Holding on, with both eyes, to things that don't exist Peering through the cutting wrist, at grand old mother greedy Rolling out the cotton ship, upon the carpet pillow Throttling children callously, a messy day with Clancy Gideon lied and Gideon died The force of China felt Gideon smiled as Gideon died The thought of China held. Rolling out the golden robes and other foreign language Stretching out the verbs and nouns together in the greeting Some that felt the blade often, some deep confused emotion Struck eye first against the wall of China under fire. Gideon lied and Gideon died The force of China felt Gideon smiled as Gideon died The thought of China held. I do wish John's songs meant more than they at least appear; however, the imagery takes a listener down roads he's never been to from the innocent guide of song. John Cale's native language is Welsh, and he plays with the sounds of English words to benefit his poetry: ...grand old mother greedy...the cotton ship upon the carpet...Throttling children callously, a messy day with Clancy...Struck eye first against the wall of China under fire... But John is also more aware of European history (Asian here as well) and has a great love for classic art and literature. There may be more here than I and many people would ever know.

There were eighty-seven Advil in the bottle now there's thirty left I ate forty-seven so what happened to the other ten? Why do you suspiciously change the subject and break my concentration As i dump the bottle out and I count the Advil up again Don't interrupt me as I struggle to complete this thought Have some respect for someone more forgetful than yourself And I'm not done And I won't be till my head falls off Hitting every pocket on my shirt, pants and overcoat I'm hitting them again but I don't know where I put my notes clearing my throat and gripping the lectern I smile and face my audience, clearing his throat and smiling with his hands on the bathroom sink And when I lean my head against the frosted shower stall I see stuff through the glass that I don't recognize at all And I'm not done And I wont be till my head falls off Though it may not be a long way off I'm not done talking yet I'm not done talking yet And when I lean my head against the frosted shower stall I see the broken figure silhouetted on the wall And I'm not done And I won't be till my head falls off Though it may not be a long way off I won't be till my head falls off Too much knowledge makes a mind go mad. The pills could take that nagging headache away, but why was it so important how many there were? It just was. This is the story of a strong-willed man taking a leap to do what he feels is right, but he know the outcome will not be good for him. He grows more and more nervous as the time comes closer to fire his pistol, whether to the PTA, the Senate, or the world. The anxiety from knowing what he knows is killing him though and making him lose memories and confidence. He has become paranoid that he will be taken away before he gets a chance to speak. But he cannot see clearly anymore, and we can't tell if what he has to say is right or wrong, all that matters is that he still has his endless drive. But will its effect be positive or negative? Will he even have his chance? On a side note, as someone with ADHD and high anxiety, this is like a theme song for me. :P

When I'm at the pearly gates This'll be on my videotape Mephistopheles is just beneath And he's reaching up to grab me This is one for the good days And I have it all here in Red, blue, green You are my centre when I spin away Out of control on videotape This is my way of saying goodbye Because I can't do it fact to face So I'm talking to you before No matter what happens now I won't be afraid Because I know Today has been the most perfect day I have ever seen Not taking tenses in mind, this was a beautiful scene of a dead soul who lived his life unhappy but now could see that things really were beautiful. The echoed moans come in, overlapping. Past moaning in his life, all the needless dread and worry. Also add in the image of the lost souls must like himself coming in behind him from the darkness to take him with them. And as they do, he watches the memories continue to unfold, tears in his eyes--though tears of happiness, now finally appreciating the best times in his life before the lights go out forever. But with tenses in mind, the man is not dead. Not yet. This is an actual videotape. A collection of old memories. Family life. Good times. And he's made his final realization. Same tears of happiness, but he has his final moments ahead of him. Depression cuts deep. Symbolism in an artistic mind can turn frightening. How appropriate he feels that the final clip of this video collage was for him to record his last thoughts. He knew how tomorrow his thoughts would change again and he would lose this purity as it's buried by sleep and unrelated thoughts and more pointless frustrations. A final good-bye and thank-you before he leaves on his high note, knowing that by doing so, it will be the devil's hand that takes him in the end. But how was it ever different in life?

Winded is the sailor...drifting by the storm... Wounded is the organ he left all...bloodied on the shore... Gorgeous was his savior, sees her...drowning in his wake... Daily taste the salt of her tears, but...a chance blamed fate... Little secrets, tremors...turned to quake... The smallest oceans still get...big, big waves... Ransom paid the Devil...He whispers pleasing words... Triumphant are the angels if they can...a get there first... Little secrets tremors...turned to quake... The smallest oceans still get...big, big waves... I'll decide...take the dive... Take my time...not my life... Wait for signs...believe in lies... To get by...it's divine...whoa... Oh, you know what it's like... Turns the bow back towards him...drops the line... Puts his faith and love in Tremor Christ... An argument from nothing turned vicious. Those little things he never knew conflicted with the little things he grew to accept as the way things "oughtta be". Betrayal from the love he cared for, his sad angel, found him renouncing love forever, walking in the street without looking (what does it matter). He was in his cloud, voices coming in to say it's all a lie, there's nothing but chains in love, she was a burden and now you're free. But he did love her. Something in his memory remained unbeaten and true, something from his youth, when things could be pure. You didn't need any reasons to be happy. You just needed faith. And that's why times were so happy. Ah, to reclaim that happiness again. But how? Let it go. Just believe.