Listening back to this week's song, I feel that I must have been writing about creeping paranoia. I'm not sure if the paranoia I'm describing is my own, or a vibration that I'm picking up from our culture at large. I imagine that it might be a bit of both. I don't think of myself as a paranoid person, but perhaps this song refutes that assertion. I think there's a facet of each of us that fears the unknown outside our immediate sphere, and would love to fortify our world against The Other at large. It's coming out in our culture in a big way right now, because it's an election year. To me, however, this song feels smaller than that. This song looks directly out the window, and wants to shut the blinds and turn on the television instead.
lyrics
Away in a magazine
You know they sleep pretty good
Fingers all wrapped in gold
And hearts made of wood
Deadbolts and barricades
And all other nice things
And out on a fire escape
A scavenger sings
Of the fire burning in the park
Oh Wherever you go
There's a hand reaching for the spark
This you should have known
You tiptoe into the dark
Oh but it whistles and creaks
It's a telegraph to my heart
I been dreaming for weeks
The lies on the radio
Float around on the breeze
And out from a starry spire
A scavenger speaks
Of the fire burning in the park
Oh Wherever you go
There's a hand reaching for the spark
This you should have known
Deadbolts and barricades
And all other nice things
Lock picks and hand grenades
And all other nice things