There's a poem called Musee Des Beaux Arts by Auden, that has the exact same sentiment. How does the world carry on as if nothing had ever happened when there are disasters, wars and hearts being broken every day?
I love the sheer simplicity of 'don't they know its the end of the world, cause you don't love me anymore'. There's no fancy flourish, or an overdone crescendo, just simple, sheer heartache.
However, on a lighter side, there may be hope, as it states 'why does my heart go on beating', which could be interpreted as my body is carrying on, my body is surviving, but why? I'd take the fact that your body is surviving, as a sign that your mind is meant to, too.
There's a poem called Musee Des Beaux Arts by Auden, that has the exact same sentiment. How does the world carry on as if nothing had ever happened when there are disasters, wars and hearts being broken every day? I love the sheer simplicity of 'don't they know its the end of the world, cause you don't love me anymore'. There's no fancy flourish, or an overdone crescendo, just simple, sheer heartache. However, on a lighter side, there may be hope, as it states 'why does my heart go on beating', which could be interpreted as my body is carrying on, my body is surviving, but why? I'd take the fact that your body is surviving, as a sign that your mind is meant to, too.