The making of a second something.

I'm thinking a lot about the next album; what will be on it and what won't. What the themes are and what the gaps are. I do abhor seeing lyrics written down. I like reading lyrics though, so maybe I'll get over it.
I might log how the whole process is going. People like processes, don't they? I realise that is a broad statement.
At the moment I'm just writing the songs.

Flower
Flower on the hedgerow, he would never pluck you – just grow. I won’t use your petals to determine if this love is true. Thorny little beauty, what suits him is bound to suit me. Flower, let me have your face for when he sees me again. And sun! You are the one to thaw us out. And sun, you are the one to bring this thing about.

Happy Birthday
I'm partially-sighted, partially drunk and I feel your eyes burning through my lungs. Appreciate I can't talk now. Know somehow that I'm partially happy, partially lost - oh, the hand was fair but the game was not. Generously, know I know and felt the blow. Wasn't going to speak of it but I found these chords and knew at once they were as good as yours. Happy Birthday, for when it is, I hope you find your happiness.
Your fruitcake bed was draped with icing, pure as starched cotton. Sheets taut like nurse-tugged cotton and you: wanton shrapnel wounded private. ‘We have to be quiet,’ you said, into neck, ear and pillow. How un-sullied the bedstead compares to life outside the homestead.

Horse bit ‘n’ whip
You are out of your mind. For some time you have been. I am out of your mind, I mean; viola no good for me - piano no good. You are out of your head. I should have smacked some sense into you. I am out of your bed, I mean; amour no good to me - no more Amour. It's the same horse bit and whip; it's the same horse bit and whip. You are out on your ear. Wah, wah, wah, your howling heart. I am out of your hearing, I mean, and where are you looking – where do your eyes rest? Looking up?