Tag Archives: lyrics

I’ll Fight A Whedon For You (Ode To Maurissa Tancharoen)

The first time I saw you in pony tails,
that Horrible Doctor’s fan,
I knew by your groove when you sang that tune
that I wanted to be your man.

But then your Commentary
made me Asian Aware-y
and I knew what I’d have to do:

I’ll fight a Whedon for you:
Zak, Jed, or Joss,
Yeah, you know that it’s true.
There’s more a chance
I’ll see DOLLHOUSE renewed
But it’s true:
I’ll fight a Whedon for you.

Echoes remain from that song that you sang
as Kilo the cutest Doll.
I’m too poor for STARZ or for SPARTACUS,
but you know that I’ll give you my all.

No, I’ll never yield; I’ll back AGENTS OF S.H.I.E.L.D.
until Agent Coulson dies (I mean, again, like, for real this time)
You’re Pretty In Pink, I don’t care what they think
Then I saw you with another guy.

Even though you have lupus
I thought we could this
but then werewolves devoured my heart.

But I’ll fight a Whedon for you:
Zak, Jed, or Joss,
Yeah, you know that it’s true.
There’s more a chance
I’ll see DOLLHOUSE renewed
But it’s true:
I’ll fight a Whedon for you.

Did you know that our birthdays
are one day apart (except
plus or minus ten years)?
And sure, Jed is hot —
what’s he got that I’m not?
(I mean, other than a career)

So Mo, won’t you go
with me, baby, you know
we’d be cool (ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

But I’ll fight a Whedon for you:
Zak, Jed, or Joss,
Yeah, you know that it’s true.
But I’ll still be here
after S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 2
’cause it’s true:
I’ll fight a Whedon for you.

Album One, Track Five

The first time it interrupts the sustain
of droning half-step dissonance, filling
the aural space with a fuzzed out wall
of sound strummed heavily on the down
stroke that supports a single voice
layered in unison with itself. It lasts
for a mere eight bars before returning
to that strange talky ambience and
the unsettling vibrations of open strings
and one more flat than it should be.

But the second time it hits that barricade
grows bigger, becoming a mighty force
of distortion twice as long as it had been.
And this time when we hear that voice above
those thrashing tones we find that it is not
alone, instead accompanied by a third and
then given a response, an answer to
the speaker’s call that first presents itself
as a savage, meaningless, but ultimately
universal howl which then transforms into
an echo before overpowering the voice
and predicting its response before it has
the chance to finish what it started.

And finally, the third time, the cacophony keeps
on building as our two conflicting voices still
struggle to be heard through that endless
cavern full of overdriven shreds, the lead
voice once again repeating its confession,
when another third enters the conversation,
offering new points counter to the claims of
the first. Perhaps it’s a direct response
from one who has suffered just the same,
in a some similar story where only the details
changed, or perhaps it is the audience that
the first one had been calling to for all
this time, finally offering an answer or
at least an argument to the initial supposition.

But no resolution is found in the end and their
voices combine into a meaningless wails that are
no sooner swallowed up by the growing sounds
that surround them, feeding back upon themselves
and finally crumbling into discord and decay.

“That”

We begin, as all things do, with building: ambient noise and the revving of a motorcycle engine, before ascending piano notes come up, repeatedly rising up the scale without ever truly resolving. Soon the feedback begins, and the heavy, distorted guitars follow in suit, guided by the steady crash of cymbals and booming snare drum snap. The lead guitar comes in wailing, spilling feedback and harmonics all across the soundscape.

And finally, nearly two minutes later, everything stops. A moment of calm, accompanied by a gentle piano, tapping out a loose and airy I-IV-V progression, as our hero makes the first of his anthemic refrains: “I would do anything for love.” And so he proceeds to describe in detail those very things that he would, to the harmonious twinkle of ivory. “But I won’t do that,” he finally concludes as the electric guitars come ripping back into the song, ringing out their reverb in steady whole notes while the snare drum sets the pace with on every 2nd and 4th beat. The louder instruments temporarily pull back as the song drops down to the relative minor, suggesting a darkness within as our hero articulates the struggles he has faced, the constant challenges he has been forced to overcome in order to do those things — any thing — for love that he claims that he would do.

