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Broken Chairs your body conforms to
Out beyond the quieted garden
You can bring the man form into trust
Through the holes in my everydayness
Lends sustenance where starvation's necessary
Cause my brain's a dictionary
Of long spring days and the speech of crows
Who themselves are mirrors of apprehensions
In the fallen sun
Alright
You can make it stay
Out beyond the quieted garden
You can bring the man form into trust
Through the holes in my everydayness
Lends sustenance where starvation's necessary
Cause my brain's a dictionary
Of long spring days and the speech of crows
Who themselves are mirrors of apprehensions
In the fallen sun
Alright
You can make it stay
Lyrics submitted by rxqueen
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Mm, I hear the natural history of the American west. It's my opinion that life is better examined where it's been left to it's own devices for some time without intrusions, even be that they may well-meaning. I think the question this song asks is that if we are so adept at conforming to the broken chairs we might find ourselves provided with in life, why is it that we resist or fail to produce adaptations that can help us endure the everyday contexts of suffering? What are our words, thoughts and feelings and where do their powers lie?
Reminds me of something written by Camus (forgive me): "At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman, and these hills, the softness of the sky, the outline of these trees at this very minute lose the illusory meaning with which we had clothed them, henceforth more remote than a lost paradise. The primitive hostility of the world rises up to face us across millennia. For a second we cease to understand it because for centuries we have understood in it solely the images and designs that we had attributed to it beforehand, because henceforth we lack the power to make use of that artifice. The world evades us because it becomes itself again. That stage scenery masked by habit becomes again what it is. It withdraws at a distance from us."