Because sometimes it feels like it.
Lyrics
When you are younger
Full of colour and wonder
They tell you that you are insane
They make you straighten your hair out
Sit up and play right
Of else you will end up insane
The lunatics run the asylum
So lock all your windows and doors
I don’t know what goes on inside them
Except that they’re dangerous fools
I guess that what I’m trying to say
Is that they’re gonna try to fuck you anyway
It’s enough to make you fall to the floor
Curl up in a ball
And make yourself small
But it’s no answer at all
Take what you’re given
For the life that you’re living
Or else you will end up insane
If you don’t fill the hole
That they want you to fit in
They can always just say you’re insane
They claim that they’ve got all the answers
They claim that there’s only one way
And when they’re revealed to be chancers
They claim you’re the same
I guess that what they’re trying to say
Is that they’re going to get to fuck you either way
It’s so hard to keep your eye on the ball
When they make you feel small
And they don’t take your calls
And you’re left with fuck all
They say that they’ve locked up
The doors and the windows
To keep you from going insane
The outside is frightening
But look! The inside’s inviting
They want you to stay insane
Nobody knows where they’re going
But they still keep you lashed to the wheel
They say it’s considered opinion
That it’s you and not them who are fools
I think that what they’re trying to do
Is make sure that you don’t feel like you
Keeping you down in your place
And out of the race
Because of your face
They killed god and put themselves in his place
They killed people and then called them a race
And look out your window you can see it’s still there
A sky full of drones and yet nobody cares
Entertaining lies just to fill up your screens
Drowning out truth and what it might mean
Money is pouring straight out of the sky
Too much to share so people must die
I guess that what I’m trying to say
Is that they’re gonna try to fuck you anyway
It’s enough to make you fall to the floor
Curl up in a ball
And make yourself small
But it’s no answer at all
So now that you’re older
And if the world seems much colder
Be happy if you are insane
Thoughts
It’s been a gloomy week, chez Freud. Why? Who knows. For a long time now I’ve been persecuted by the black dog – but it’s certainly been worse over the last decade or more, during which time I’ve had a brain tumour and destroyed most of the network of friendship I’d built up as a support network over the preceding 25 years – damage that can’t be undone.
But while happier times on the personal front seem to be hoving into view, my underlying condition remains unaltered – and, frankly, the world is doing a shit job of helping out; what with its wars, atrocities, venality, general pestilence and people voting for Pringles as the nation’s favourite crisp.
Eventually, this sick-of-it-all, pox-on-everyone’s-house milieu was bound to make itself felt in the form of a song. And here it is.
Originally, I’d planned to make a full production of it with bass and drums and such, but when I heard back the raw backing track I thought: fuck it. Sometimes the song can stand on its own. It’s not polished. I stumble over the words. The guitar tracks are out of time with each other. My voice creaks and breaks everywhere… but I think I like the effect. I suppose this unvarnished effect, coupled with the waltzing, folksy feel and withering anger puts it in the ‘protest song’ genre.
As ever, there’s a chance I’ll revisit this later and buff it up – arguably the repetition is a verse too long (especially in the absence of other instrumentation) but for now it’s a pretty authentic expression of feeling so I’m going to go with it.
You still here? And reading this? What’s wrong with you? Go to the park and play frisbee or something. Love you.