But then it returns, ever so briefly, to a soft, piano-led plea, returning to a major key, before returning violently once again to the Ionian mode, battling cacophonous feedback as our hero casts aside his hardships and howls out a solemn vow against a painful diminished chord that as long as he lives, he will always make good on that aforementioned:

“I would do anything for love,” he reminds us, returning to the soft lilt of the piano, this time with a slightly more rhythmic weight behind each note and a gentle chorus of angels lifting up his voice. And each phrase is punctuated by a bombastic burst of guitars as the chorus turns around and resolves once more to his oath: “I would do anything for love — but I won’t do that” and we don’t even care what “that” is because we’re him, we believe him, we believe in him. He repeats his mantra more and more as the soft tap of the hi-hat cymbal continues picking up velocity, until the chorus of raucous returns to carry him through that declarative refrain, accompanied by the glowing harmonies of seraphim.

The phrase repeats, and repeats again, until you’ve almost had enough — when suddenly the song returns to the unresolved Ionian buildup that we heard at the beginning, only driven this time by a steady rock n roll pulse. And again, the song pulls back to a quiet accompaniment as our hero returns to the darkened thoughts of his own internal struggles. But his voice carries on, the snare drum gets louder, and louder still, each hit positing an exclamation mark upon his words. Once again we progressive through the familiar patterns of the song, heaping greater and greater upon the reverb of every word, until finally, that diminished chord returns, its dissonant vibrations sending sickening waves through our skin as the drums pull back to slow down the reveal that yes, he would do anything for love! And the chorus cries along, their rich harmonies ripping through the heavy wall of raucous sounds, bursting through the air in halftime as if thrust into a climactic slow-motion moment, a frozen frame against all odds, against the violent volume of sonic chaos shunted into some melodic order, and for just one moment, the world stops spinning and we see true love in its finest form.

As the dust clears away, our hero finds his mate, and she sings along with him, taking in his melody as if her own breathe and returns it, finding affirmation in the sound. Until finally, as the song and the world fall apart around them, he makes it abundantly clear, through all her hesitations, uncertainties and exceptions: No, I will not cheat on you for love.

And that’s the one fucking thing he won’t. He won’t fucking cheat on her love. Which is such a fucking cop-out, because of course you’re not going to cheat on someone. That’s like the basic fucking rule of being in love. You went through 12 minutes of some of the most glorious fucking operatic rock n roll music ever written — just to tell her that you wouldn’t cheat on her to make her love you? How would that even work?

I’ll take the words right out of your fucking mouth: fuck you, Meat Loaf.

St. Elsewhere

at half past, work is over; time
to watch the changing guards
as they dance their canine cares
away, or hide the smoky veil of truth
from pairs of pale men, pockets
lined, to brown bags hiding
closing time’s desires. There’s a fight
on either side–one with claws, and

one with knives. Across the street
They hide beneath the shade and
gamble lives, but no one on the
other side will stop to bat an eye.

While some may wear a leash of chains,
the other side is held as fast by bars
and by the rain and by the promise of
a supper that He prays is not His last:

Patron Saint of Somewhere Else, please
bring Us greener pastures and better days,
otherwise entitled to those good enough
to pay. So We laugh it off like child’s play,
endearing simple-minded pleasures–stay out
of the way, of the teeth They bare and call a game

beneath the watchful Eye of telephone lines.
There is a Man who stares across the street
in silence, and in envy, of another man’s best friend:

They will not let You play, and They will not let You in.

