Songs to me are like containers for feelings. Pre-song, a feeling is sprawling, wild, almost *unbearable*, but then after I write the right song for it— it fits somewhere. It fits in the container I made it. It feels more manageable.
I can still feel the thing without feeling overwhelmed by it. It is contained. I can go to the museum and look at the feeling in its case and say, “wow, what a beautiful thing. How interesting.”
Here is, then, a container for a feeling….(oh and you can listen here)
lyrics:
(“25”)
summer you first saw me
we were just kids
you asked, “are you hungry?”
i said, “i could eat.”
we made a feast out of nothing
we made a show out of shit
i’m 25 now, missing all of it
i thought i’d have no limits
but i act like everything’s a wall
i miss the way it felt when someday meant freedom and someday was far away
now it’s all in my hands
i don’t even want hands anymore
i want to lie in bed and dream as though someday is far away
spring i turned fifteen
i told you everything
spent my days plotting
how fast i could leave home
i’ve been faking it
but i’m still not making it
everyone knows, everyone knows
we’ll make a feast out of nothing
we’ll make a show out of shit
i’m twentyfive now, don’t want it to end
i know i have my limits
i act like everything’s a wall
i overthink until the good things become bad dreams but you turn them back again
now it’s all in my head
you take my hand and drag me out
someday i’ll find a way to look at where i am and not wish it all away