In regards to the meaning of this song:
Before a live performance on the EP Five Stories Falling, Geoff states “It’s about the last time I went to visit my grandmother in Columbus, and I saw that she was dying and it was the last time I was going to see her. It is about realizing how young you are, but how quickly you can go.”
That’s the thing about Geoff and his sublime poetry, you think it’s about one thing, but really it’s about something entirely different. But the lyrics are still universal and omnipresent, ubiquitous, even. So relatable. That’s one thing I love about this band. I also love their live performances, raw energy and Geoff’s beautiful, imperfectly perfect vocals. His voice soothes my aching soul.
First and foremost, it’s about having fun
Yeah, you could say it’s about health and safety
Unpicked apples grow heavy with potential
Crash hard like a bomb metaphor in a bad poem about love
Littering the road with potential health risks which
Can only be solved by pulping apples with baseball bats
Causing an even greater health risk in the form of a sticky carpet of appleguts and skin
Which nature sees fit to mitigate with a clear yellow-and-black sign that reads
“Don’t walk on this patch of homemade applesauce if you are allergic to bees
Because you will definitely die here.”
Yeah, you could say this apple is somebody’s head
And then you can grow increasingly frustrated as
Sport imitates life
And you whiff to exhaustion
While your enemy’s soft cranium
Smashes against the ground like so many Babylonian babies
Thanks in absolutely no part to your valiant attack on the air
And if you couldn’t swing-and-miss at apples
You’d pitch yourself chunks of concrete or bottles of shampoo
And if I ran out of paints, I’d smudge the pigment off a Fuji
Or like Superman forging diamonds, I’d pressurize Pink Ladies in my palms
Until they became lumps of pencil lead
Or I’d pull out my canines and carve our names in the side of a tree
Before we hoist ourselves up into the canopy to shake down
More apples than we could ever eat-or-beat into oblivion
Yeah, you could say this is pure nostalgia
A bunch of beta-males reliving their glory-nevers
Remembering that beyond competition
And asshole coaches
And giving up Saturday morning cartoons
There was a fun game and there was joy in being part of a team
Yeah, you could tell the man at bat
That he’s just venting his frustrations
Because you can’t hit kids anymore
Because you don’t get to renegotiate your place in the social hierarchy
Because you don’t get paid enough for this shit or
Because “there’s no gonna in pussy”
But if You want to tell a frustrated man holding a stolen baseball bat
That his life and his problems are banal to the point of transparency
You are both a dick and a huge nutsack
And you are, most assuredly, doing it wrong because
First and foremost, it’s about having fun
Yeah, you could say it’s about health and safety
Unpicked apples grow heavy with potential
Crash hard like a bomb metaphor in a bad poem about love
Littering the road with potential health risks which
Can only be solved by pulping apples with baseball bats
Causing an even greater health risk in the form of a sticky carpet of appleguts and skin
Which nature sees fit to mitigate with a clear yellow-and-black sign that reads
“Don’t walk on this patch of homemade applesauce if you are allergic to bees
Because you will definitely die here.”
Yeah, you could say this apple is somebody’s head
And then you can grow increasingly frustrated as
Sport imitates life
And you whiff to exhaustion
While your enemy’s soft cranium
Smashes against the ground like so many Babylonian babies
Thanks in absolutely no part to your valiant attack on the air
And if you couldn’t swing-and-miss at apples
You’d pitch yourself chunks of concrete or bottles of shampoo
And if I ran out of paints, I’d smudge the pigment off a Fuji
Or like Superman forging diamonds, I’d pressurize Pink Ladies in my palms
Until they became lumps of pencil lead
Or I’d pull out my canines and carve our names in the side of a tree
Before we hoist ourselves up into the canopy to shake down
More apples than we could ever eat-or-beat into oblivion
Yeah, you could say this is pure nostalgia
A bunch of beta-males reliving their glory-nevers
Remembering that beyond competition
And asshole coaches
And giving up Saturday morning cartoons
There was a fun game and there was joy in being part of a team
Yeah, you could tell the man at bat
That he’s just venting his frustrations
Because you can’t hit kids anymore
Because you don’t get to renegotiate your place in the social hierarchy
Because you don’t get paid enough for this shit or
Because “there’s no gonna in pussy”
But if You want to tell a frustrated man holding a stolen baseball bat
That his life and his problems are banal to the point of transparency
You are both a dick and a huge nutsack
And you are, most assuredly, doing it wrong because
First and foremost, it’s about having fun
Lyrics submitted by JohnnyLurg
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