The Silver Lady

This rare track is available on volume 4 of the Close Up series.

What starts off as a traditional folksong turns into a meditation on an issue of incredible emotional trauma-- what to do with an elderly parent, especially one with mental-health issues.

The song begins as if describing a child's visit with an imaginary fairy-friend: "When I was a little girl... I once spoke to the Silver Lady/ But I never saw her again." It continues that this mystical lady "flew out of the sky" and could go "riding on the water" and on a "golden pony." So, typical fairy-tale imagery.

Then there is a note of sadness: "Only once did I hear her laugh/ And it echoed far and lonely." So, despite her otherworldly trappings, she is not some sort of angel. She was "the crazy man's only daughter," which might have something to do with her state of mind.

We now hear the conversation alluded to in the opening verse, about the one time our speaker actually "spoke with the Silver Lady." The conversation took place on a riverbank.

The child approached the Lady, who was crying, to comfort her: "If I had wings like you, I would be flying... and singing."

She says she had no wings-- perhaps she only looked like she was flying when she was galloping on horseback?-- or "I would surely be gone."

She continues that she is her father's only daughter, but that he had older sons... who all left her to take care of their "crazy" father, who is also aging.

And now, she is torn. She wants desperately to leave, and is feeling strangled by her being tethered to him: "I feel the ocean pulling me... I want to go with [the breezes]... This life is killing me." But how can she leave him, helpless and alone? Plus, her abandonment would "break his heart."

She turns away, and the child follows the river back home.

"The next day I heard she had taken her horse/ And gone off to parts unknown." This is the first point we know for certain that the Lady is not just a figment of the child's vivid imagination. 

So the Lady does leave. And her father? He stayed at home, stopped coming into town, and started "roaming down by the riverside." And if rumors are to be believed, he committed suicide, drowning himself in the river.

The speaker never saw the Silver Lady again. But now, she says, "when I felt a silver breeze/ I knew she had sent it from wherever she was/ To tell us that now she was free."

For a song that begins in fantasy, the scenario is all too real. The "burnout" felt by caregivers, especially those who care for those with Alzheimer's and other conditions, can be devastating, as can the guilt of leaving them. And far too often, it is their daughters left with this obligation, while the sons are free to leave and start their own families. 

Today, at least for those of us in cities, there are several options. Caregivers can be given respite workers to take care of their loved ones, so that they can continue to have somewhat-normal lives. And in some cases, the best option is round-the-clock professional care in a dedicated facility, provided by people working in shifts to avoid exactly this sort of burnout.

Mental illness never takes a break, let alone a vacation. But human beings, even machines, cannot be expected to work ceaselessly. The Silver Lady should have insisted that her brothers help. She could have reached out to her neighbors, to the local clergy or other charitable organizations. But it sounds like this all took place in a rural setting, with few such resources.

What begins as a child's fairytale of a beautiful Silver Lady turns out to be a lesson in how poorly society has dealt with mental illness throughout most of its history. At least now things are beginning to change, so that women don't have to go gray-- sorry, "silver"-- so young.

Next Song: Crack in the Wall 

Fifty-fifty Chance

The song is about a patient and the person visiting her (the speaker).

It starts with someone "lying in bed" in a hospital's cardiac ward. The doctor is explaining to the visitor that the patient has a "50-50" chance of survival.

The visitor, possibly the patient's adult child, sees "a pan on the floor/ Filled with something black." Her response is universal: "I need to know/ I'm afraid to ask" what it is.

The visitor then pledges her support to the patient, who is unresponsive. She could be sleeping or under sedation, but given the information we learn later, likely not in a coma.

"I hug you/ I hum to you... I touch you," says the visitor to the patient. "I tell you/ I love you./ Sing to you/ Bring to you/ Anything."

The visitor notes that that the patient, who should be calm since she is resting, has an accelerated heartbeat. Also, she is shivering: "Her body trembles with the effort to last."

The doctor seems satisfied, however, that the patient is over the worst of it. In fact, after one more night in the hospital, "She's going home/ Tomorrow at ten," meaning 10:00 a.m.

Then comes the chilling last lines: "The question is/ Will she try it again?"

