the past and pending...
I have been listening to this song by the Shins quite a bit of late. I was tempted to simply post these lyrics and allow them to speak for themselves, but some people have expressed a dislike for that sort of thing, and I understand why. So, by way of explanation for this song and what it means to me, let me say these few things. First, I appreciate the song's melancholy autumn feeling (like much of Nick Drake's music), because that sort of music just appeals to me. Second, it makes me think of people, places, events, and things in the past that I have not yet been able to put to rest (for proof, I had two dreams about that person last night, both of which were disturbing and uncomfortable, but I am not going into detail about it).
At the same time, and perhaps more importantly, the song is entitled "the past and pending," the implication of which is a grappling with things yet to come. I have some things to look forward to in the near and far future, and there are people in my life whom I love (and love me in return) with whom I intend to share this feeling of expectation of the pending, and that makes it possible to get through the moments when the "remembrance of things past" threatens to overwhelm me.
In the final analysis, I have never regreted loving anyone. In some part of my heart, I still love everyone I have ever loved. I thank god for that, and would never ask for it be any other way.
As someone sets light to the first fire of autumn
we settle down to cut ourselves apart.
Cough and twitch from the news on your face
and some foreign candle burning in your eyes.
Held to the past, too aware of the pending
chill as the dawn breaks and finds us up for sale.
Enter the fog, another low road descending
away from the cold lust, your house and summertime.
Blind to the last cursed affair, pistols and countless lies
a trail of white blood betrays the reckless route your craft is running.
Feed till the sun turns into wood, dousing an ancient torch
loiter the whole day through and lose yourself in lines dissecting love.
Your name on my cast and my notes on your stay
offer me little but doting on a crime.
We've turned every stone and for all our inventions,
in matters of love loss, we've no recourse at all.
Blind to the last cursed affair, pistols and countless lies
a trail of white blood betrays the reckless route your craft is running.
Feed till the sun turns into wood, dousing an ancient torch
loiter the whole day through and lose yourself in lines dissecting love.