Thursday, September 07, 2006
Widow of the Professional (Tori Amos)
And here we have another case where the lyrics didn't make all that much sense to start out with. The resulting lyrics are probably more grammatical than Tori Amos's original lyrics, but it's still tough to get much information from them. I do like the idea of a "business hit," like a "Broadway hit" or "hit TV show." Business seems to me to be exceptionally prone to fads, like six-sigma or just-in-time-manufacturing, but I don't think you'd call any of these a "hit," exactly.
In any case, I would probably go see a show called "Sensation Who Makes it as a Congressman," though. Especially if it were about an interesting sensation, like the feeling that something bad is about to happen to somebody you don't like, or the feeling of stepping on a dead mouse in your closet, which happened to me once.
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The deer excrement, the honey,
the slag well of
my edges: to bring it close to
those brains (yes) doesn't establish
how we start to be great.
Boy, we only start to be great.
My Daddy as a starfucker
that's only mine. Daddy sells his baby, as
that's only mine. As daddy goes
to that business hit,
"Sensation Who Makes it as a Congressman." It's
functioning in the family.
(Who goes to hit a business?
It makes a sensation, as the congressman
functions in his family.)
He rests his shoulders, cream, and peaches
in all parts. How much can you see in such a Judas way?
That pretty angel calls it "that
Muhammad Ali re-run we started." Each one the prism of that
perfect honey, brings it close to the edges.
What ratio of the boy (Yes, the one of the landslide)
is called the great principle? One boy started to be . . . .
Mary of China, there
can be more candy. The white, the brown, the mother
will supply it, will supply it,
will supply it, will supply it.
A hard tap on it gives me peace and love.