| The Cure – Disintegration Lyrics | 10 years ago |
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I grew up listening to the Cure, and their unique sound along with their beautifully poetic and melancholy lyrics spoke to me deeply. I loved everything they did from early albums like the top and 17 seconds, to head on the door and kiss mex3, but disintegration (album) to me is their masterpiece. While the whole album is amazingly deep and wonderfully atmospheric, this song was special to me. I had the lyrics drawn on my bedroom mirror in sharpie (it wipes off glass); it just resonated with me on a very deep level as a treatise on the superficialities of life I suppose. Twenty years later, I see it as a prophetic vision of my life to come. I'm married now, to a sweet girl, but it's all come back round to breaking apart again. We married to create a home due to an unplanned pregnancy, and though I've tried my damnedest to 'make it work', I miss the kiss of treachery, the shameless kiss of vanity, up tight against the side of me. I hate myself for it, how hard can it be to sacrifice happiness on the altar of selflessness? But as things have begun to fall apart, this illusion is slowly being shattered, the addiction of duplicities, as bit by bit it starts the need to just let go my party piece. But I never said I would stay till the end, and I leave her with babies and hoping for frequency. Leave her with photographs, pictures of trickery, stains on the carpet and stains on the memories, songs about happiness murmured in dreams when the both of us knew how the ending would be. You can hate me, but I doubt you could possibly loathe me the way I do. And so it's all come back round to breaking apart, breaking apart like I'm made up of glass again, holding my breath for the fear of sleep again, it's coming apart again over and over and over. And now that I know that I'm breaking to pieces, I'll pull out my heart and feed it to anyone. I'm broken, and though tears come unbidden at my dramatic self destruction, crocodiles cry for the love of the crowd and three cheers from everyone. Dropping through sky through the glass of the roof through the roof of your mouth through the mouth of your eye through the eye of the needle, it's easier for me to get closer to heaven than ever feel whole again. Who really believes in fairy tales anyway? So I leave you with photographs, pictures of trickery, stains on the carpet, stains on the memory, songs about happiness murmured in dreams when we both of us knew how the end always is. How the end always is. |
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