@[Diderik:33655] "Your a holiday!" Was a popular term used in the 50s/60s to compliment someone on their all around. For example, not only are they beautiful, but they are fun and kind too ... just an all around "holiday".
I think your first comment is closer to being accurate. The singer/song writers state "Millions of eyes can see, yet why am i so blind!? When the someone else is me, its unkind its unkind". I believe hes referring to the girl toying with him and using him. He wants something deeper with her, thats why he allows himself to be as a puppet (even though for her fun and games) as long as it makes her happy. But he knows deep down that she doesnt really want to be serious with him and thats what makes him.
First and foremost, let it be said,
I am writing this at 7:10 am,
On the hard dry tarmac of a vacant forecourt.
Astronomically speaking, it's the first day of Autumn.
But the sun is hanging round like summer's hungover.
They'll knock the garage down and build flats where I sit.
The traffic's so persistent that it barely registers
And it smells like a mix between petrol and dog shit.
Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"
Sometimes it's just enough to know I keep him on his toes.
Is he as sympathetic as me to the untimely demise of your synthetic clothes?
I've displayed marriage proposals on the Jumbotrons of ballgames you've not been at,
I've written eulogies in guestbooks of galleries in the hopes that you might pass
Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"
She; nervous and barefoot, chats to me at the front door.
He; boyfriend, inside's a saint, becoming a martyr.
Me; rolling, writhing on the floor, stared daggers pulled from my thoracic wall.
When I hold sea shells to my ears, I'm pretty sure I can hear you.
He gave a gift of the Faber book of love poems,
Annotated the ones he thought applied the most.
Not gonna win you round with prose,
If anyone should know then it's I should know.
Girl, there must be a reason you let it slip,
Went to the point of sending the message.
Six months of visceral catherine wheels,
Kissing carnivores to make it seem like less of a deal.
Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"
I promise after this I will pick up the phone book
And choose the name that my eyes fall upon on their first look.
Aim all of my poorly composed declarations there in the future.
I'm so sorry to have to put you through a lifetime of dedications
You never desired
But this one sentence bludgeons me over the head
Ok, I'm a little bit drunk and I mean just a little bit
No lush in denial, only rather coquettish
I'm fifteen years old and my parents' only son,
Like I barely survived a girls' school education.
Even prettier now that you've grown your hair long,
I'm a slip of a man since I cut mine all off.
Please just let me be the one to keep track
Of the freckles and the moles on your back.
I am writing this at 7:10 am,
On the hard dry tarmac of a vacant forecourt.
Astronomically speaking, it's the first day of Autumn.
But the sun is hanging round like summer's hungover.
They'll knock the garage down and build flats where I sit.
The traffic's so persistent that it barely registers
And it smells like a mix between petrol and dog shit.
Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"
Sometimes it's just enough to know I keep him on his toes.
Is he as sympathetic as me to the untimely demise of your synthetic clothes?
I've displayed marriage proposals on the Jumbotrons of ballgames you've not been at,
I've written eulogies in guestbooks of galleries in the hopes that you might pass
Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"
She; nervous and barefoot, chats to me at the front door.
He; boyfriend, inside's a saint, becoming a martyr.
Me; rolling, writhing on the floor, stared daggers pulled from my thoracic wall.
When I hold sea shells to my ears, I'm pretty sure I can hear you.
He gave a gift of the Faber book of love poems,
Annotated the ones he thought applied the most.
Not gonna win you round with prose,
If anyone should know then it's I should know.
Girl, there must be a reason you let it slip,
Went to the point of sending the message.
Six months of visceral catherine wheels,
Kissing carnivores to make it seem like less of a deal.
Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"
I promise after this I will pick up the phone book
And choose the name that my eyes fall upon on their first look.
Aim all of my poorly composed declarations there in the future.
I'm so sorry to have to put you through a lifetime of dedications
You never desired
But this one sentence bludgeons me over the head
Ok, I'm a little bit drunk and I mean just a little bit
No lush in denial, only rather coquettish
I'm fifteen years old and my parents' only son,
Like I barely survived a girls' school education.
