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Ancestry
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There is a quote from George Eliot towards the end of the song:
"...even justice makes its victims..."
which is part of a longer quote from The Mill on the Floss.
Favorite Person
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You help me, you try to help me
Even though I’m hard to help
I don’t want it, I don’t need it,
But when you give it to me
You return me to myself
You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world
You do the same thing every day
you blame it on me, find a way
I think you’re changing every day
I'm changing the same way
I don't have to meet you halfway
Music
I’m working out my issues on you
I see you working out for me
We’re working it all out somehow
It seems we’re working out miraculously
I still haven’t met anyone I’d rather live / fight / leave here with
I still haven't met anyone I like more than you
You’re so selfish for me, you impress upon me
What you love about me, I can’t take credit for
You give me the best cut, you plate it pretty
You thank me for something I can’t take credit for
You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world
Walk down the hall to tell me some story about
what happened last night You would never leave me out
You plan it for me, Make it all about me
Go out with your friends, you would never cause me doubt
If I have to lay low with someone,
I want you in my foxhole, you’re the one
If I have to isolate with someone
In a lockdown we can have fun
Apocalyptic
I was working on this song and read this article by Peter Brannen and it just seemed to fit,
so I pulled some words from his first paragraph.
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No more words All the words have been said
By someone else’s tongue And they all fall dead
When the fireball from heaven comes rushing in
And the future is growing dim, the fix is in
The music of the spheres, the clashing of the spears
The screeching of tires, the tearing apart of the years
Continents crash together, rip apart, turn inside out
Sloshing ocean on a skin of rock covers our wobbling orb circling
The thermonuclear explosion on the inside in the void
Icy rocks careening overhead, the tug of celestial bodies
Points Earth toward a new North star
No more songs all the songs have been sung
By someone else’s tongue And they all are done, over and done
The music of the spheres, the clashing of spears
The screeching of tires, the tearing apart of the years
When the fireball from heaven comes rushing in
And the future is growing dim, the fix is in
Continents crash together, rip apart, turn inside out, killing nearly everything
Sloshing ocean on a skin of rock covers our wobbling orb circling
The thermonuclear explosion on the inside in the void
Icy rocks careening overhead, the tug of celestial bodies
Points Earth toward a new North star
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