimes what you leave is something you’d be better off without So clear your schedule for the next couple weeks Arrange your bedsheets for Victorian chic It’s like a sentence that you go back and reread Sometimes one cut is all that you need Dulcenea, it didn’t take this long to find That every time you move you leave a little bit of you behind Dulcenea, what they don’t tell you about Is sometimes what you leave is something you’d be better off without
4.
Wait 04:31
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I take a little perfume, I put it on my wrists Just to remind myself somewhere outside this place exists It smells like foreign cities, it smells like love and loss It smells like walking out alone beneath the Southern Cross Before it all unraveled I had the perfect plan To pack my whole life up and fit it in a four door sedan Right now I’m not complaining, some bubbles should be burst I’d do it on my own but circumstances got there first So if I ever ask you what happens next Just remind me you’d be rich if you knew And there’s only one answer that I need to hear If you catch me saying, what should I do Tell me to wait There’s something pulling at me, I can’t quite keep my grip Maybe I am the magnet, maybe I’m the paper clip I count the things I’m chasing, I count the things I had if it turns out that I’m the paper clip is that so bad So if I ever ask you what happens next Just remind me you’d be rich if you knew And there’s only one answer that I need to hear If you catch me saying, what should I do Tell me to wait I’m a stubborn unbeliever, I’m still hung up on fate I’m afraid the things I’ve done have been too little too late That’s exactly why I need you to do something I’ll hate Tell me to wait I take a little perfume, I pack it with my things Next to a passport and a toothbrush and a set of strings I’m under no illusion that they will see much use But I’ll be waiting in the doorway for a good excuse So if I ever ask you what happens next Just remind me you’d be rich if you knew And there’s only one answer that I need to hear If you catch me saying, what should I do Tell me to wait Tell me to wait Tell me to wait
5.
The King Is Not Home 04:18
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The king is not home The hour is late His carriage has left For his country estate And he won’t say a word to the envoys From Paris and Rome The king is not home The king is not pleased His courtiers say He’s passing a law Of lèse-majesté So that all who speak ill of his name Will be brought to their knees The king is not pleased There is a plague stalking the land Feasting on common blood and royal He shrugs it off, watching the sick Shrug off this heavy mortal coil And he laughs as he says to himself Have the peasants not learned I can have all their villages burned The king is not ill Well, not anymore The physicians at court Have settled that score For the thousands who languish in sickbeds He spares not one pill The king is not ill Scholars line up outside his door Clamoring for his abdication To his own face, there in the glass He says they act above their station They ask not for his head, only that it be stripped of its crown One by one he will strike them all down The king is not kind He claims to be so For his glamorous friends He puts on a show To the children he chains at his gates He won’t pay any mind The king is not kind There is a mob out on the lawn Torches and pitchforks in their clutches Heeding his words, chanting his name, Helping him ruin all he touches And the blood and the ashes and chaos are balm to his soul See him smile as the heads start to roll The king is not dead His portrait is torn The new chancellors look At once proud and forlorn As they travel this battle-scarred land Wondering what lies ahead The king is not dead
6.
Cold Comfort 02:53
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Nobody else is getting laid Nobody else is having fun Nobody else is getting rich I’m glad I’m not the only one Nobody else knows what to do Nobody else knows who to call That’s such cold comfort That it’s hardly comfort at all We’ve all got fear of missing out There’s nothing out there we could miss Look in the window right next door It all looks pretty much like this I wonder if I’ll fall behind I don’t have very far to fall That’s such cold comfort That it’s hardly comfort at all I used to dream of faraway beaches Trips to foreign lands But now I dream of a coffee and a scone And for the first time ever I know That everyone understands Why do I feel like I’m dreaming all alone Nobody knows what happens next Nobody thinks it will be fine Nobody wants to say out loud How much is really on the line Nobody’s looking up to me But then again, I’m not that tall That’s such cold comfort That it’s hardly comfort at all I used to have my schedule prepared For years and years from now Now thinking of next week is much too soon Go on and tell me that there will be A Saturday somehow I’ll believe you when it’s Friday afternoon Nobody knows what happens next Nobody thinks it will be fine Nobody wants to say out loud How much is really on the line There is a chance we will succeed That’s not to say it isn’t small That’s such cold comfort That it’s hardly comfort at all
7.
Days of Love 03:11
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I see the sun Shining on a lonely street Shouldn’t it have had the common sense Not to tease when we have no defense And if by chance Two solitary paths should meet We trade a little nod of shared ennui We’re in a farce within a tragedy I’m waiting for days of love Though they may come back strange Waiting for days of love And meanwhile the seasons change I used to walk In a garden on a hill Another time, another hemisphere Before I knew I’d end up right back here Now that I’m gone I like to think about it still Spindly roses blooming in the spring Just to see it I’d do anything I’m waiting for days of love Though they may come back strange Waiting for days of love And meanwhile the seasons change And I’m longing for skin on skin Wanting what I can’t get It’s not forever I tell my poor heart not yet My feet are restless My flesh aches for touch again I could be patient If only I could know when There is a room Up a little flight of stairs Where I used to go to learn to dance I’ll be back there when I get the chance Some distant day If your travels lead you there Say I sent you and they might be charmed Spend the evening in a stranger’s arms I’m waiting for days of love Though they may come back strange Waiting for days of love And meanwhile the seasons change Waiting for days of love Waiting for days of love Waiting for days of love

about

This is my pandemic album. I say that for a number of reasons: because all of it was written after the start of the coronavirus pandemic; because the virus has crept into these lyrics just like it has into daily life; and because the DIY, lo-fi, computer-microphone aesthetic it ended up with is apropos for the plague years we are living in. I think these songs deserve better treatment, and I hope to revisit them someday with a better recording setup and someone who knows what they’re doing at the helm, but it felt fitting to release them now. I hope this finds you well.

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released January 20, 2021

music, lyrics, vocals, guitar, cover photo: Annie Moriondo

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Annie Moriondo Boston, Massachusetts

Annie Moriondo is a singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist from Massachusetts. Her music combines pop melodies with a folk sensibility and an emphasis on storytelling. She cites Vienna Teng, Richard Thompson and Natalie Haas among the artists who have influenced her work. ... more

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