So, apparently I write a lot of sad songs. In fact, my back catalogue is so full of them that I’m going to release a rarities and b-sides album called Sad, Sad, Sad. And then a follow-up album called, Yep, Still Sad. And then a greatest hits album simply called, The Saddest. But what’s the fun in a happy song? People all over the world are in pain of one sort or another, and the last thing they want to hear about is how awesome someone else’s life is. The Buddha said that the first noble truth is that life means suffering, and then He invented country music to share that message with the masses.

In any case, someone once asked me if this song was a true story. And my response was, “It’s someone’s true story.” The conceit isn’t particularly original — you try to convince yourself that you’re okay with losing someone, but the only way that this can be true is if the whole world is upside down. Right is left, black is white, and you’re doing just fine. It’s like Opposite Day on a grand scale of heartbreak. But I hope that I’ve brought something worthwhile to this genre of songs — an image or melody, a turn of phrase. A particular kind of ache.

I really enjoy singing this song because I get to be all smoky and mellow during the verses and then bust out during the choruses. It’s pretty cathartic to step about five feet back from the microphone and just kind of yell for a little bit. This is why Steven Tyler seems so content all the time. Matt plays really beautiful guitar on this song and adds the perfect harmony at just the right moments, and Stephanie has another lovely solo on the violin (or as I try to make her call it, the fiddle). And that’s me playing the wistful-sounding mandolin. You may not be aware of this yet, but the mandolin is a bad-ass instrument.

So now go grab yourself a box of tissues, click on the link, and enjoy yourself an earful of Maybe.