From
U2
The refrain of this song is used on both of U2’s most recent albums, Songs of Innocence (2014) and Songs of Experience (2017). It was called “A Song for Someone” on the 2014 album, and a “There is a Light” on the 2017 album. Both titles make sense, as the refrain uses both lines.
Both titles fit, but for me it’s always been about the feeling behind the words.
If there is a light
You can’t always see
And there is a world
We can’t always be
If there is a dark
Now we shouldn’t doubt
And there is a light
Don’t let it go out…
The first few times I heard the song, I didn’t think much of it—except for that part. That part always caught me.
Daren and I saw U2 live years ago, and I remember hearing it there, not fully paying attention, but feeling something I couldn’t quite name. Then later, when the second version came out, we were in the car together driving to Long Island. The song came on near the end of the album, and as soon as the refrain started, I found myself singing along without thinking.
It was slower this time. Softer. Familiar, but different—like running into someone you once knew and realizing they’ve changed, but somehow feel more themselves.
That’s when I started really listening.
A few weeks later, I was driving alone when it came on again. No distractions, no conversation—just the song. And this time, something shifted. I wasn’t just hearing the words, I was feeling them.
It made me think about that sense we all have—something steady underneath everything else. Something that doesn’t go away, even when we lose touch with it.
There are stretches of time when I feel very connected to that part of myself. Clear. Grounded. Almost like I’m moving through life with a quiet kind of knowing.
And then there are other times when I don’t feel it at all.
Life gets loud. Thoughts take over. Emotions pull in different directions. The physical world becomes everything. And that quieter part—the one that feels like truth—fades into the background.
Not gone. Just… harder to access.
When I heard those lines again, it felt like a reminder:
If there is a light
You can’t always see…
Of course we can’t always see it.
We’re not really built to.
We live in a world that constantly pulls us outward—toward things we can touch, measure, prove, react to. It makes sense that we lose connection with something that isn’t loud, or urgent, or demanding.
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
The second version of the song—the one from Songs of Experience—feels different to me. A little heavier. A little more worn. Like it’s speaking to someone who has lived a bit more, lost a bit more, questioned a bit more.
And yet, the message is the same.
Don’t let it go out.
Not because the light is fragile—but because our attention is.
There are days when I feel pulled entirely into the noise of things—into thinking, reacting, doing. And there are other moments—usually quieter ones, often unexpected—where I remember.
It’s not something I create. It’s something I notice.
And when I do, everything softens just a bit.
This is just my own interpretation—my own experience of a song that, for whatever reason, found its way to me more than once.
But maybe that’s what songs do.
They meet us where we are, and then meet us again later, when we’re ready to hear something different.
‘Cause this is a song
A song for someone
Someone like me
Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
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