Author: Greg Scheer

I’ve had the idea of writing a love song about the tip of the iceberg for years. But FAWM 2025 finally gave me the kick in the bummock I needed to finish it.*

Discerning listeners will note overtones of They Might Be Giants’ “Don’t Let’s Start.” Indeed, TMBG have been a big influence on me. Mostly, it’s just a fun song that I could bang out quickly.

And that’s what FAWM is all about: 14 songs in 28 days. Over the years, FAWM has taught me to write quickly, reserving initial judgment. There’s always a chance to go back and edit a song–or even throw it in the rubbish–but you can’t do anything with a song you haven’t written. Ditto for the recording process. I could spend weeks on each demo I record, but instead I work ten times as quickly as most people and learn ten times as many valuable lessons that I can apply to “real” recordings.

But maybe I’m just trying to validate a kind of stupid idea. Your call.

1. Oh, Valentine, I just can’t hide
all the passion that I have inside me.
It makes me sigh–I don’t know why.
How do you woo me when you don’t even seem to try?

2. Hey, Valentine, I have to confide:
I never thought I’d fall for the brainy type.
We were friends and that was grand
and that is all it was when all of this began.

I wanted love that was firm and lasting
and I didn’t know
if I was being stupid and just typecasting.
And then you showed me that

That was just the tip
of the iceberg.

2. I don’t know, maybe I thought you were cold,
but soon my heart was melting what I thought was frozen.
I don’t want to make the point too fine,
but sometimes it felt you showed me only 12.5

percent of the real you–were you leading me on?
Below the surface there was so much more,
and I loved what I saw.

When you showed me the tip
of the iceberg.

BRIDGE

Oh, Valentine, it was all a surprise.
now that I’ve seen below the surface I’m ready to take a dive.

*Iceberg joke.

This song started when a single line popped into my head: “It could have been worse, but I’m not sure how.” Certainly a promising opening, right? As I played with it, “worse” rhymed with “hearse” and suddenly it turned into a song about a guy who has died, yet remains hopeful. What can I say? I go where the music leads.

If you love yourself some Ataris, this one’s for you.

1. It could have been worse,
but I’m not sure how.
We all arrived in a hearse
and they won’t let me out.

They said it’s all up from here,
but now I’m not so sure,
‘cause I’m gasping for air
and they’re shoveling dirt.

It’s been a year.
It’s all up from here.

I try to see things on the bright side
even when they’re looking bleak.
What’s the point in dramatizing
everything?

2. Things are looking up
even though I’m down.
I thought I’d had enough,
when it was just starting out.

But it’s not so bad.
(It’s also not so great.)
Maybe I should be sad,
but that can probably wait.

Chorus

3. As the crowd dispersed,
I realized
it was so well rehearsed
that nobody cried.

But it could have been worse
though I’m not sure why.
And even though it still hurts.
I’ll just give it some time.

Chorus

I’m going to be vulnerable and let you hear a song I’ve had rattling around in my brain for a while. You might assume that a person who has composed over 100 Psalm settings and has dozens of songs in hymnals would be a person of bullet-proof faith. The sad fact is that I, too, have my seasons of doubt.

The full title of this song is “Maybe (Hymn for a Reconstructing Friend).” There’s been a lot of talk about people “deconstructing” faith, often decried by those who claim it’s heresy to mature beyond the simplicity of Sunday School faith. I think it’s better to talk about “reconstructing” faith. But first, you have to lament the doubt that comes before rebuilding.

1. I wish I had more faith in faith,
   but of late it’s hard believing.
   It’s not like it was in simpler days
   when the answer was always “Jesus.”
   But now life’s gotten so complex
   and I keep looking for some answers.
   But the answers never seem to fit,
   except, I guess, for “maybe.”

Maybe simple answers aren’t enough.
Maybe a hallelujah is too much.
Maybe honest doubt is my song of love.

2. Oh, the devil was a wily snake
   when he offered Eve the apple.
   Were she and Adam wrong to want a taste
   of the fruit of truth and wisdom?
   And is it really such a sin
   to be curious and naked?
   Do we have to run and hide again,
   as if being human’s shameful?

Maybe simple answers aren’t enough.
Maybe a hallelujah is too much.
If I knew the tune, I would sing along.

3. I would love to hear that still, small voice
   cutting through the constant chatter.
   Have I grown deaf or has God gone hoarse?
   I’m still listening for an answer.
   What once enflamed my eager heart
   no longer seems to move me.
   Oh, I’d give everything I’ve got
   to simply have some feeling.

Maybe simple answers aren’t enough.
Maybe a hallelujah is too much.
I can only sing the song I know.