Summer has a weird way of turning things upside down. More than Mercury in retrograde, it bungles the mind, messing with the matter in the head. Maybe it’s the sun – that glorious, vicious, life-giving orb – pulsating and pulling us to it, never quite letting us go, keeping us in orbit, bound forever, circling in the slightest parabolic curve. It brings us back to the past, much as it pushes us ahead. Like a myth, we take our places in the firmament.
COMBAT, I’M READY FOR COMBAT
I SAY I DON’T WANT THAT, BUT WHAT IF I DO?
‘CAUSE CRUELTY WINS IN THE MOVIES
I’VE GOT A HUNDRED THROWN-OUT SPEECHES I ALMOST SAID TO YOU
EASY THEY COME, EASY THEY GO
I JUMP FROM THE TRAIN, I RIDE OFF ALONE
I NEVER GREW UP, IT’S GETTING SO OLD
HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
Some of us suit up, preparing for battle. Better to go out fighting than waiting to win. A victory of being right is always a valediction of some sort, because who could put up with that for too long? But we won’t give up that easily. The fight rages because the heart knows no reason. Summer fuels the madness. And a summer moon… well, who has a chance? We will ride out in the night…
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER
I’VE BEEN THE PREY
WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING?
BUT WHO COULD STAY?
DARK SIDE, I SEARCH FOR YOUR DARK SIDE
BUT WHAT IF I’M ALRIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT HERE?
AND I CUT OFF MY NOSE JUST TO SPITE MY FACE
THEN I HATE MY REFLECTION FOR YEARS AND YEARS
We build our castle, and I make it as pretty as possible. A spear-studded iron barricade of youth, rusted and entwined with a climbing hydrangea. A glass windowpane, unbroken, and impossible to put together again if it were any other way. Memory rides on the breeze. On humid nights, the old Ko House organ releases scents and molecules from a lifetime ago, when we’d peek around their banister to see if the adults were still by the fire at Christmas. It still carries its song, music like scent, senses placing us back in our childhood. The summer stickiness pulls me back there then jerks me back to the present.
I WAKE IN THE NIGHT, I PACE LIKE A GHOST
THE ROOM IS ON FIRE, INVISIBLE SMOKE
AND ALL OF MY HEROES DIE ALL ALONE
HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER,
I’VE BEEN THE PREY
SCREAMING, WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING?
BUT WHO COULD STAY?
These floors of wood once felt so solid, once felt so secure. They creak now, a bit battered, a bit worn, even a little warped. They’ve seen the seasons, they’ve paced the years. Crumbling into their waves, my body is not what it used to be. It creaks now too. It buckles and cracks and brings pain. It goes down, brittle shell meeting splintered resistance. This will not hold you like the earth. No arms will embrace you. Nothing will give you what you want. Nothing will give you what you need.
(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME)
‘CAUSE THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH
CAN YOU SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME?
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
A summer fairytale. Why would we ever trust the words of a fairy? And why ever in the summer, of all available points of time? That sun is on the rise. That heat is waiting to ascend. That army is ready to assemble. One crisp white shirt. One suit striped of pin. One tie of silk and elegance. Black belt in leather. A pair of shoes tipped with wings. Armor isn’t just steel and metal mesh. Looks can kill.
ALL THE KING’S HORSES, ALL THE KING’S MEN
COULDN’T PUT ME TOGETHER AGAIN
‘CAUSE ALL OF MY ENEMIES STARTED OUT FRIENDS
HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER
I’VE BEEN THE PREY
WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING?
BUT WHO COULD STAY?
The war has always been within. Storms may circle, shots may strike, but the battle for your soul can only be won, or lost, by you. That’s the most difficult battle of all. Usually it’s impossible. Have you ever tried playing chess against yourself? Or any game for that matter. We are our own worst enemies. We know our weaknesses, we know our strengths, we know just where to strike to pierce the most vulnerable piece of heart. We know and so we guard against it, but in doing so we cut off all other aid or support. A self-fulfilling summer prophecy, cut with shards of sunlight and salty sea water.
(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME)
WHO COULD STAY?
WHO COULD STAY?
WHO COULD STAY?
YOU COULD STAY
YOU COULD STAY
YOU…
COMBAT, I’M READY FOR COMBAT.
Maybe it’s time to end this war.
Maybe I can put down my weapons.
Maybe I can put down my hurt.
Maybe I can…
