Sometimes I feel my mind just can't unravel the insanity my heart is coming up with. Most of the time, there's a song that's already done it. Sometimes when I feel like crap I can't find that artist, that album, that song - but sometimes God puts His hand on my mouse and helps me scroll through my music library and find that perfect album, the one that sends shivers down my spine as I realize just how perfectly it says what I'm feeling. And then sometimes I feel better, and sometimes I don't; and sometimes I know what to do, and sometimes I don't; and sometimes I want to scream that one guitar riff in Gone because it's this scream of agony and I just want to throw myself on the ground and weep ... and sometimes I want to croak along with Bono's desperate verse and find, oh please let me find what I'm looking for ...

These are all from U2's 1997 album Pop, and they, along the with the other songs on the album, describe my heart's longings far more accurately than my brain can decipher at the moment.

You can reach, but you can't grab it.
You can't hold it, control it, you can't bag it.

You can push, but you can't direct it -
circulate, regulate, oh no, you cannot connect it.

You know you're chewing bubble gum -
you know what that is but you still want some.
You just can't get enough of that lovey-dovey stuff.

You get confused, but you know it ...
Yeah, you hurt for it, work for it, love,
You don't always show it.

Let go, let's go, discothèque.
Go, go, let go, discothèque.

Looking for the one,
but you know you're somewhere else instead.
You want to be the song,
the song that you hear in your head
Love, love, love, love.

It's not a trick, you can't learn it -
it's the way that you don't pay, that's okay,
'cause you can't earn it ...

You know you're chewing bubble gum,

you know what that is but you still want some -
you just can't get enough of that lovey-dovey stuff.

Let go, let's go, discothèque.
Go, go, go, go, discothèque.

Looking for the one,
but you know you're somewhere else instead.
You want to be the song,
the song that you hear in your head ...
Love, love, love.

But you take what you can get
'cause it's all that you can find.
Oh you know there's something more ...
but tonight, tonight, tonight.
Boom cha, boom cha, discothèque.

Take these hands, they're good for nothing -
You know these hands never worked a day ...
Take these boots, they ain't going nowhere:
You know these boots don't want to stray.

You got my head filled with songs,
You got my shoelaces undone.
Take my shirt, go on, take it off me:
You can tear it up if You can tie me down.

Do you feel loved?
Do You feel loved?
Do you feel loved?

Do You feel loved?

Take the colours of my imagination,
take the scent hanging in the air,
take this tangle of a conversation,
turn it into Your own prayer
with my fingers as You want them
with my nails under Your hide
with my teeth at Your back
and my tongue to tell You the sweetest lies.

Do you feel loved?
Do You feel loved?
And it looks like the sun
but it feels like the rain ... oh ...

Love's a bully, pushing and shoving
in the belly of a woman ...
Heavy rhythm taking over
to stick together a man and a woman,

stick together man and a woman,
stick together ...

And I feel loved ...
Do you feel loved?
Do You feel loved?

And it looks like the sun
but it feels like rain
and there's heat in the sun
to see us through the rain.

Do you feel loved?
Do You feel loved?
Do you feel ...?
Do You feel ...?

Summer stretching on the grass, summer dresses pass ...
In the shade of a willow tree, creeps a-crawling over me,
over me and over you, stuck together with God's glue -
it's gonna get stickier too.
It's been a long hot summer,
let's get under cover ...
Don't try too hard to think ... don't think at all.

I'm not the only one staring at the sun,
afraid of what you'd find if you took a look inside.
I'm not just deaf and dumb, I'm staring at the sun -
not the only one who's happy to go blind.

There's an insect in your ear:
if you scratch it won't disappear.
It's gonna itch and burn and sting ...
Do you wanna see what the scratching brings?
Waves that leave me out of reach,
breaking on your back like a beach ...
Will we ever live in peace?
'Cause those that can't do often have to
and those that can't do often have to preach

to the ones staring at the sun,
afraid of what you'll find if you took a look inside.
Not just deaf and dumb, staring at the sun ...
I'm not the only one who'd rather go blind.

Intransigence is all around,
military's still in town -
armour plated suits and ties;
daddy just won't say goodbye.
Referee won't blow the whistle -
God is good but will He listen?
I'm nearly great but there's something missing:
I left it in the duty free,
oh, though you never really belonged to me.

You're not the only one staring at the sun,
afraid of what you'd find if you stepped back inside.
I'm not sucking my thumb, staring at the sun -
not the only one who's happy to go blind.

She feels the ground is giving way.
but she thinks we're better off that way.
"The more you take, the less you feel;
the less you know the more you believe;
the more you have, the more it takes today."

You gotta give it away,
you gotta give it away,
you gotta give it away,
give it away,
you gotta give it away,
you gotta give it away.

Well, she don't care what it's worth:
she's living like it's the last night on earth,
the last night on earth.

She's not waiting on a saviour to come,
she's at the bus stop
with the News Of The World,
and the sun, sun, here it comes.
She's not waiting for anyone.

You gotta give it away,
you gotta give it away,
you gotta give it away,
give it away,
you gotta give it away,
you gotta give it away.

Well, she don't care what it's worth:
she's living like it's the last night on earth,
the last night on earth.

Slipping away, slip, slide ...
The world turns and we get dizzy
slipping away.

The clock tells her that time is slipping:

minute hands and seconds sticking ...

There's something going on she might be missing.

The world turns and we get dizzy ...

is it spinning for you the way it's

spinning for me?

She's living, living next week now.
You know she's gonna pay you back somehow.
She hasn't been to bed in a week -
she'll be dead soon, then she'll sleep.

You gotta give it away,
you gotta give it away,
you gotta give it away,
give it away,
you gotta give it away,
you gotta give it away.

She already knows it hurts:
she's living like it the last night on earth,
the last night on earth,
last night on earth,
last night.

Jesus, Jesus help me:
I'm alone in this world
and a fucked-up world it is too.

Tell me, tell me the story,
the one about eternity
and the way it's all gonna be.

Wake up, wake up dead man -
wake up, wake up dead man.

Jesus, I'm waiting here, boss:
I know you're looking out for us
but maybe your hands aren't free.

Your Father, He made the world in seven,
He's in charge of heaven.
Will you put a word in for me?

Wake up, wake up dead man,
wake up, wake up dead man.

Listen to the words: they'll tell you what to do.
Listen over the rhythm that's confusing you.
Listen to the reed in the saxophone.
Listen over the hum of the radio.
Listen over the sound of blades in rotation.
Listen through the traffic and circulation.
Listen as hope and peace try to rhyme.
Listen over marching bands playing out their time.

Wake up, wake up dead man,
wake up, wake up dead man.

Jesus, were you just around the corner?
Did You think to try and warn her?
Were You working on something new?
If there's an order in all of this disorder,
is it like a tape recorder?
Can we rewind it just once more?

Wake up, wake up dead man,
wake up, wake up dead man.
Wake up, wake up dead man.

Discothèque, Do You Feel Loved?, Staring at the Sun, Last Night On Earth, and Wake Up Dead Man are all (c) U2, from their 1997 album Pop.