The song "Fortnight" by Taylor Swift and Post Malone tells a story about strong feelings, complicated relationships, and secret wishes. It talks about love, betrayal, and wanting someone who doesn't feel the same. The word "fortnight" shows short-lived happiness and guilty pleasures, leading to sadness. It shows how messy relationships can be and the results of hiding emotions. “I was supposed to be sent away / But they forgot to come and get me,” she kickstarts the song in the first verse with lines suggesting an admission to a hospital for people with mental illnesses. She goes in the verse admitting her lover is the reason why she is like this. In the chorus, she sings about their time in love and reflects on how he has now settled with someone else. “I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary / And I love you, it’s ruining my life,” on the second verse she details her struggles to forget about him and the negative effects of her failure. “Thought of callin’ ya, but you won’t pick up / ‘Nother fortnight lost in America,” Post Malone sings in the outro.
What we once thought we had, we didn't
And what we have now will never be that way again
So we call upon the author to explain
Our myxomatoid kids spraddle the streets
We've shunned them from the greasy grind
The poor little things they look so sad and old
As they mount us from behind
I ask them to desist and to refrain!
And then we call upon the author to explain
Well, rosary clutched in his hand
He died with tubes up his nose
And a cabal of angels with finger cymbals
Chanted his name in code
We shook our fists at the punishing rain
And we called upon the author to explain
He said, everything is messed up round here
Everything is banal and jejune
There's a planetary conspiracy against the likes of you and me
In this idiot constituency of the moon
Well, he knew exactly who to blame!
And we call upon the author to explain
Prolix! Prolix!
Nothing a pair of scissors can't fix
Well, I go guruing down the street
And young people gather 'round my feet
And they ask me things, but I don't know where to start
They ignite the powder trail straight to my father's heart
And, yeah, once again
I call upon the author to explain
Yeah, we call upon the author to explain
Who is this great burdensome slavering dog-thing
That mediocres my every thought?
I feel like a vacuum cleaner, a complete sucker!
It's fucked up and he is a fucker
But what an enormous and encyclopedic brain!
I call upon the author to explain
Yeah we call upon the author to explain
Alright, yeah
Rampant discrimination
Mass poverty, third world debt
Infectious disease, global inequality
And deepening socio-economic divisions
Well, it does in your brain
We call upon the author to explain
Now hang on
My friend Doug is tapping on the window!
"Hey Doug, how you been?" (hey Doug)
Well, he brings me a book on holocaust poetry, complete with pictures
And then he tells me to get ready for the rain
And we call upon the author to explain
I say, ah
Prolix! Prolix!
Something a pair of scissors can fix
Bukowski was a jerk!
Berryman was best!
He wrote like wet papier-mache
But he went the Hemingway
Weirdly on wings and with maximum pain
We call upon the author to explain
Yeah well I call upon the author to explain
Yeah well down in my bolt hole I see they've published
Another volume of unreconstructed rubbish
"The waves, the waves were soldiers moving"
Well, thank you! Thank you!
Thank you and again
I call upon the author to explain
Yeah I call upon the author to explain
I call upon the author to explain
Yeah we call upon the author to explain
I said
Prolix! Prolix!
There's nothing a pair of scissors can't fix
And what we have now will never be that way again
So we call upon the author to explain
Our myxomatoid kids spraddle the streets
We've shunned them from the greasy grind
The poor little things they look so sad and old
As they mount us from behind
I ask them to desist and to refrain!
And then we call upon the author to explain
Well, rosary clutched in his hand
He died with tubes up his nose
And a cabal of angels with finger cymbals
Chanted his name in code
We shook our fists at the punishing rain
And we called upon the author to explain
He said, everything is messed up round here
Everything is banal and jejune
There's a planetary conspiracy against the likes of you and me
In this idiot constituency of the moon
Well, he knew exactly who to blame!
And we call upon the author to explain
Prolix! Prolix!
Nothing a pair of scissors can't fix
Well, I go guruing down the street
And young people gather 'round my feet
And they ask me things, but I don't know where to start
They ignite the powder trail straight to my father's heart
And, yeah, once again
I call upon the author to explain
Yeah, we call upon the author to explain
Who is this great burdensome slavering dog-thing
That mediocres my every thought?
I feel like a vacuum cleaner, a complete sucker!
It's fucked up and he is a fucker
But what an enormous and encyclopedic brain!
I call upon the author to explain
Yeah we call upon the author to explain
Alright, yeah
Rampant discrimination
Mass poverty, third world debt
Infectious disease, global inequality
And deepening socio-economic divisions
Well, it does in your brain
We call upon the author to explain
Now hang on
My friend Doug is tapping on the window!
"Hey Doug, how you been?" (hey Doug)
Well, he brings me a book on holocaust poetry, complete with pictures
And then he tells me to get ready for the rain
And we call upon the author to explain
I say, ah
Prolix! Prolix!
Something a pair of scissors can fix
Bukowski was a jerk!
Berryman was best!
He wrote like wet papier-mache
But he went the Hemingway
Weirdly on wings and with maximum pain
We call upon the author to explain
Yeah well I call upon the author to explain
Yeah well down in my bolt hole I see they've published
Another volume of unreconstructed rubbish
"The waves, the waves were soldiers moving"
Well, thank you! Thank you!
Thank you and again
I call upon the author to explain
Yeah I call upon the author to explain
I call upon the author to explain
Yeah we call upon the author to explain
I said
Prolix! Prolix!
There's nothing a pair of scissors can't fix
Lyrics submitted by mutinyinheaven_x
We Call Upon the Author Lyrics as written by Warren Ellis Nicholas Cave
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Mute Song Limited
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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Fortnight
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Page
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The meaning of this song, as far as I can see, is pretty straightforward. Nick is calling on God, the "author" of the world, to explain all of the suffering in it, to provide answers to all of the dark questions mankind has. All of these hardships and problems he metaphorically refers to as "prolixity" (a term which means needless and excessive use of language) and calls on God to get involved and "edit" this extraneous pain and suffering out of his work ("nothing a pair of scissors can't fix").
And cave intetionally uses prolix in the lyrics too ("Our myxomatoid kids spraddle the streets", "In this idiot constituency of the moon", etc.).