The Ballad of Gideon Stargrave

In a city full of strangers,
or a town that’s drowned in dreams,
I’m the albatross, awaiting flight;
a soldier’s greatest scheme
before his life and pride are blown apart.
Locked on target for her heart:
His pen’s his only missile that he flies.
But he’s still stuck somewhere
between himself and I.

Oh, if I could be him
he wouldn’t have to be me.
There’s an albatross around my neck
and we both know what that means.

So he’s offering his blessing
to the boy out in the cold
because he’s given all that he can give.
He’s left with just a face,
and though the girls all swear he’s handsome,
it’s just not to his taste.
Without his arms, without a neck,
without his feet, without a heart,
he’s more than alive,
and that’s more than a start.

He gave me most of his mind.
He asked me to write,
to color his life
but a poet is lost
when his life is all right;
when the girls are in love;
when he sleeps through the night
without a sound.

Sonic Death Monkey

I found this slip of paper tucked between the pages in my personal copy of High Fidelity, which is especially strange because it’s not in my handwriting, and I don’t think I’ve ever lent my copy out for anyone to borrow

There’s something about you that
DRAWS ME IN
The way your eyes light up
When you
She has the ability to

I can’t keep holding onto your highs
when your lows are crushing me
You yo-yo me AROUND like a

A PUPPET CAN’T BE A PUPPETEER TOO

I need to be strong, I know
That is there
I DELETED your number but
I know I’m going to want it
BACK
She will make you BIPOLAR
She is so insecure
I deserve your highs not
your lows.
I can’t keep blaming myself
for your fuck ups.

She has the ability to
bring you so high one
moment, CRUSH YOU, then bring
you back 15 minutes later

She’s so insecure, will GO
to most nonchalant
PERSON

69 Love Songs

I awoke to the pungent smell of sweat, come, and Febreze. It reminded me of freshly chopped sweet onions, and it burned my weary eyes all the same. In the distance, I could hear the reverberated decay of stubby, clumsy fingers sliding heavily against nickel-wound strings. I glanced the room, but it wasn’t until I saw the posters on the wall that I fully remembered what happened the night before: Fight Club, Pulp Fiction, Animal House, all the classic male masturbation fantasies. And I’d fallen for the same old shit again.

I grabbed an oversized Boston University hoodie from his pile of clothes nearby, and after I was (mostly) certain it was cleaned, I pulled it on over my head. I was never one for cuddling with strangers that I had just met at the bar, but I wasn’t comfortable leaving the room in nothing but last night’s wrinkled clothes. I squeezed into my jeans and left to find the bathroom.

“I’m sorry; did I wake you up?” he asked, before I’d even step completely of the bedroom doorway. He was sitting on a worn out grey-brown couch, strumming an acoustic guitar.

“Oh, no. No, not at all,” I said, not entirely confident in my ability to lie this early in the morning.

“That’s good. I was just working on a song I’ve been writing. But I figured I should let you sleep.” Then, a carefully calculated pause, as if the idea had just suddenly come. “Hey — would you want to hear it?”

I had the feeling that even if I said “no,” he would have played it anyway, but I didn’t want to be rude.

And when you said that things were different,” he sang, “I thought that we could stay the same / but even on the darkest mornings / you know the stars still light up your name…

I immediately wished that I had been rude. But still he kept singing:

But baby, it’s a brand new world / I hope you’ll make it for me / Baby, won’t you give it a whirl? / Just let your heart go free / and stay with me…

I suddenly regretted hooking up with about 85% of the guys I met in college. Still, here I was at 27, and somehow in my inebriation, I had fallen for the same old crap. Sure — in my sobriety, if you can call the morning that, I could see it for what it was. But apparently I regressed 7 years last night.

“Hey, I should actually get going…” I interrupted, as politely as I could. “I’ve got this, umm —”

“Oh, well — can you at least stay for breakfast? It’s just about done. Do you like bacon?”

Suddenly, the morning after didn’t seem so bad.