Sometimes I wonder about the inside of my head. Probably I'm not the only one: you may have wondered about the inside of my head as well, but I mean something more specific than that here. This song wound up meaning almost entirely different things than the original one: in this version, the singer is a photographer and artist, who develops a relationship with a man that quickly turns sexual, but she quickly finds it unsatifying and rejects him (possibly because she wants kids and he doesn't? It's not clear.). The plot gets a little muddy after that point, but at least one possible interpretation is that he moves away but continues to stalk her, and she has to threaten him with physical violence.
I don't remember this being an especially difficult song to do; there wasn't any extreme rearrangement going on, or excessive adding and subtracting of words. It all seemed to flow pretty easily. And yet: this has very little overlap with the original song. Does the new song, and its new plot, say something about where my head was at the time, or would anybody come up with something like this? (For the record, none of the above applies to my actual situation right now, at least not in any kind of conscious or literal way.) I've never really tried to go back and do the same song a second time, just to see how different it would be, so I have no idea how much leeway I actually have, and how much of what ends up in these songs is based on my own emotional state. But maybe we'll see Whitney back in a few weeks. Just as an experiment.
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I have heard you beat my heart into my
photographs. I kept you apart from my bed, on the right.
In a world of imaginations, life is
from my head: I cannot take you to that.
I'm waiting for the ring. I have the telephone in the hall.
So much "good-night," because you wanna render to me the sense
of my own love. You took me,
so, shouldn't you hang up the telephone? (Take it yourself!)
(Chorus:) I remember the way that we touched upon
him. We wished that I didn't like so much,
so much sentiment, baby. I take
time where I think. To you, each
baby takes so much sentiment: I
can make love that convulses you. Who can't?
This ain't it.
I got it: be careful walking in the room, baby.
I gotta walk you outside, clock
you in the animal way. I like where you've moved to.
When you speak, you be careful: I'd move your mouth precisely.