Tuesday, August 22, 2006
As A Matter Of Fact And Introspection
So very few times I feel like actually explaining what I’ve wrote in my lyrics, much less I actually do it. Normally I give a main idea of what a song is about or the subjects that inspired me to write the words that flow out of my brain; yet with this song is completely different, for I feel such a compelling need to point at them and actually give away the secret meanings that lurk beneath them, the reasoning of the introspection that made them flow. Mostly because I want to ruin that for myself, because I don’t want to dwell on this song and keep my thoughts over the painting images that each read bring back.
But I just can’t do it, so badly I need the secrecy and complicity of the words which I finally found in me last night, as a sole confidant of what perhaps could be some sort of dark epiphany; a bitter, awkward and cruel realization over a few events that only now I can remind and analyze and see the ways and reasons for the flow that things took. So yeah, this song is extremely personal, and in a odd kind of way, but still very introspective.
So although I wont give the factual meanings I’ll try and dissect some statements that I tried to accomplish with this one, still holding unto my secrecy.
- First I have to say, the music and the lyrics have no actual relation, the music was written trying to give a feeling of deep repression achieved through self censorship, while the lyrics talk about the travels inside one’s mind searching for things that are not meant to and never will come to actually happening.
- While originally this song was meant to be atmosphere-less, leaving the interpretation open to where the things actually happen, it now has a much more of an “apartment” feeling into it.
- The main character, or He as I like to call him, could be either mute or unwilling to actually speak, I was never clear if the cause of his inability were physiological or psychological; but He’s unable to speak during the whole period of the song.
- He is smoking cigarettes when he starts to delve deep into his mind, something I tend to do. Also, He’s smoking because I was smoking while writing the lyrics.
- He’s not hallucinating, it’s more like a wondering of a “What If”, but He goes too deep with those thoughts slipping away from his “now”
- He actually tries to cry in the last part of the song, but finds himself unable to. Whether because of a jaded approach to the situation or rather because of his strength of character, is open to interpretation.
- Finally the song is recursive, whereas what He starts to write at the end of it all, is the song itself; I added that last part mostly because I wanted to give an statement of ownership and autobiographic approach to the small tale, assuring that in some sense I am He.
I hate poetry
A Ballad For The Speechless
The candid lights
of a dark night shinned
overwhelming the
few troubled minds
that stood awake
creeping souls denied
to stay in the dark
of hazardous paths
And so I watched
less sound I heard
from the dying chirps
of a burning trail
though while I saw
the filled ashtray
memoirs awoke
from a time not come
where bizarre settings
proclaimed the tone
of my strange throne
and joyous colors
painted in robes
of dancing voices
of gold and rose
the merry goblet
that got me drunk
And when I drowned
I looked at them
blurring images
of bitter scent
from the smoking cigarette
heat in my hands
I pulled away
and then I saw
the smoke behind
of my already troubled mind
for which I sighed
no sound cometh
I tried to weep
a vain attempt
So tired I sat
And grabbed the last
of my deep smoking vice
and in the middle
of a mute cry
I drew my pen
started to write
The candid lights
of a dark night shinned
overwhelming the
few troubled minds
that stood awake
creeping souls denied
to stay in the dark
of hazardous paths
And so I watched
less sound I heard
from the dying chirps
of a burning trail
though while I saw
the filled ashtray
memoirs awoke
from a time not come
where bizarre settings
proclaimed the tone
of my strange throne
and joyous colors
painted in robes
of dancing voices
of gold and rose
the merry goblet
that got me drunk
And when I drowned
I looked at them
blurring images
of bitter scent
from the smoking cigarette
heat in my hands
I pulled away
and then I saw
the smoke behind
of my already troubled mind
for which I sighed
no sound cometh
I tried to weep
a vain attempt
So tired I sat
And grabbed the last
of my deep smoking vice
and in the middle
of a mute cry
I drew my pen
started to write