And now we know why the patient was there: attempted suicide. The black material in the pan may have been whatever poison was pumped out of the patient's system.

In reality, a patient with only a "50-50 chance" of survival would not likely be sent home the next day, so the last verse could take place a week or two after the others.

There are two contrasts set up in this song. One is between a mind that wants to die being housed in a body that wants to live. The other is a person who wants to die when there is someone in her life who loves her so much.

If she is in the cardiac ward, this may be a clue as to why the patient attempted suicide in the first place. She may have a congenital or painful heart condition, and would rather die at her own hand than be the victim of a heart attack.

It is bad enough to take a patient home who may have a relapse of a disease or a recurrence of a cancer. It is something else entirely to know that a person might decide to try and take her own life again-- how could you possibly be vigilant enough? You have to sleep sometime...

There should be some staff person at the hospital, a social worker or psychiatrist, who can offer help and suggestions, and possibly even prescribe therapy, anti-depressants... something. Heck, the daughter might need some support, for herself.

To send a woman home with her suicidal mother, possibly the day after the attempt itself, with only a 50% chance of survival, and no psychological support? This does not sound like a doctor or hospital I would ever want to wind up with.


Next Song: Pilgrimage

Institution Green

This song seems to conflate two ideas. One is being a patient in a mental institution. The other is participating in an election, voting. It is possible that Vega is implying that being a citizen is like being a mental patient.

And it seems that what triggered this comparison is was the color on the walls of wherever it was she went to vote-- a shade of green once preferred by mental institutions because it evoked Nature and was therefore thought to be calming. The song begins by describing the walls of this color, noting that they have not been maintained-- the paint is "cracked and dim."

She is part of a "line," a queue of people "waiting for our faces to be seen." Faces, of course, meaning uniqueness. All the listener knows at this point is that the walls are this particular shade of green, and so those in the queue are assumed to be waiting for admission into some mental facility.

This notion is fostered by the next lines: "Watch the floor and count the hours." They are waiting for a long time-- with no magazines to read, no TV to watch-- and are not talking with each other while waiting. They do not even look at each other or make eye contact: "None will meet my eye/ Private people in a public space." Well, sure, what would they talk about except their mental diagnoses-- which are no one's business, thanks very much!

At the head of the line is some sort of "book" full of "names." She is expecting her own name to be in the book, and is somewhat apprehensive about that. She wants to be recognized as an individual with a "face," but it worried that the authorities and bureaucrats there will "lose [her] on the printed page" and she will become just another statistic.

The factotum-like employees will be nameless and faceless as well, leaving her not knowing "where to point the aimless rage." She is thinking that even if she rebels, she will not even know who to rebel against, since it is a whole system that is responsible (or irresponsible).

Then comes the revelation-- this is not about being admitted to a mental institution at all! This is about lining up in some bureaucratic, institutional building to vote.

"I cast my vote upon this earth," she says, meaning two things at once. Yes, she is a citizen and therefore has the right, along with others on the Earth, to make her political voice heard. Yet she is so anonymous, so one-among-many, that her vote may just as well be "cast" (or "tossed," as in "cast your bread upon the waters" or "casting a line," as in fishing) upon "the earth," right into the dirt. "I... take my place for what it's worth," she explains. "Yeah, I did it-- so?" is the implication.

What does she really want? Eye contact! "I... hunger for a pair of eyes." To what end? "To notice and to recognize." She wants to be acknowledged as an individual, and this process piles her votes in with everyone else's, anonymously.

It's the other side of the idea of a "secret ballot" that is at the core of democracy. On the one hand, no one gets to know your vote, and therefore cannot attack you for it-- you are safe to vote your preference with no repercussions. On the other hand, you said something very important, but no one heard.

Back to the line. Now we see that the "woman" who "stands behind a table" with a name-book in front of her is checking to see if you registered to vote. If you did, and were approved, you can vote. If not, no. But Vega continues to recall the mental-institution imagery here. She describes the above process thus: "She will call my name/ After that, I'll be admitted in."

