Schisms and Lyrics

I am appreciative of the musical background that I grew up with.  Classical, Frank Sinatra, musicals, and other "cultured" choices.  Rock music was banned by my parents.

 It was my brother's fault.  Not my oldest brother, Luke.  He was an independent soul, but not rebellious.  He listened to Rush, Kansas, and did not blast it.  He did not annoy anyone with it.  And then he went off on his own, to seek his fortune at an early age.  He was flying planes in Arkansa by the time he was in his early 20s (he actually flew Governor Clinton around).  My second oldest brother, was a little bit more rebellious.  He didn't do anything tragic.  He just had an attitude of rebellion.  He listened to Led Zeppelin.  A lot.  And my parents attributed his rebellion to his music.  He is 10 years older then me, so by the time I became interested in my own music, I had a tough battle to encounter.  Little by little, I discovered music and would introduce soft songs to my mother, sharing the lyrics with her.  She did not see the music as coming between us since we were sharing it.

The first time I heard the Cure was at church.
It was probably the late 80s and there was a  special guest speaker at my youth group.  They had a presentation with clips of different bands and songs (mostly dated) who were satanic and evil.  They played a clip from a Cure song.  The Blood.
I instantly fell in love with the mood and sound.  The Blood is a debatable song, and could be interpreted as being blasphemous.  I discovered a lot of their other lyrics were very poetic.  And yes, my mother and I listened to the Cure and Depeche Mode in the car.  My dad, however, said that it sounded like cheap chinese music and that Robert Smith sounded like he was constipated and in pain.  That is actually funny.
I really like Tool.  I can't listen to all of their songs.  Some of their messages and lyrics go against my conscience, no matter how much I love the sound.  The predominant base and angst ridden vocals stir me.  There is truth in their wailings.  Schism is my favorite song, the lyrics are beautiful with pain, desire, regret and love.

I know the pieces fit cause I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering, fundamental differing,
Pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers souls in motion
Disintegrating as it goes testing our communication
The light that fueled our fire then has burned a hole between us so
We cannot see to reach an end crippling our communication.

I know the pieces fit cause I watched them tumble down
No fault, none to blame it doesn't mean I don't desire to
Point the finger, blame the other, watch the temple topple over
To bring the pieces back together, rediscover communication

The poetry that comes from the squaring off between,
And the circling is worth it
Finding beauty in the dissonance

There was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting
I've done the math enough to know the dangers of our second guessing
Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication

Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy sense of compassion

Between supposed lovers
Between supposed lovers

And I know the pieces fit 
Schism - Tool

Wasteland

I have been reading a little of T.S. Eliot lately.  I think poetry has a bad rap.  If you say "i like poetry" at a football party, cornhole tournament, or other normal get-together, you may get some weird looks.  Like you are nerdy or something.  But that is wrong.
I am going to say something that goes against every fiber of me, but American poets are awesome. They are tough, manly and cool.  I say that it goes against my fiber because I love the Brits.  I love Conan Doyle, Tolkien, Lewis, Dickens, and the list goes on.  But when it comes to poetry, I really love Robert Service and T. S. Eliot both who were Americans, although Service was born in England.  Granted, Eliot moved to England later in life and became a British citizen (I think,anyway, according to internet info)
I realized something though.  Eliot speaks the same language, the same heart song as Robert Smith of the Cure.  My husband is either rolling his eyes or laughing at me right now.  But seriously.

I like Eliot because although he was a Christian, he did not want to be a "christian" poet.  He wanted to be a great poet of the English language.  But somehow his beliefs seeped through his poetry, I think because of his honesty.  He wasn't superficial or fake.

My new favorite Eliot poem (nothing will beat Hollow Men, although I do like the Magi poem too) is   The Waste Land

When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smooths her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramaphone.


and later on...


In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is an empty chapel, on the wind’s home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.

It just seems to have the same feel as the Pornography album by the Cure....
One Hundred Years (one of my favorite songs)  here are some of the lyrics to the epic song...  Faith is another album that is similar.


Stroking your hair as the patriots are shot
Fighting for freedom on television
Sharing the world with slaughtered pigs
Have we got everything?
She struggles to get away . . .

I did not do so well with cool pics and links on this post, so I will end with a depressing Cure song/video

The Holy Hour

I recently heard someone say that there are reasons why you like the songs you like, why you connect to different characters in stories and comic books.  This is one of my favorite songs.  I listen to it when I am sad.  I don't know if this means I am a melancholy person or not.  The song is frustrating and sad and beautiful. A psychologists could probably analyze it though and come up with some understanding...



