I sat at a table having lunch with 8 men all in the prime of their lives, all stricken with AIDS. None of them are with us anymore today. From the experience, only the song, “I Want My Life Back” and I remain on Planet Earth.

I had been commissioned by the Manhattan Plaza AIDS Prevention organization to write a song for their upcoming benefit about AIDS. Not at all the usual request. Not at all a subject that I was excited to write about.

But having lost over a hundred friends to the disease back then in the middle of the epidemic, I took the job because I knew I had something to say; I was qualified. Then, when I started to write about it, there were so many conflicting ideas that I lost my point of view and was struggling to write a single line. I did not want to write something morbid, but could not write something happy, promising or, at the time, particularly hopeful.

Aids was a killer and young artists were dropping like flies all around me here in NYC. Those of you in the hinterlands of America were shielded from the experience and many of you probably never even knew a victim, but here in NYC, it was a whole different story – especially in the theater where a couple of generations of fine young artists – actors, directors, designers, costumers, choreographers and dancers were lost.

I called the head of the organization and told him of my struggles. I requested a lunch with a few guys who wouldn’t mind talking openly about the experience of their disease and their dying.  Eight guys, all between the ages of 25-40 showed up – all in various states of disrepair.

I don’t remember what I had for lunch. I don’t remember eating a thing. I asked one question.  “Will you tell me of your experience with AIDS?” Then they talked for 3 hours. I recorded it so I did not have to take notes. I listened while we all laughed and wept through the hours.

We went around the table as each one told his story. Their stories were as divergent as life itself.  They spared nothing, even telling me, often in detail, the situation behind the sexual experience of first contracting the disease. It was not pretty. It was a business lunch I’ll never forget.

They told me of their trials, their loneliness, their anger, their rejection by their families, their rejection by the world, their doctors, their massive meds, their hopes and finally their dreams they had given up on.

We laughed a lot. They were a joyful group of sweet guys ready to die, but not at all ready to face it. Their sense of humor was often macabre, but they each understood one another’s plight, commiserated with one another, but finally, they were all in the same boat. They were going to die. At the time, if there was one thing final on earth, it was AIDS.

They had found the humor of dying in a gentle, sometimes sarcastic and bitter, but always funny way. They were actually entertaining each other with their stories – eight guys in the same boat, eight guys swappin’ yarns.

One particular guy was the weakest of them all. He looked to be about six feet tall and couldn’t have been more than 80 pounds. He was the sixth of the eight who spoke. He had trouble sitting up straight in his weakness and when the guys would laugh, he didn’t have the energy to laugh, but would simply smile through his occasional tears.

When we got to him, he only had the strength to whisper his words. All leaned forward in their seats to listen.

He whispered, “I wake up each morning and lay in bed and fix my pillows so I can look out the window. I watch everybody going to work. I wish I could go with them. I remember when I could walk to work and wished I could still be in bed. I remember buying my newspaper down on the corner and buying my sweet roll at the street stand…”

At that, his energy gave out on him and he stopped speaking and just sat breathing raggedly on. I was about to go on when the guy next to him took his own napkin and wiped the guys face.  The tender care from one to another broke my heart. We sat quietly again and waited. It struck me that he was not finished speaking, that he had something more to say.

He lifted his thin fingers trembling off the table to keep us from moving on, mustered his last remaining energies, and finally whispered hoarsely, “I want my life back.”

He passed away a week later.

I went on listening to the two remaining stories, but I knew I had my song title, my point of view.  It was a rough three hours. Rich in content, poor in hope. Full of laughs, full of tears and most of all, full of life. Life was rampant among these guys. They were all taking their final breaths and they knew it. Some lasted weeks, some months; two lasted another year.

I kept track. They had become my brothers. I sent them each the song and they each wrote me back and spoke eloquently about the lunch experience. They were all grateful that the song had captured that particular moment. We had all felt the portent together.

At the benefit, they brought 7 of the eight on to the stage to thank them for the inspiration for the song. By that time two were in wheelchairs. The audience stood and cheered in appreciation and the seven men smiled in wonder. I stood in the back of the theater and wept yet again.

The song was only sung by The Jenny Burton Experience a few times. It was too much of a bummer at the time and too difficult a reminder of what we were all going through with so many friends. But we had to record it for posterity and I’m so glad we did, for now it is one of my favorites on The Jenny Burton Experience CD. I love its life. I love its energies towards the living. I love its longing and finally its desperation. It kicks butt.

To hear “I Want My Life Back”, click here.

Also check out cut 12 on the The Jenny Burton Experience CD, “There Is Life”. It is the dénouement to the song.

To purchase the song, please visit Watchfire Music or click here.

I Want My Life Back
Music and Lyrics by Peter Link

Stuck in a rut
I would break away but
I would probably come unraveled
Nowhere to turn
So I continue to burn
Down this desolate road I travel
Leaving it behind
In my prime
Mad at the simplest of things
Scared of the truth that life brings
Facing the facts
Back to the wall
Losing it all

I want my life back
I don’t care what it takes
I want my life back
I don’t care how it goes
Give me the chance
To get back in the dance
To get on with the work
To get through the extremities

I want my life back
I don’t care how I live
Just give me my life back
I don’t care why I’m here
Just give me the time
To sign up to resign
To dive in to bail out
To make choices with dignity

Laughing at the oddest places
Crying at the strangest times
Losing track of life’s graces
And headin’ for the bottom line
But the soul knows
There is life
There is life

Living the days
Just a day at a time
Is no way to get on
With the living
Stuck in a maze
Of such vicious design
With a steady decline
Of forgiving
Howling at the moon
Through a silent night
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Letting it go
Do as it may
Slipping away

I want my life back
I don’t care what it takes
I want my life back
It don’t matter how I get it
Give me the chance
To get back in the dance
To get on with my dreams
To engender the memories

I want my life back
Show me the way to get it
Just give me my life back
Fear is the enemy
I look to the day
Fear is taken away
I’ll be shakin’ my fist
In the face of this tragedy

Gonna make what’s left of it better
Gonna make what’s left of it better
Gonna make what’s left of it better

I want my life back
I don’t care what it takes
Just give me one more chance
And I’ll make it

I want my life back!