Young Writers Society

Audio:


Lyrics:

(sorry the audio's a little rough! I actually cut out a little chunk near the end where I definitely forgot the lyrics to my own song @_@ and didn't want to disturb my neighbor doing endless takes. I just thought this would be a really fun poem to try to make into a song - so hopefully you enjoy it!)

Lyrics:
we are phonebook fish
you and me
unrooted treading galaxies
we are every hurricane
stir, spin, dive

spread these pages loose,
unbind them, paper's cheap
let us soak up these ocean dreams

we are phonebook fish
you and me
unrooted treading galaxies
we are every hurricane
stir, spin, dive

your name's written here,
and here, and here,
if you don't believe me,
you've got nothing to fear

we are phonebook fish
you and me
unrooted treading galaxies
we are every hurricane
stir, spin, dive

don't forget to call back
they're always forgetting that

these old numbers disconnected
because land-lines became irrelevant
the year the world was supposed to end

/ the apocalypse isn't subtle darling,
but you'll miss it if you're always land-bound

the apocalypse isn't subtle darling,
but you'll miss it if you're always land-bound /

watch your loved ones become ocean discards
furniture for water bottle islands
watch your loved ones become ocean discards
so cool and uncollected

would you live here with me,
we're short on reality
but i swear i can breathe through the rainstorms
would you live here with me,
we're short on reality
and we can try to slay the demons
straight from the sea

we are phonebook fish
you and me
unrooted treading galaxies
we are every hurricane
stir, spin, dive

If you feel like songs are ruined by hearing the author's interpretation, then definitely don't read this little note! Feel free to interpret the song as you'd like - because I'm not sure I had much of an intention of anything when I wrote the initial poem. I just knew I wanted to use the line "we are phonebook fish" because it seemed like a bizarre image that could make a good poem.

I would say I'm going to interpret this song as being about environmental anxiety and a critique of how our bodies and earth are treated as disposable objects, with a play off of the line "there's plenty of fish in the sea" - the narrator of the song seems oblivious to the damage that they're causing; people tend to act like hurricanes, we just throw paper, plastic and people into the sea without considering the consequences - pretending everything is as disposable/disconnected as phonebooks for land-line numbers.

If the rain would carry my voice to you AED
I would sing to you all day long AE
If the sun would show your face to me AED
I would go blind and never feel wrong AE

because darling, darling I'm going mad DAE
cos I miss you I miss you so bad DA

and if crying could reach you I'd cover my head AED
and never let you see me down AE
and if hesitation would falter your steps AED
I'd never let you touch the ground AE

because darling, darling I'm going mad DAE
cos I miss you I miss you so bad DA

and if the stars could bring your hand to mine AED
I'd take off into the night AE
and if loneliness should kiss your lips AED
I'd be there to kiss you instead AE

because darling, darling I'm going mad DAE
cos I miss you I miss you so bad DA

and if I could walk ten thousand miles AED
to see you oh to see you again AE
i wouldn't think twice, for no sacrifice is AED
too great just to love you again. AE

because darling, darling I'm going mad DAE
cos I miss you I miss you so bad DA

i forget these days
which is scarier—
to know i'll die alone
or to know life ends either way

stranded on this man-of-war
that takes me anywhere i want to go
which is hardly where i need to be
for my wants are malicious

had i not been oblivious to my needs
had i not been oblivious to my needs
i would have been happy i imagine—

between two slices of wonderbread
a moral dilemma looks back at me
through mustard margarine eyes. it speaks
before I can slap it in the face
with beer sausage or bavarian meatloaf:
"is this for you"
proverbial fingers point
"or for them?"
proverbial fingers point again
& I am a tourniquet squeezing
the bleached cloth in my hands
until the water runs red because I am pinching
at strings, tugging for words that might hint
at answers. intrepid actions
are actually paroxysms of fear, slipping
into Ziploc bags greater than all the belongings
of that one man crouched
in the square of the door.

my belly
it collects fullness
like hail stones
in a tin bucket

&

my hands
they rove over hills, doughy
a baker's sourdough
on Sunday morning

&

my hips
they sail as two ships
pitching on roiling seas,
white flags waving

&

my mouth
it moulds to letter shapes
spilling out thoughts
that are now marbles

&

my body
it stands sentinel, weathered
by the battering rams
of my mind