I sit and listen dreamlessly
A promise of salvation makes me stay
Then look at your face
And feel my heart pushed in
As all around the children play
The games they tired of yesterday
They play
They play

I stand and hear my voice
Cry out
A wordless scream at ancient power
It breaks against stone
I softly leave you crying
I cannot hold what you devour
The sacrifice of penance
In the holy hour.

Same deep water as you

I have always loved this song. While a freshman at Messiah College, I took a class that was Bible of Literature.  I think this class totally made me see the Bible as beautiful poetry... I thought this song was a reincarnation of sorts of Psalm 69.

deep water

kiss me goodbye
pushing out before i sleep
can't you see i try
swimming the same deep water as you is hard
the shallow drowned
lose less than we
the strangest twist upon your lips
and we shall be together


kiss me goodbye
bow your head and join with me
and face pushed deep reflections meet
the strangest twist upon your lips
and disappear the ripples clear
and laughing break against your feet
and laughing break the mirror sweet
so we shall be together

so we shall be together

kiss me goodbye
pushing out before i sleep
it's lower now and slower now
the strangest twist upon your lips
but i don't see
and i don't feel
but tightly hold up silently my hands
before my fading eyes
and in my eyes your smile
the very last thing before i go
i will kiss you
i will kiss you forever on nights like this
i will kiss you
and we shall be together

The Snow Queen

The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen is one of my favorite fairy tales of all times.  There are elements in the story which TOTALLY show up in C.S. Lewis' The Witch the Lion and the Wardrobe.  The White Witch is modeled after the Snow Queen, and the Snow Queen captures a boy ( in her sleigh nonetheless)  and turns his heart to ice, taking him away to her palace in the icy north.  The boy's friend who is an innocent little girl searches and searches, and after some adventures finds him and in a most incredible way is able to melt his heart of ice.  The Snow Queen is one of the best villains ever.
It is a tale of true innocent love and the battle against evil and untruth. 

Here is the part of the beginning of the tale, I cut out and summarized a bit in parenthesis.
 It begins with a magic mirror which distorts every image that it reflects.  It is broken and the tiny shards get stuck in people's eyes and hearts, making them ice.  

Once upon a time there was a wicked sprite, indeed he was the most mischievous of all sprites. One day he was in a very good humor, for he had made a mirror with the power of causing all that was good and beautiful when it was reflected therein, to look poor and mean; but that which was good-for-nothing and looked ugly was shown magnified and increased in ugliness. In this mirror the most beautiful landscapes looked like boiled spinach, and the best persons were turned into frights, or appeared to stand on their heads; their faces were so distorted that they were not to be recognised; and if anyone had a mole, you might be sure that it would be magnified and spread over both nose and mouth.

"That's glorious fun!" said the sprite. If a good thought passed through a man's mind, then a grin was seen in the mirror, and the sprite laughed heartily at his clever discovery. (His sprites then take the mirror and have fun, flying up high and eventually dropping and breaking it.  The mirror breaks into millions of tiny shards.) And now it worked much more evil than before; for some of these pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about in the wide world, and when they got into people's eyes, there they stayed; and then people saw everything perverted, or only had an eye for that which was evil. This happened because the very smallest bit had the same power which the whole mirror had possessed. Some persons even got a splinter in their heart, and then it made one shudder, for their heart became like a lump of ice. Some of the broken pieces were so large that they were used for windowpanes, through which one could not see one's friends. Other pieces were put in spectacles; and that was a sad affair when people put on their glasses to see well and rightly. Then the wicked sprite laughed till he almost choked, for all this tickled his fancy. The fine splinters still flew about in the air: and now we shall hear what happened next.
I encourage you to read the rest, it is really a beautiful tale.  SNOW QUEEN HERE

I have not seen a good movie which translates all of the beauty of the story properly.  However, after reading the story a few years ago, I realized there is a song which HAD to be inspired by it!
Once again, I draw upon the great influence that Robert Smith of the Cure has had on me...

"Cold"

Scarred
Your back was turned
Curled like an embryo
Take another face
You will be kissed again
I was cold as I mouthed the words
And crawled across the mirror
I wait
Await the next breath
Your name
Like ice into my heart

A shallow grave
A monument to the ruined age
Ice in my eyes
And eyes like ice don't move
Screaming at the moon
Another past time
Your name
Like ice into my heart

Everything as cold as life
Can no one save you?
Everything
As cold as silence
And you never say a word

Your name
Like ice into my heart
Your name
Like ice into my heart