So everyone cries when they’re born
Right? At least that’s what I’m told
‘Cause keeping that in would be
An impossible thing to do
You see the trauma we all start with is honest
It’s about being exposed
And screaming it out
‘Till we’re enveloped and swaddled
It’s true that it’s the only thing we want
And do we all turn out to be conscious?
Or do we need proof
That the folks walking around
Are thinking thoughts
Just like me and like you?
Like maybe some of us turn out to be plastic
Or maybe it’s a thing we can choose
Like we can unscrew our heads
And leave them at home
And our state is improved
There’s a lot that I like happening in this week’s song, but I can’t escape the feeling that it isn’t really done. It kind of just ends where there could definitely have been another part. A crescendo escaped me as I was writing this. Oh well, that’s part of this whole thing isn’t it? The words include some half-baked musings on the trauma of childbirth, and the development of consciousness in a culture of materialism. Some attractive turns of phrase found themselves in this song, but the missing crescendo left me slightly disinterested in developing the lyrical content. What I really like about this song (as it is, not just as it might have been) is the instrumental hook. I played around with lots of ways of adding words to it, but I just liked the power in the simplicity of the melody, and how loud I could get it. It’s hot in my room with the windows closed and the fan turned off for the sake of my condenser mic. I am remembering now what Mount Everest in the summer time is like. Wish me luck braving this sauna again next week!
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