First, the fear of losing relevancy after garnering enough attention to stand out among the masses and feel true in your artistry. A dream of light spilling through stained glass, depicting a violent struggle that's bathed in beautiful colors as you claim your ambitions. You work yourself tirelessly to present your artwork worthy of their recognition, only to slowly realize the countless scores that came before you. The siren's call brought them to the shore from the sea of the listless aggregates as it does the same to you. Where you were convinced that grass is greener on dry earth, but the sands are soaked in blood and littered with corpses of crows who had transformed themselves briefly, able to take flight, but now lay lifeless, having fallen in line with the wicked and corrupt, with their wings having been torn from them.
Second, the comfort of acceptance. A return to your original form that comes at the end of all our lives. To accept your return to the sea as a new generation has been recast, climbing onto the sands now to replace the old generation's roles. With fond memories, and your guard dropped, you trace your path backwards, receding into the ocean as it dawns on you. Now YOU are the crow, fallen to the influence of a world that no longer needs you. Ideals of reproach or redemption are meaningless in the everlasting. The new generation takes up the blade and strikes the final blow. The eternal return cycles endlessly as the ones who strike you down, shall one day face the same fate. In that momentary revelation, as you are slowly dragged back into the ocean by the calming push and pull of the waves, the sun setting is a comforting view as you know you can now go back to sleep, and rest your weary head.
To me, this song has two meanings:
First, the fear of losing relevancy after garnering enough attention to stand out among the masses and feel true in your artistry. A dream of light spilling through stained glass, depicting a violent struggle that's bathed in beautiful colors as you claim your ambitions. You work yourself tirelessly to present your artwork worthy of their recognition, only to slowly realize the countless scores that came before you. The siren's call brought them to the shore from the sea of the listless aggregates as it does the same to you. Where you were convinced that grass is greener on dry earth, but the sands are soaked in blood and littered with corpses of crows who had transformed themselves briefly, able to take flight, but now lay lifeless, having fallen in line with the wicked and corrupt, with their wings having been torn from them.
Second, the comfort of acceptance. A return to your original form that comes at the end of all our lives. To accept your return to the sea as a new generation has been recast, climbing onto the sands now to replace the old generation's roles. With fond memories, and your guard dropped, you trace your path backwards, receding into the ocean as it dawns on you. Now YOU are the crow, fallen to the influence of a world that no longer needs you. Ideals of reproach or redemption are meaningless in the everlasting. The new generation takes up the blade and strikes the final blow. The eternal return cycles endlessly as the ones who strike you down, shall one day face the same fate. In that momentary revelation, as you are slowly dragged back into the ocean by the calming push and pull of the waves, the sun setting is a comforting view as you know you can now go back to sleep, and rest your weary head.
For now.