The singer is feeling drained by a relationship with someone who has done nothing but give her pain to sing about. Now she carries around the broken pieces of a friendship while her ex-Muse bottles her blood, keeping the singer's pain as a sordid souvenir. Their friendship has been waning for so long that you can see its ribs almost escaping its skin to search for warmth and shelter until spring like birds. Even in the winter of their love, the ex-Muse stands naked as a newborn, demanding to be cradled and suckled and coddled, sacrificing nothing in return. Now this frigid newborn's love is writing words on the wall with the meat of a nectarine, a reference to the "angel" (a.k.a. vandal) at Belshazzar's feast, heralding the fall of an empire. The nectarine, sweet fruit, is symbolic of spring. Has the hurtful friend moved on, leaving the singer alone amid the ruins of a soured friendship? Perhaps it's best to fly south and start over, but
that's easier said than done. The singer wants closure, and her ex-Muse is ignoring the parade of skeletons and bird balloons shuffling past on the dreary streets, refusing to take ownership for the past, which is - as far as the singer's friend is concerned - dead and gone, as flightless as bird-like balloons. Something as beautiful and vital as the moon is suddenly sickening, tainted by the pain of a ruined relationship, and it casts its wan, sickly light over all like a serpent abandoning its skin. This fixation on the past isn't healthy, but even still the singer longs for what she cannot have. She wants to be on a team again, playing music with her friend and nesting together like a family of real, live birds. She is not wanted, but she yearns for companionship anyway, casting aside all care for herself to try and salvage what has been lost.
Swept away by tumultuous emotions, aswirl in her vindictive bitterness, the singer gasps, surprised by a pleasant memory: a rare moment of balance between the two friends, teetering beneath a glistening expanse of stars that stared blank and tranquil back at them as they unveiled themselves like newlyweds. This is what has been lost. As the memory fades, the song returns to its steady, inevitable rhythm, and we are wrenched back to the present. That moment of vulnerability is gone, and whatever the singer gave in good faith to her friend is lost like a limb that's been severed.
Now the singer is just a ghost, haunted by the friend that failed her and haunting that friend in return. She will sever herself from the past as swiftly as snipping her hair, and when all is said and done, the needy, newborn friend who didn't give jack is left shivering in the cold, discovering all too late that the singer was meaningful after all. Now this callous friend will carry the curse of regret and loss like a locket, constantly reminded of their failure by the singer's deserted lock of hair.
The singer is feeling drained by a relationship with someone who has done nothing but give her pain to sing about. Now she carries around the broken pieces of a friendship while her ex-Muse bottles her blood, keeping the singer's pain as a sordid souvenir. Their friendship has been waning for so long that you can see its ribs almost escaping its skin to search for warmth and shelter until spring like birds. Even in the winter of their love, the ex-Muse stands naked as a newborn, demanding to be cradled and suckled and coddled, sacrificing nothing in return. Now this frigid newborn's love is writing words on the wall with the meat of a nectarine, a reference to the "angel" (a.k.a. vandal) at Belshazzar's feast, heralding the fall of an empire. The nectarine, sweet fruit, is symbolic of spring. Has the hurtful friend moved on, leaving the singer alone amid the ruins of a soured friendship? Perhaps it's best to fly south and start over, but that's easier said than done. The singer wants closure, and her ex-Muse is ignoring the parade of skeletons and bird balloons shuffling past on the dreary streets, refusing to take ownership for the past, which is - as far as the singer's friend is concerned - dead and gone, as flightless as bird-like balloons. Something as beautiful and vital as the moon is suddenly sickening, tainted by the pain of a ruined relationship, and it casts its wan, sickly light over all like a serpent abandoning its skin. This fixation on the past isn't healthy, but even still the singer longs for what she cannot have. She wants to be on a team again, playing music with her friend and nesting together like a family of real, live birds. She is not wanted, but she yearns for companionship anyway, casting aside all care for herself to try and salvage what has been lost. Swept away by tumultuous emotions, aswirl in her vindictive bitterness, the singer gasps, surprised by a pleasant memory: a rare moment of balance between the two friends, teetering beneath a glistening expanse of stars that stared blank and tranquil back at them as they unveiled themselves like newlyweds. This is what has been lost. As the memory fades, the song returns to its steady, inevitable rhythm, and we are wrenched back to the present. That moment of vulnerability is gone, and whatever the singer gave in good faith to her friend is lost like a limb that's been severed. Now the singer is just a ghost, haunted by the friend that failed her and haunting that friend in return. She will sever herself from the past as swiftly as snipping her hair, and when all is said and done, the needy, newborn friend who didn't give jack is left shivering in the cold, discovering all too late that the singer was meaningful after all. Now this callous friend will carry the curse of regret and loss like a locket, constantly reminded of their failure by the singer's deserted lock of hair.