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