Now, she has arrived at the voting booth. Today, many of these are electronic. In the past, they were mechanical. The small booth had three sides, the fourth being a curtain instead of a door. It was not unlike a shower stall in this way, although the curtain was usually only waist-long. Today, many voting devices have no curtains, but are simply oriented in the room to prevent others from seeing your votes.

Once inside, the early-model voting machine presented a series of levers-- a pull to either side indicated a vote for either candidate. Often, attendants were on hand to explain, and then once you understood, they backed away and closed the curtain to let you vote in secret. Thence these lines: "Teach me how to pull the lever/ Push the curtain closed."

Vega evidently found the whole experience humiliating and demoralizing. The song ends with her repeating: "Take what's needed, then just let me go."

In other times and places, voting was limited to few, and one's vote had to be open. The secret ballot was created to preserve the dignity of the voter. Perhaps if Vega wanted her vote to be public, she could simply wear a button declaiming her favored party or candidate.

There are many reasons to complain about the imperfections of the American electoral process-- the prevalence of money in campaigns, new voter restrictions, gerrymandering, the violent intimidation of voters, the complexity of the electoral college system (which can elect someone who has lost the popular vote), the ease with which computer-voting systems can be rigged or hacked, the low voter rates, even the dampening effect on new ideas caused by an only-two-party system.

All of these issues and more can-- and do-- earn the voting process fair comparison to a mental institution.

But the secret ballot seems an odd target. Again, if Vega did want her voting preferences known, that would be easy enough. Candidates' campaigns are more than happy to provide everyone with stickers, pins, hats, flags, signs and more to let everyone know who you voted for. They are also usually glad for public figures such as herself to publicly align themselves with their candidate.

Although she'd have to write them a new song. Most of her work is... less than anthemic.


Next Song: Those Whole Girls

Men in a War

Illnesses, especially unusual ones, are a regular topic for Vega, and this time she deals with Phantom Limb Syndrome. This condition is characterized by the feeling of, well, feeling in a limb that has been amputated. Yes, people can feel sensation, even pain, in an arm or leg they no longer actually have. Every nerve pathway has two ends, and just because one no longer exists in the limb does not mean the other, in the brain or spinal column, falls silent. Not every amputee has phantom limb syndrome, but as many as 60-80% do.

As Vega puts it: "Men... if they've lost a limb/ Still feel that limb/ As they did before." The missing words here are "in a war," although it is not clear that such conditions must have been the ones in which the limb was lost. The arm or leg could also have been taken by an accident or disease, for instance. (I do not know if those born without a given limb can acquire this condition, but it seems unlikely.) 

She imagines a case in which a soldier is in an infirmary-- "on a cot," and not, say, in a hospital bed-- and "feeling the thing he had not." The locution here is awkward, Vega does not write, "feeling the thing he didn't have," which is how one might say it in conversation, to point out the awkwardness of the emotion-- the poor soldier is "mute," unable to express the idea that his missing arm hurts, or afraid to say this for fear of being considered insane.

The verse ends on the word "not." This rhymes with "cot," but more importantly it emphasizes the "not," the idea of absence. It also sounds as if a sentence has been cut off, echoing the limb that has been so. (Now I'm doing it!)

The speaker then empathizes. "I know how it is/ When something is gone," she says. She gives some examples: "A piece of your eyesight," such as with cataracts, glaucoma, or macular degeneration, conditions of the eye that remove or obscure part of one's vision.

Another example? "When something is gone... Maybe your vision." Wait, didn't she just say "eyesight"? So now she means, what, going totally blind? Why not say "A piece of your eyesight, or maybe all of it"?

Probably she means "vision" in the other, more mental sense, as in "one's vision of oneself" or "one's vision of time." We often ask presidential candidates about their "vision" for the country and its future. 

"A corner of sense," she explains, "goes blank on the screen." She imagines the picture in one's mind like a television screen, when part of it stops working. Yes, this can mean that part of a person's vision is impaired, but she says "sense," as in "making sense," as what is "gone." You may have trouble with names, or faces, or recalling recent events, or balancing, or flashbacks-- any number of such glitches.

"A piece of the scan"-- the work of an X-ray machine or desk-top scanner here stands in for the scanning our senses do of the our environment. If we lose our sense of hearing, of brain may "fill in" by memory, the sound of someone's voice when they greet, us the same way you could fill in the rest of a ruined photo with paint.

