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"
My eyes are burnt and bleeding and all that looks like a monkey on a silver bar …
big poop hatch with a cotton hatch – hatch holes that the light shows in and the light shows out …
and the little red fence …
and the wire and the wood …
and the barbs and the berries …
and the tires and the bottles and the caruponrims …
and the heat swims on its fenders and the dust collects and the rust of autumn surrenders into gold …
trumpet poop on the ground with peanuts its bell was blocking an ant’s vision …
and the mice played in its air holes and valves …
a ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red and blacked its wings and blew off to a flower …
its hum heard just above the ground …
black dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive tree that originally held a tree house full of a building with one small window …
birds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper …
"My sun is free from the window," said the god the green dabbers …
rice wires mouse tins and milk muffins …
cereal and stone …
matches and masks and mace and clubs …
and splintered shaft light intrigues a cricket on a dust jeweled penlet …
cobwebs collect down plaster run into a hole and find collected glass that drinks the reflection of midday afternoon midway between telegraph lines …
a silver wing – a cloud – a rumbling of a cloud …
a crowd of various violins strum from next door through my wall into my ear obviously artificial …
neighbors laugh through sandwiches …
Harlem babies – their stomachs explode into roars …
their eyes shiny with starvation …
spreckled hula dance on my phonograph …
my door rattles windy …
sand wears my rug shoe and taps on the unheard finish of an hourglass I cannot hear …
a typical musician’s nest of thoughts filter through dust speakers …
"Why don’t you go home? Oh Blobby, are you great," exclaims two lips in some jumbled rock ‘n’ roll tune and wears a spot I cannot scratch …
the surface of a friend …
this high book a friend laid on me …
on the couch relaxing in the corner behind a still life pond with plenty of bugs and lily pads slurred in mud banks and boulders tin cans and raisins warped by thought …
strain on the spoon like a wheat check – check Bif – cotton popping out of his sleeve …
poop hatch open – big poop hatch with a cotton hatch – hatch holes – got to pick up the horns …
but the head won’t move until it walks
big poop hatch with a cotton hatch – hatch holes that the light shows in and the light shows out …
and the little red fence …
and the wire and the wood …
and the barbs and the berries …
and the tires and the bottles and the caruponrims …
and the heat swims on its fenders and the dust collects and the rust of autumn surrenders into gold …
trumpet poop on the ground with peanuts its bell was blocking an ant’s vision …
and the mice played in its air holes and valves …
a ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red and blacked its wings and blew off to a flower …
its hum heard just above the ground …
black dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive tree that originally held a tree house full of a building with one small window …
birds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper …
"My sun is free from the window," said the god the green dabbers …
rice wires mouse tins and milk muffins …
cereal and stone …
matches and masks and mace and clubs …
and splintered shaft light intrigues a cricket on a dust jeweled penlet …
cobwebs collect down plaster run into a hole and find collected glass that drinks the reflection of midday afternoon midway between telegraph lines …
a silver wing – a cloud – a rumbling of a cloud …
a crowd of various violins strum from next door through my wall into my ear obviously artificial …
neighbors laugh through sandwiches …
Harlem babies – their stomachs explode into roars …
their eyes shiny with starvation …
spreckled hula dance on my phonograph …
my door rattles windy …
sand wears my rug shoe and taps on the unheard finish of an hourglass I cannot hear …
a typical musician’s nest of thoughts filter through dust speakers …
"Why don’t you go home? Oh Blobby, are you great," exclaims two lips in some jumbled rock ‘n’ roll tune and wears a spot I cannot scratch …
the surface of a friend …
this high book a friend laid on me …
on the couch relaxing in the corner behind a still life pond with plenty of bugs and lily pads slurred in mud banks and boulders tin cans and raisins warped by thought …
strain on the spoon like a wheat check – check Bif – cotton popping out of his sleeve …
poop hatch open – big poop hatch with a cotton hatch – hatch holes – got to pick up the horns …
but the head won’t move until it walks
Lyrics submitted by Hawkeye2008
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