This is a hauntingly beautiful song about introspection, specifically about looking back at a relationship that started bad and ended so poorly, that the narrator wants to go back to the very beginning and tell himself to not even travel down that road. I believe that the relationship started poorly because of the lines:
"Take me back to the night we met:When the night was full of terrors: And your eyes were filled with tears: When you had not touched me yet"
So, the first night was not a great start, but the narrator pursued the relationship and eventually both overcame the rough start to fall in love with each other:
"I had all and then most of you"
Like many relationships that turn sour, it was not a quick decline, but a gradual one where the narrator and their partner fall out of love and gradually grow apart
"Some and now none of you"
Losing someone who was once everything in your world, who you could confide in, tell your secrets to, share all the most intimate parts of your life, to being strangers with that person is probably one of the most painful experiences a person can go through. So Painful, the narrator wants to go back in time and tell himself to not even pursue the relationship.
This was the perfect song for "13 Reasons Why"
Les squelettes dans mon placard jouent à la roulette russe avec les fusils de nos colères;
vieux, rouillés et dangereux.
Je les entends hurler comme des damnés à travers des portes honteuses, l’animosité d’un amour éteint entre les mâchoires tandis que mes mains déjà trop vieilles pour être les miennes se fatiguent sur les serrures.
Les vestiges de ceux qui sont passés avant moi sont les moulures de ce meuble hermétique et imperméable aux gémissements et aux implorations des vivants.
Il faut pourtant ouvrir ces portes et laisser vivre les squelettes, que je puisse enfin dormir en paix et trouver la sérénité d’une âme apaisée des fantômes du passé qui hantent son chemin, sa maison et son sommeil.
N’ai-je pas été suffisamment bon pour mériter pareil tourment ?
Pour voir mes mains devenir squelettes et ma fiancée un pâle souvenir d’une jeunesse gâchée.
Mon corps est un squelette, mon corps est un placard, mon corps est un fusil.
(Skeletons in my closet playing Russian roulette with the guns of our anger; old, rusted and dangerous.
I hear them screaming like the damned through these doors of disgrace.
The hostility of faded love locked within their jaws, hands way too old to be mine straining every nerve to reach the keyhole.
The last remnants of those who were here before me are nothing but mouldings on this hermetic piece of furniture, impervious to the moaning and pleas of the living.
But still we have to open these doors and let the skeletons live, so that I can sleep peacefully, so that I can find the calmness of a soul free from the ghosts of the past haunting its way, its house and its sleep.
Guess I have not been good enough.
Did I deserve such torment?
Did I deserve to watch my hands turn into bones, to see my girl turn into a faded memory from a wasted youth?
My body is a skeleton, my body is a closet, my body is a gun.)
vieux, rouillés et dangereux.
Je les entends hurler comme des damnés à travers des portes honteuses, l’animosité d’un amour éteint entre les mâchoires tandis que mes mains déjà trop vieilles pour être les miennes se fatiguent sur les serrures.
Les vestiges de ceux qui sont passés avant moi sont les moulures de ce meuble hermétique et imperméable aux gémissements et aux implorations des vivants.
Il faut pourtant ouvrir ces portes et laisser vivre les squelettes, que je puisse enfin dormir en paix et trouver la sérénité d’une âme apaisée des fantômes du passé qui hantent son chemin, sa maison et son sommeil.
N’ai-je pas été suffisamment bon pour mériter pareil tourment ?
Pour voir mes mains devenir squelettes et ma fiancée un pâle souvenir d’une jeunesse gâchée.
Mon corps est un squelette, mon corps est un placard, mon corps est un fusil.
(Skeletons in my closet playing Russian roulette with the guns of our anger; old, rusted and dangerous.
I hear them screaming like the damned through these doors of disgrace.
The hostility of faded love locked within their jaws, hands way too old to be mine straining every nerve to reach the keyhole.
The last remnants of those who were here before me are nothing but mouldings on this hermetic piece of furniture, impervious to the moaning and pleas of the living.
But still we have to open these doors and let the skeletons live, so that I can sleep peacefully, so that I can find the calmness of a soul free from the ghosts of the past haunting its way, its house and its sleep.
Guess I have not been good enough.
Did I deserve such torment?
Did I deserve to watch my hands turn into bones, to see my girl turn into a faded memory from a wasted youth?
My body is a skeleton, my body is a closet, my body is a gun.)
Lyrics submitted by ledesordrecestmoi
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i couldn't give a flying F*ck what this song is about. its Fu&king AMAZING!, listeing to it right now!
the expression "skeletton in the closet" means, in french, "dirty secrets", something ugly, scary, dark, you want to hide to the others. i think this man want to scream out all of his pain, all the fear he feel inside (about world, love, society, future) something like that