The speaker says these phenomena are similar to the phantom limb cases. In both situations, the brain uses memory to "fill in the blanks" left by reality. "You know what it was/ And now it is not," she explains. "So you just make do with/ Whatever you've got."

The speaker then reverses the situation. Sometimes, "if your nerve is cut," then, as you might expect, you can no longer feel that part of yourself and make it move. It as if that part of you has lost its volition, its drive. In fact, when someone loses courage, we say they have "lost their nerve." 

"If your nerve is cut," she elaborates, "You don't feel your will/ You can't find your gut." This can be taken two ways. One, literally-- if you have no sensation in your hand or torso, you literally cannot find your gut. Figuratively, you can't find your guts, as in "You can't work in human resources because you can't find the guts to fire people."

The second line of this verse also has two meanings, but is more of a pun. "If you're kept on a stretch," may mean a "stretcher"-- that portable cot used to transport the wounded. But it can also mean under constant psychological stress, "if you are continually stretched thin emotionally." We explain that someone was "stretched to the breaking point" before they "snapped."

She illustrates with an example of a woman who has been under some sort of attack: "She lay on her back/ She made sure she was hid," meaning someone was after her and she was trying to hide. Like the wounded soldier, "she was mute and staring." She was silent-- as one is when one is hiding-- and hyper-aware, making sure her follower was not approaching. 

The woman "did" some "thing"-- perhaps the act that provoked her pursuer. But she is "not feeling" what it was. She is divorced from it, emotionally. This does not mean she is psychotic, necessarily. It just means she is not just now, being in immediate danger and all, able to spare the time to contemplate and psychologically register the relevant emotions. Perhaps later, with a therapist, once she reaches safety.

Vega starts with the idea of a phantom limb and expands upon it to explore the some of the ways in which our brain "helps" us create our realities by supplementing missing information with guesses, memories, and even imaginary physical sensations. Sometimes, however, the brain helps a little too much, and worsens problems rather than solving them. 

Next Song: Rusted Pipe

Tired of Sleeping

This seems to be a song about illness, told from the point of view of the ailing one.

If the idea of "sleeping" is literal, then this person has intense lethargy, such as with chronic fatigue syndrome, or is perhaps in an actual coma. If it is metaphoric, it can be seen as a state of severe depression, in the psychological, clinical sense.

In either case, the person is aware that she is sick and longs for her wakeful energy to return: "I'm tired of sleeping."

Why? She is not having nightmares, at least not insufferable ones: "The dreams are not so bad." Rather, she feels guilty as her lack of productivity, as if she is aware that others are doing everything for her she is usually capable of doing herself: "There's so much to do."

One of the people, perhaps the main person, caring for her is her mother. It is bad enough to have some paid nurse or orderly checking up on you. But to have your own mother continue to have to mother you as adult is heartbreaking.

Next, she becomes aware of an "old man." She realizes that he is trying to communicate with her. However, she "just can't hear what he's saying," either because he is speaking too quietly, or-- since she feels she just can't hear him-- that the fault is her illness'.

Who is he? Her doctor? A priest? We meet him again later for more clues.

First, we switch from an old man to "kids." They are "playing in pennies," that is, gambling with pennies as the stakes. They seem to have plenty to play with, as they are "up to their knees in money."

But they are also up to their knees in "dirt," perhaps the speaker's opinion of what money is worth. "All your money won't another minute buy," sings the rock group Kansas in "Dust in the Wind." So someone near death might see this quest for money as useful as a quest for dirt.

Now, where is this dirt? At the "churchyard steps." This brings religion into the mix. Combined with the pennies, these images together recall the imagery of moneychangers outside the Temple. And we all know how Jesus felt about that.

Further, the kids are at the "steps" of the church, or more at the steps of the "yard" before the "church." Near enough physically to see it. But while gambling, spiritually distant indeed. For the sake of pennies, they forgo the desire to enter the church and find true "riches."

Now, we return to the man. He "ripped out his lining." We are not sure yet why he would do so, but at this point we assume that she means the lining of a coat or suit jacket.

