THINKING ABOUT LYRICS

Earlier today, I asked my girlfriend if she had ever had someone listen to a song because it encompassed a thought or feeling far better than she would have been able to express on her own. She acknowledged that she had done that. So to myself, I think, "Cool! I was afraid I was the only person that ever did that." My ex wife may not have had a grasp on the idea, or perhaps just could not relate to secular music. Perhaps still, maybe her upbringing did not allow that kind of thinking, or maybe she lacked the imagination to put herself in the shoes of the songwriter. It really does not matter. She basically thought I was nuts. As did my sister. My sister referred to all the music I used to listen to so regularly as either crap, or death music. Screw her too.

Anyway, a bit later my girlfriend played a song that was important to her back when she was a teenager. She apologized and tried to qualify the song by saying she had not listened to it in years, and did not know if it would still hold the same meaning for her. Okay, okay.. we all grow up, and think about things differently. As long as it was not Tiny Tim, I would not hold it against her. It wasn't, thank goodness. But by the third note I recognized the song as Pat Benetar's "Hell is For Children" and knowing her and her story as well as I do, I was neither surprised nor critical of her choice. It was apt. But that got me to thinking; I became aware earlier today that Richard Wright of Pink Floyd had lost his battle to cancer and I felt bad that an integral part of the Pink Floyd sound was forever silenced. Back in the day, when I was a teenager, I thought the Floyd was the best rock band ever. (I have since broadened my perspectives a bit.) I still like the Floyd, and always will albeit not as fond of the darker stuff Waters used to write. But in my youth, I felt a certain kinship with the music, because some of it was dark. SO, I played the song that I felt as a teenager most encompassed my experience. Likewise, I had not listened to it in many years. In the 20 or so years that have passed since I last heard it, a lot has changed with me, and suffice to say, the song no longer means the same thing to me. It now seems more like some sort of sublingual self fulfilling prophesy. It upset me that I identify now with much more of the song, and it is not a good thing. The lyrics follow. I will get back on this train of thought shortly.

Dogs

by Pink Floyd

Animals, 1976

c. Pink Floyd: (Waters, Wright, Mason, Gilmour)



You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need

You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street

You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed

And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight

You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.

And after a while, you can work on points for style

Like the club tie, and the firm handshake

A certain look in the eye, and an easy smile

You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to

So that when they turn their backs on you

You'll get the chance to put the knife in.

You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder

You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you get older

And in the end you'll pack up, fly down south

Hide your head in the sand

Just another sad old man

All alone and dying of cancer.

And when you loose control,

you'll reap the harvest that you've sown

And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone

And it's too late to loose the weight you used to need to throw around

So have a good drown, as you go down, alone

Dragged down by the stone.

I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused

Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used

Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise

If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze?

Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending

That everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend

And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner

And everythings done under the sun

And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.

Who was born in a house full of pain

Who was trained not to spit in the fan

Who was told what to do by the man

Who was broken by trained personnel

Who was fitted with collar and chain

Who was given a pat on the back

Who was breaking away from the pack

Who was only a stranger at home

Who was ground down in the end

Who was found dead on the phone

Who was dragged down by the stone.




not done; taking a break; finish this thought later