Harrier Angel Lyrics: I Hardly Think

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Detective Reverend (D.R.) Jones has, for more than a decade,
found himself compelled to watch over those living and working in the
latter-day Arts and Crafts studio called Griselda's Fat Farm of Studio Art.

Ordained as a Jesuit priest, D.R. is a police chaplain, having
attained the rank of detective.

Naomi, proprietress at Griselda's, is married, but her husband has
been incarcerated ("For good, basically -- poor bastard," as his
daughter somewhat cynically puts it) on a "three strikes you're out"
conviction for petty drug possession.

The detective reverend has made it his personal mission to protect
the establishment and its inhabitants -- often from themselves.
Surprisingly (at least to him), D.R.'s concerns for the women, infants,
children, craftsmen and artisans at Griselda's have gone largely
unappreciated, and he has been cast in the role of adversary.

Even more painfully, he realizes that he has slowly, and what to him now
seems inevitably, fallen hopelessly in love with Naomi.



Harrier Angel CD Cover


I Hardly Think

© Cass von Braun and Jake Cassman— all rights reserved

My name is Frankie, but nobody knows this now
I haven't heard that name in years -- it's how
My sister used to call me in when it was time for dinner
We were so close, and heaven knows
She almost could have been me
I almost could have been her

For a time that's what it felt like with this one, too, though
A decade on proved that may never have been true, so
I hardly think I've been right about this,
Understood even myself, let alone an abyss
Of longing -- unrequited, out of season
That, once ignited, burns on beyond all reason

I'm trying to get over this, I swear I really am! Not.
Moments of resolve dissolve
Scenarios I rehearse reverse
I hardly think I should call it ''thought''
When I'm trying to get over this
And I really am not

I sometimes pass a few hours when
I hardly think about her -- well, it's a start, and then
At the brink of this momentous paradigm
Discover I miss being lovesick all the time
A mad rush of sorrow and loss for passion's fire
I hardly think there's treasure dark as living with this desire

Because I won't let it go, and I don't want to let it go
Of course I care! That's just the way it is, so
This is what caring is, and such
Things don't change that much
It may be contagious -- the scent of her skin
Some things become a part of you, once you breathe them in

And so I won't let it go! And I don't want to let it go!
Yet I am trying to get over this, I swear, I really am! Not.
Does obsession ever lessen?
Will I see progress if I confess?
I hardly think I should call it ''thought''
When I'm trying to get over this
And I really am not
I really am not



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