No. He somehow ripped out the lining of his "body"! Yes, "He tore out a piece of his body." Dare we ask which piece? He wanted to show "us"-- the speaker and her mother-- his "clean quilted heart."

This is quite graphic. And also quite impossible. Aside from the anatomical issues, hearts are made of muscle and are not "quilted." We are left to believe this is an hallucination or dream image.

But of what? The most common image of a person holding his own heart is Jesus, with his hands holding the Sacred Heart.

On the other hand... Jesus was not "old." He was only 33 at the time of his death. So this could be a conflation of Jesus and the Father...?

If the old man is a doctor, perhaps she sees him open his lab coat and show her the donor heart she is to receive, but in her illness-addled state, she sees the images she describes.

What is clear is that the image is a subconscious-based one, a dream image or hallucination. Her condition is medical, so it makes sense that her subconscious is showing her anatomical imagery.

The last image is of a "bird" that has been snared. It is "on" a string, but has not landed to perch there, as if on a branch or telephone wire. Rather, it is "hanging" from it. Further, she cannot leave the string, as she would of course be able to if she has simply lighted there. No, she is "twisting," "dancing," and "fighting" to be loose. She knows that "her small life" depends on her breaking free.

This is an apt metaphor for someone in a coma or other such state. The person-- the consciousness that is a person, the self-- is confined in the uncooperative body, like a trapped animal.

She wants to hear what the old man is saying. She wants to do things for herself, and have her mother stop tending her. She is spending all her psychic energy to re-enter the world of interaction and communication, but she is emotionally exhausted. She just wants to be well already!

The lyrics offer no resolution, and leave us with the frustrated invalid. But the music, which repeats the chorus several times, ends with an upward modulation. The entire time, the song has been sung in a low register. The final time, the melody line is noticeably higher, with a shade of echo.

This may be the singer's way of indicating that the soul has left the body and it, at least, is free.


IMPACT:
The song is the first on the album Days of Open Hand. Which won a Grammy. For Best Album Package.

Well, better than nothing.


Next Song: Men in a War

Luka

This is, arguably, the song that put Suzanne Vega on the map.

It is a very powerful song, dealing with the issue of physical abuse, and from the point of view of the victim as well.

While some may feel this song is about a woman who had been beaten-- and the emotions and reactions presented certainly apply to such a victim-- the video makes it clear that the simple lyrics are coming from a child who has been attacked, and a male child at that.

But perhaps Vega chose the rare (in America) name "Luka" because it is indistinct in gender and origin, to universalize the song. (Probably the most famous "Luka" before this was the minor character in the Godfather film, the hitman Luca Brasi.)

The song begins with the victim introducing himself. It is important that we, the listeners, know that his apartment is above ours. Since we have heard the sounds of abuse coming through our ceiling, Luka feels it necessary to address them.

He does so by telling us to... not investigate. "If you hear something, late at night/ Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight/ Just don't ask me what it was."

Luka tries to explain away the bruises that we must see, or perhaps a limp: "I think it's 'cause I'm clumsy...  I walked into the door again."

But, again, he waves away our offer of, perhaps, an ice pack or bandage. "Yes, I think I'm OK," he says. In fact, he dismisses our involvement altogether: "It's not your business, anyway."

Luka, however, does open up to us about the effect the abuse has had on him. For one, it has made him withdrawn: "I try not to talk too loud... I try not to act too proud." For another, it has made him feel that he has deserved and brought about the punishment-- and even doubt his own sanity: "Maybe it's because I'm crazy," he says, perhaps echoing and internalizing the verbal abuse that might have accompanied the physical pain.

Luka also reveals some of the dynamics of the abuse's patterns. At first, it seems, he resists and defends himself. This self-assertion only enrages his abusers-- he says "they," so it might be both of his parents. It is only once his spirit is broken and they have satisfied themselves that they maintain dominance that they cease the violence: "They only hit until you cry."

"After that, you don't ask why," Luka admits, and "you just don't argue" either. He realizes asking them to justify their actions is pointless. There is no "why," no reason. He doesn't deserve the abuse in the first place! And if crying makes the reason-less punishment stop, well then, here are your tears, folks-- you win again, you can stop now.

