Stories of Songs: Heaven Is My Alibi

Stories of Songs is a series of my writings that are either based on or inspired by 1-2 lines from various songs. For this first one, it's inspired by Heaven is my Alibi by Michael Learns To Rock (MLTR), a song from their latest album Scandinavia. The line of inspiration is italicised underneath the song title.

The song and its lyrics fascinate me—the motif of space (e.g. heaven and stars) resonates not just throughout this song, but also throughout the album, such as in the songs Space Commander and briefly in Please Forgive Me. I wonder if there's a reason for that? But let's go on to the story.

Heaven is my Alibi

Turn us to dust between the stars, we’ll never be apart.

Her breathing was steady now, her chest rising and falling, gentle as the waves that crash upon a quiet shore. 

She had lived a quiet life.

Held firmly in his own, her hand was warm, but frail. He traced his fingers lightly over her papery skin, revising the lines of green and purple that strained against the surface, crying for help while she lay silently asleep.

“Would you like to rest in the lounge for the night, sir?” asked the nurse kindly as she came to draw the curtains. 

She asked the same question every night, and every night he gave the same smile and the same shake of his head, and said—

“I’m resting very well here, thank you.”

Where she rested was where he would wait.

He had waited for her before. Once, when they were young and dances were in fashion, he had invited her to a charity dance held the day after they first met, hoping to see her again. It was a warm summer’s night that evening of the dance, and he downed iced drink after iced drink as he waited for her to appear.

“She’s not coming, buddy,” said his friend sympathetically.

“Wanna dance?” teased a pretty girl as she flounced past his table.

“You know, the dance is going to end soon.”

“You might as well get one dance.”

Then, finally, with a flustered toss of a brown head, “I’m so sorry! Am I too late?” and they had one dance before the evening ended.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” she laughed as he walked her home.

“Oh, that was my best song,” he confessed. “You can’t judge by it, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Try dancing now,” she challenged, snatching up his hands into hers. “Right now, right here. I’ll prove that you can dance beautifully.”

Her laugh was infectious. He spun her around beneath the twinkling stars, swaying without rhythm to a silent song, turning and turning until they had turned the lonely street into a path of their careless joy, steeped in the depths of warm youth.

It was a good thing he had waited for her that night.

There was another time, too, when waiting had proven to be a happy course of action.

It was a winter’s night, and outside the world was cold, frozen sternly with the frostiness of the season. Inside, the heat was building up along with the chill—they were having their first fight. It was so arbitrary that he couldn't even remember what it had been about, but he did remember some parts—

Him walking out the door, slamming it remorselessly behind him as he trudged out into the cold.

Her sobbing behind the door, muffling with trembling hands her cries that reached his ears just the same.

He stamped down the relentless pavement, hands buried forcefully in his pockets as he kicked the thick snow away. There was nowhere to go, really, and after a while he found himself turning repentantly and heading back home. As he did so, he happened to look to the heavens, and found the white moon gazing down at him, her ethereal glow enveloping the stars around her in a comforting embrace.

Go on, she seemed to urge.

She was waiting for him, curled up by the fireplace with her cheek resting against her knees and a bowl of warm soup on the table.

This was what the stars must feel like then—only a loving, beautiful wife was a million times better.

That was all very long ago.

Now it was his turn to wait for her, as above them someplace better counted off the seconds they had left together. When she was gone, she would wait for him too. No, they had never been apart—they would never be apart. Death would tie the final knot, a vow-less ceremony that would reduce them to dust to meet forevermore in the place where stars dwelled, quiet and glimmering.

“I’m still waiting,” he murmured as he brought her still hand to his lips.