Even prettier now that you've grown your hair long,
I'm a slip of a man since I cut mine all off.
Please just let me be the one to keep track
Of the freckles and the moles on your back.
Lyrics submitted by iwishiwasthemoon, edited by TheSatah
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Holiday
Bee Gees
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Yo La Tengo
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This song was originally written by a guy called Peter Gutteridge. He was one of the founders of the "Dunedin Sound" a musical scene in the south of New Zealand in the early 80s. From there it was covered by "The Clean" one of the early bands of that scene (he had originally been a member of in it's early days, writing a couple of their best early songs). The Dunedin sound, and the Clean became popular on american college radio in the mid to late 80s. I guess Yo La Tengo heard that version.
Great version of a great song,
No Surprises
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Radiohead
Same ideas expressed in Fitter, Happier are expressed in this song. We're told to strive for some sort of ideal life, which includes getting a good job, being kind to everyone, finding a partner, getting married, having a couple kids, living in a quiet neighborhood in a nice big house, etc. But in Fitter, Happier the narrator(?) realizes that it's incredibly robotic to live this life. People are being used by those in power "like a pig in a cage on antibiotics"--being pacified with things like new phones and cool gadgets and houses while being sucked dry. On No Surprises, the narrator is realizing how this life is killing him slowly. In the video, his helmet is slowly filling up with water, drowning him. But he's so complacent with it. This is a good summary of the song. This boring, "perfect" life foisted upon us by some higher powers (not spiritual, but political, economic, etc. politicians and businessmen, perhaps) is not the way to live. But there is seemingly no way out but death. He'd rather die peacefully right now than live in this cage. While our lives are often shielded, we're in our own protective bubbles, or protective helmets like the one Thom wears, if we look a little harder we can see all the corruption, lies, manipulation, etc. that is going on in the world, often run by huge yet nearly invisible organizations, corporations, and 'leaders'. It's a very hopeless song because it reflects real life.
Amazing
Ed Sheeran
Ed Sheeran
Ed Sheeran tells a story of unsuccessfully trying to feel “Amazing.” This track is about the being weighed down by emotional stress despite valiant attempts to find some positivity in the situation. This track was written by Ed Sheeran from the perspective of his friend. From the track, we see this person fall deeper into the negative thoughts and slide further down the path of mental torment with every lyric.
Page
Ed Sheeran
Ed Sheeran
There aren’t many things that’ll hurt more than giving love a chance against your better judgement only to have your heart crushed yet again. Ed Sheeran tells such a story on “Page.” On this track, he is devastated to have lost his lover and even more saddened by the feeling that he may never move on from this.
Where'd you get those lyrics? I cannot understand how he can be saying writing, and not writhing. Not only does it sound like the latter, but the former doesn't make ANY sense. Are you sure you've got that right?
'Writing' isn't necessarily nonsensical, given the opening lines "I am writing this at 7:10 am / On the hard dry tarmac of a vacant forecourt."
Ok but it doesn't make sense in the context of that lyric. Writhing makes perfect sense. Plus he clearly makes an "thh" sound.
Haha, you're actually right, just got the album today, and the booklet says 'Me; rolling, writhing on the floor'
The digital booklet from itunes that Gareth wrote says "writhing".
I'm almost 100% sure that it's "rolling, WRITHING on the floor." That makes more sense to me.
"A song by means of apologising to a girl for writing songs about her. An argument between head and heart. I should never let that blackened thing win out. She grew her hair long as I cut mine short. She got more and more beautiful as I became less of myself. I made her boyfriend uncomfortable and I'm sorry for that. The sea shell's from the same place as the sand in Knee Deep at ATP." - Gareth
"board games" should be "ball games"
that makes a lot more sense, yeah. fixed.
Official lyrics:
First and foremost, let it be said, I am writing this at 7:10 am, On the hard dry tarmac of a vacant forecourt. Astronomically speaking, it's the first day of Autumn. But the sun is hanging round like summer's hungover. They'll knock the garage own and build flats where I sit. The traffic's so persistent that it barely registers And it smells like a mix between petrol and dog shit.
Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"
Sometimes it's just enough to know I keep him on his toes. Is he as sympathetic as me to the untimely demise of your synthetic clothes? I've displayed marriage proposals on the Jumbotrons of ballgames you've not been at, I've written eulogies in guestbooks of galleries in the hopes that you might pass
Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"
She; nervous and barefoot, chats to me at the front door. He; boyfriend, inside's a saint, becoming a martyr. Me; rolling, writing on the floor, stared daggers pulled from my thoracic wall. When I hold sea shells to my ears, I'm pretty sure I can hear you.
He gave a gift of the Faber book of love poems, Annotated the ones he thought applied the most. Not gonna win you round with prose, If anyone should know then it's I should know. Girl, there must be a reason you let it slip, Went to the point of sending the message. Six months of visceral catherine wheels, Kissing carnivores to make it seem like less of a deal.
Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"
I promise after this I will pick up the phone book And choose the name that my eyes fall upon on their first look. Aim all of my poorly composed declarations there in the future. I'm so sorry to have to put you through a lifetime of dedications That you never desired.
... But this one sentence bludgeons me over the head... I'm a little bit drunk and I mean just a little bit No lush in denial, only rather coquettish I'm fifteen years old and my parents' only son, Like I barely survived a girls' school education. Even prettier now that you've grown your hair long, I'm a slip of a man since I cut mine all off.
Please just let me be the one to keep track Of the freckles and the moles on your back.
I love this song, he seems to want to be with her, and not just for a one night stand or something, he wants it to be something long term and meaningful - only someone you were planning to be with for a long time would be keeping track of the moles on your back really. She doesn't want to be with him (and has a boyfriend) so he's apologising for all the things he's dedicated to her that she didn't want, and choosing someone else at random to declare his love to in future, so that he doesn't keep bothering her with it. Sweet, in a sad sort of way.
The song is about that feeling of complete and utter desperation and devastation that comes with complete and utter rejection from an unrequited love, one that he's so totally enamored and obsessed with that he wants such an intimate but otherwise menial notion as tracking the moles and freckles on her back. He's realizing it's time to move on, so this becomes something of an confession of his transgression and an apology for the hassle it's caused her.
The man's desire to for his love interest reaches deeper than a fling "Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back" As in how some couples would check each other for moles that could prove to be cancerous the author is extending interest in protecting her in even the most simplistic forms.
Although he is able to come to the realization that his attention is unwanted, the truth is still difficult to accept "... But this one sentence bludgeons me over the head... I'm a little bit drunk and I mean just a little bit"
Can someone explain these lines to me? Im not completely getting the roles.
She; nervous and barefoot, chats to me at the front door. He; boyfriend, inside's a saint, becoming a martyr. Me; rolling, writing on the floor, stared daggers pulled from my thoracic wall.
I'm guessing the guys has gone around to the girls house to go and see the girl he loves, but she feels uncomfortable talking to him (I.E "Nervous and barefoot") and doesn't feel comfortable letting him in the house because her boyfriend is there.<br /> "He; boyfriend, inside's a saint, becoming a martyr" could be in referrence to how the girls sees her boyfriend, as some kind of a saint? But since the narrator is "writhing" (metaphorically, obviously) in pain from the "daggers" in his chest (thoracic wall), he's glaring at the boyfriend as if he wants to kill him, hence the "becoming a martyr" part?<br /> Alternatively, the martyr referrence could be how this girl has killed the narrator through heartbreak and will inevitably do the same to the boyfriend she is with at that moment.<br /> <br /> That's what I love about LC! lyrics, they're so wide open for interpretation. (:<br /> Beautiful song, I think everyone has found themselves in this kind of situation at some point.
I'm pretty sure the guy wants to be with the girl and, while she does like him, she also has a boyfriend who isn't necessarily a saint but hasn't done anything wrong. They're all victims of the situation.