His ultimate wish is to withdraw completely. Luka is either being abused by his family-- with objects (or worse?) being "broken" and "thrown"-- or being asked to discuss the abuse by well-meaning outsiders. And so the abuse comes to define him. He is no longer "Luka, the kid who plays soccer," or "Luka, the kid who loves comic books." He is "Luka, the kid whose parents hit him." The only one who knows him any other way is himself. And so he tells us, "I'd like to be alone."

Then Luka is done talking. He has said all he can bear to say for now. But he also sets up the parameters for our next encounter. Now that we know all this, he says, "Just don't ask me how I am."

We now know very well how he is: utterly miserable.

IMPACT:
As was said, this was Vega's biggest chart success. It went to #3 in the US and remained on the charts for 19 weeks (almost 5 months). Vega also recorded the song in Spanish.

At the 1988 Grammys, Vega performed the song, which was nominated in three categories: Record of the Year (a producer's and performer's award), Song of the Year (a songwriter's award), and Best Female Pop Vocal Performance (as opposed to Classical). She did not win in any category, but she did get to perform before an audience of hundreds of millions.

But aside from the effect the song had on Vega's status and career, it gave voice to the millions of abuse victims who had suffered so long in silence. And it taught us how to recognize the signs of abuse.

While may songs are credited with changing lives, how many have actually saved lives?


Next song: Ironbound/Fancy Poultry

Undertow

To explain the title: The "undertow" is the intense pull, or current, caused by a breaking wave as it recedes back into the sea. Its name comes from the fact that the force is along the sea bed, "under" the surface, and that it can "tow" an object, animal, or person back out to sea along with it, smothering it along the sea bed.

This is a surprisingly violent song. While it is about a relationship, it is not a love song, as it does not contain the word "love" or anything like it. Instead, there is only need... and the hatred of that need.

The speaker wants to "swallow" the songs' object-- "whole," the way a serpent does-- then disgorge "only bones and teeth." Later, we have sharp or pointed weapons like "the edge of a knife," "needles," and "bullets." We also have hard things, like a "stone," a "diamond," and another "bone."

Then there are signs of negative emotions: "tears," "secrets," "hunger," being "weak."

Even if all of these images are only metaphorical, what is the end of all of this hostility and angst? She wants him to be, of all things, "free."

The conflation of freedom with death is a longstanding one, the premise being that mortal life is a prison sentence, and only death can set one free. She has the idea that the body is some sort of cage, and that by removing it, the spirit will be released, at liberty.

Her current plan toward this objective is to... digest him. "We could see what was underneath/ And you would be free then."

Her previous plan was to use the salt of her tears to erode his flesh. "Once, I thought only tears could make us free/ Salt wearing down to the bone/ Like sand against the stone."

In other words, now she is using anger-- before, sadness.

Again, what is the reason for either of these plans for skeletonization? It seems that, if he is miserable enough, he won't have the wherewithal to leave her. He won't have the physical or emotional strength to resist her, and she can thereby possess him: "I am friend to the undertow," she says, using that imagery of grabbing, pulling, and drowning. "I take you in, I don't let go/ And now I have you."

She takes the idea of "possessiveness" to the extreme, as in the book and movie Misery.

She does not want this "freedom" only for him, however. She herself wants to be "sleek," to pass through life without attachments or friction. That's why she is fascinated with streamlined things-- things with edges, blades, and points. They can do damage without being damaged themselves. They can inflict pain, yet feel nothing, experience no pain themselves. She has clearly experienced pain in relationships before, and so tried to shed all connections.

In short, if she could be "sleek," she "would be free then." Which is what she wants.

But shedding all externalities has not produced the desired effect. Her emotional anorexia has failed to render her "sleek" as a python, polished pebble, or sword blade. Instead, "this hunger's/ Made [her] weak."

One mystery is resolved-- why she now resorts to imagery of consumption. She's psychologically hungry and wants to feed. She's eaten away at herself so much, she has nothing left, and so she turns to another, to feed off of him.

But she can barely admit that she needs someone else. So instead of saying, "I need him here to satisfy me," she sees herself as altruistic! "He needs me here to satisfy him!" she thinks. "I will do him the favor of stripping him 'down to the bone,' too, and 'free' him as I have freed myself."

