Blur — Tender. I prefer the live versions, the chorus with the choir never felt quite right to me even if it is a sing-along hymn.
The very sappy night of Tuesdays in May.
Tender is the ghost
The ghost I love the most
Hiding from the sun
Waiting for the night to come
Tender is my heart
I’m screwing up my life
Lord I need to find
Someone who can heal my mind
I could lie to myself — and sometimes I do — but I’m not the existentialist I think I am. Even though I don’t believe in the “complete me” and “half a soul” for one bit, I am a bleeding heart romantic. Sort of. It’s sprinkled with cynical toppings and pockets of self-destructive sarcasm. There are a wide array of issues that make this and I a bad mix. That’s why I sometimes lie and claim to be that existentialist. It’s easier to combine with body horror.
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