I was just a child in the drama of the big bad world,
A sorry silhouette in the smoke as it curled,
Existing on the edge of some great idea,
Trying to find my way but the way wasn’t clear.
I was wearing my thoughts like a new tattoo,
Acting like a leper and thinking of you
Because the rage withered in me when you took me in,
I’d been running against Love without wanting to win.
I’ve been crushing all the crawling things
Creeping around the hole
And now they’re only creeping below.
I was swallowed by the spectre of a long slain spite
That gnawed upon my nerves with a savage appetite,
It stripped away the structure of our pretty pretense,
You know we never should’ve had the right
To so much innocence.
Crushing all the crawling things
Creeping around the hole
Now they’re only creeping below.
Everybody’s acting like they’re born again,
Like I’m the very last of a pagan strain.
So I’ve been digging in the dirt
For something decent to say,
Trying to think about “the now”
While trapped in the everyday.
Crushing all the crawling things
Creeping around the hole
Now they’re only creeping below.
I want to know who
Would want me to feel this cheap
I want to know why
The road stretching out is so steep
I want to know what
Could cause this wretched malaise
I want to know where
Your God goes on His holidays.
Crushing all the crawling things
Creeping around the hole
Now they’re only creeping below.
And like a hound full of fleas
Sinking down in the sea,
I’m drowning in all this Love
And I hope you drown with me.
These nightmares don’t cause me no grief,
I don’t wish away visions
That make real life a relief.
Though I’m certain this circus must end,
Don’t you dare tell me when.
You wanted a rose
But I gave you a thistle,
Every day I shave close
But you still make me bristle,
If you need anything
Just give a little whistle,
You know how to whistle don’t you?
So we’re popping the tics
And we’re stoning the crows,
We’re down in the Styx
And it’s your turn to row,
We’re crushing the crawling things
Creeping below.
Now we’re creeping below.
These nightmares don’t cause me no grief,
I don’t wish away visions
That make real life a relief.
Though I’m certain this circus must end,
Don’t you dare tell me when.
This was written in two stints. The main bulk is from when I lived in West Philadelphia (2005-6). The later jazzy section came along when I moved to Withington, South Manchester, a couple of years later.
In terms of the “crawling things” referred to in the lyrics, it was actually ladybirds that were the big problem. My room in Philly was infested with them. Funny how sheer numbers can turn a relatively sweet-looking creature into something so repellent. There were also giant silverfish zipping about on the floor (I accidentally dropped a shoe on one and it completely vaporised – weird things). But they had all wriggled their way into a pupa and metamorphosed into a convenient metaphor by the time they cropped up in Low.
By this time I was enjoying compositions that played on the offbeat (I think this was the same year I updated Year Of The Bitch, another song that staggers and lurches about). The verse structures in the end section have a touch of Django Reinhardt, as we were listening to a lot of his work at the time. We recorded a demo of this track soon after it was finished, and George Leach (violin player for Moulettes and Seasick Steve’s band) took great pleasure in “Stéphane Grappelli-ing” all over it to prove a point.
I’ve no idea if that demo still exists.
