SIGH

This is what you’ll get
She sighs
It’s not a great prize
I lived a thousand lives
She sighs
And died a thousand times

There must be a final page
Somewhere
Killings come so fast these days

The fault-lines in my heart
Always
Your fingertips bruise

I never wanted this
She sighs
So now you will teach me

You found this gypsy girl
She sighs
Dancing into the fire

She sighs when I come
And she sighs when I go
I win this insight
With her hands untied

This is what you’ll get
She sighs
It’s not a great prize

We can live a thousand lives
She sighs
And die a thousand times

I sigh when she comes
And she sighs when I go
Sequestered
Into silence we fall

– – –

Put on your Freudian slip while watching this one please. I mean: this is not a song about crashing cars and their dummy drivers, their backseat dummy ditto or obliterating people in nuclear holocausts. Obviously, dummy. The song comes with a text for purpose of “reading”. But like in all dialectic cinematic material and other dreamlike visuals, those are to be taken literally only as symbols, chains of inter-connected symbols or analogues for inducing associative thinking, if you are thusly inclined. It really doesn’t take that much effort. They are metaphors intended as interior vehicles (nudge-nudge) transporting you in a roundabout way to even higher insights to exterior influences on your vulnerable, nebulous soul or retina. In this case the cheat-sheet could be: some of the cars would equal me, the author, my mind and my body. Their crashing into each other in slow-motion (looks like a kiss doesn’t it?) in the context of this song could be seen as relating to my chosen one in plural intimate ways? The old dog Siegmund had some very distinct interpretations on dreams containing accidents, train wrecks and the sort. Just extrapolate from there. And the bombs? The unleashing of the mightiest man-made powers? Unloading of forces stronger than anything? Are the pictures of those nuclear ejaculations nothing but a feeble dialectic attempt to find words, meanings, big enough to express my undying love, affection and want? Agreed, even for “benign” purposes such as “tests” and/or “research” those abominations are not to be liked or trusted. Ever. But they are quite beautiful aren’t they? Have to mention the odd time signature too. My backbone is 4/4, bread and buttered. So I need to challenge that once in a while. Even though I meander into territory completely foreign to me, forcing me to work blind and with one arm tied to my foot. Crashing a ’59 Chevy against it seems appropriate.

 


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