I used to think that the lyrics of this song were pretty nasty, but now I think differently, as I realised what it's really about is the experience of paid-for sex. Before - "Here she comes (or cums) now now... she looks so good". And after - "she's made out of wood, just look and see."
Like elsewhere on this record, it's about abrupt changes in perception - white light or heat (the title track), a mind whole or "split open" from grief/trauma (I heard her call my name), the before and after of botched brain surgery (Lady Godiva), and before and after Waldo Jeffers finds out about his girlfriend's infidelity (The Gift).
Clever stuff, and undoubtably substantively influenced by Lou's experience of electro-shock therapy.
@hcnonplus lands hard once you hear it as the emotional deadness of paid-for sex. The repetition itself starts to feel mechanical, like the experience is happening to the narrator rather than being shared. Desire disillusion in real time.
@hcnonplus lands hard once you hear it as the emotional deadness of paid-for sex. The repetition itself starts to feel mechanical, like the experience is happening to the narrator rather than being shared. Desire disillusion in real time.
I used to think that the lyrics of this song were pretty nasty, but now I think differently, as I realised what it's really about is the experience of paid-for sex. Before - "Here she comes (or cums) now now... she looks so good". And after - "she's made out of wood, just look and see."
Like elsewhere on this record, it's about abrupt changes in perception - white light or heat (the title track), a mind whole or "split open" from grief/trauma (I heard her call my name), the before and after of botched brain surgery (Lady Godiva), and before and after Waldo Jeffers finds out about his girlfriend's infidelity (The Gift).
Clever stuff, and undoubtably substantively influenced by Lou's experience of electro-shock therapy.
[Edit: More tweaks]
@hcnonplus lands hard once you hear it as the emotional deadness of paid-for sex. The repetition itself starts to feel mechanical, like the experience is happening to the narrator rather than being shared. Desire disillusion in real time.
@hcnonplus lands hard once you hear it as the emotional deadness of paid-for sex. The repetition itself starts to feel mechanical, like the experience is happening to the narrator rather than being shared. Desire disillusion in real time.