Inner turmoil, unending guilt and self-abhorrence are depicted in this recovering catholic lament. It's a tell-tale, country-folk song with a happy go lucky beginning that takes a turn to the dark side as the words sink into your brain. The tale is as old as religion and digs unapologetically into a couple of reasons why some of us are as screwed up as we are. The events are not real, so don't get any funny ideas. Just sit back, relax and have a laugh! And if you're super religious, please don't be offended by my indelicate humour.
My mom was a good God-fearing Catholic who went to Church in her Sunday best at least once a week for her entire adult life. She volunteered plenty and gave just enough to the church, being the thrifty type. Us four kids had to attend catechism, get confirmed and visit the confessional on a regular basis; all the bells and whistles of the drudgery of organized religion. My brothers were alter boys; oh, the stories they could tell. I was slightly jealous because they got to steal the wine and wafers. Finally, after hearing a sermon where a priest claimed that in order to enter heaven, one must be baptised a Catholic, I told mom I had had enough. This was after several priests in our district had gone to prison for child molestation. She was, of course, disgusted with me for leaving the church.
On the other hand, Mark's mom, Jola was a pretend Catholic. Which meant she went to church after a good night of drinking. Because Mark's dad deemed it so, the kids took all the sacraments, classes and such. The kids and especially Jola enjoyed the fellowship after the mass, being the party animal that she was. But the whole church going ritual was just for show; keeping up with the Joneses as they say. Mark recalled most Sundays were fun but after a while, he began to notice that other families behaved very differently from his. He bares, like I do, the invisible scars left by the hypocrisy of the religious mania of our youth. I now consider myself a 'spiritual atheist'.
Don't get me wrong, we loved our mommas! They instilled in us some of the best qualities of who we are today. I got to sing and harmonize and sew and create beautiful things with my mom and Mark got to party and smoke weed and dance and have fun with his mom.
Ah, the innocence of my youth. Now that I'm all growd up, I laugh at the absurdity of it all.
I had to release this song after my mom's demise or there would be "hell to pay" as she would say. So, this week, you get an old-timey, country tune with crisp, acoustic, rhythm guitar that is as nice as it gets. Mark Sheldan (marksheldan.com) plays a subtle bass and the upbeat combination of straight harp mixed with cross harp. Sweet, Smokeywine harmonies caress your ears as the strange, sad lyrics perk them up again. (Smokeywine.com) My friend, Linnette, suggested I write a sequel to this number called: 'LOL I Love Myself'. I'll get right on that... Until next time, Love, Laugh and Dance! ~*.*~ Lea Sheldan
#LoveLaughDance #YearOfTheGreatRelease #ListenToThis #LeaSheldanBlog #SOS #RecoveringCatholicSong #FunnySongs #ReligiousParody #SmokeywineTheDuo #CountryFolk #SingerSongwriter
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Sing along with the lyrics below:
S.O.S. I Hate Myself
I don’t know what is wrong, friends say I’ve got it all
Sure I’m grateful for everything I have
I do not have a clue, though I’m nobody’s fool
How I could wind up feeling sad
I guess it was my mother, who told me I was bad
And that I’d go to hell if I did the neighbor’s lad
S.O.S. I hate myself
I'm guilty in sins piled up like wealth
The catholic way is doing in my health
S.O.S. I hate myself
I don’t know why I try, it’s all a great big lie
With God away on holiday, I bet
Why can’t I pass the test? I stammer at success
And haven’t found the key to happy yet
I guess it was my brother, who told me I was cute
And he’d give me a quarter, if he could touch my boob
S.O.S. I hate myself
I'm guilty in sins piled up like wealth
The catholic way is doing in my health
S.O.S. I hate myself
S.O.S. I hate myself
written by Lea Sheldan
copyright 2019 Socan
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