Naturally, if the man wants to be "free," what he should really be is... elsewhere. If he has enough strength, still, to make it to shore.

Next Song: Some Journey

Straight Lines

In this song, a woman takes increasingly severe measures to cope with the pain in her life. A life which she ultimately decides to end.

The song begins with "the sound... of cold metal/ Touching skin." This is an allusion to the unfortunate practice of "cutting," the act of making incisions in one's skin as an attempt to "feel something." It is often done my people whose lives have become so painful, they have decided to become stoic and unemotional. Yet, the need for emotion surfaces, and the response of cutting is quite extreme indeed.

However, in this case, the allusion is not fulfilled, and all that has been "cut" is the woman's "hair." (The hair was blonde; it is referred to as "soft golden lights.") Still, the fact that this act is so rote as to be considered something done "again"-- with the eye-rolling phrasing of "here she goes again"--  is worrisome.

There is an invitation to observe this event, too. We are urged to hear the "sound" at the beginning, and now to "see," and even "look in her window." But it is not the ogling of a voyeur, rather the detached gaze of the psychologist or even anthropologist.

We note that the hair was cut "in straight lines." Perhaps she is seeking to create a sense of order in a chaotic life.

Another troubling sign is subtle. This self-inflicted haircut happened "in the morning." Usually such time-consuming treatments happen in the evening, when there is more time. It seems she has no other obligations to rush off to-- no school or job.

Also interesting is that, if we do look through the window, our view will not be impeded by glass; the window is open, at least enough for the "wind" to sweep her fallen hairs "through the apartment." This carelessness is also upsetting. Why doesn't she care that there is hair all over her floor now? Most people would try to contain the mess. So much for straight lines.

Then comes the enigmatic line "She don't need them/ Anymore." Of course not. Snipped-off hairs are always discarded as rubbish. So why say this, let along emphasize it with repetition? Perhaps she had used her hair to put forth an attractive mien, and no longer wishes to be attractive, to attract positive attention. Withdrawal from society is another "red flag."

And why the grammatically incorrect "don't"? This is our only clue to the speaker's identity.

Next, we learn that she has "cut down" something else! The line "she's cut down" is sharply divided from the rest of the phrase, "on her lovers." The expression "to cut down on" means "to reduce consumption of." One might say "I've cut down on calories" or even "television watching." Here, she has cut her romantic relationships. Again, her emotions refuse to be controlled: "She still dreams of them at night."

"She's growing straight lines/ Where once were flowers." Life can be confusing. The woman here has tired of this complexity and is seeking simplicity. But there is no escaping complexity-- even in a totalitarian society, or a self-imposed jail-- without escaping life. But that's getting ahead of ourselves.

For now, she has "streamlined" herself with her haircut... and her life, with her solitude. Perhaps she has gotten rid of other things, too. Purging oneself of possessions can be a symptom of trouble, just a hoarding can. We already know that there are no carpets or rugs on her "wooden floor," because the hairs have scattered all "through the apartment."

And now, she is not "opening" or "drawing back" the shade, but "taking (it) down" entirely! She does this "to see the straight lines." Literally, the lines framing her window panes, those formed by the fire escape, the sidewalk panels, the streets, the bricks and windows and shapes of the buildings, lampposts, fences-- all straight lines.

Figuratively, she is removing  those things that cause shades of gray. She wants straight lines, and also black-and-white vistas.

Also being cut are "the circles/ That she has lived in before." Perhaps her relationships have proven circular in motion instead of progressing forward. Perhaps this is also true of her education and employment.

"She wants to finally kill the delusions/ She won't need them/ Anymore." All of which could be changed with many methods. She could take a vacation, enter into therapy, talk with friends or clergy, speak with a career counselor, begin meditation... any number of things to help her find clarity and end the cyclical patterns she seems to perpetuate.

She does none of them. The next thing we hear is another "sound." It's "cold metal" again. But this time, "too close to the bone."

Yes, she killed herself. Most likely, by slashing her wrists. She is, now, "finally alone/ Behind straight lines." Even in her apartment, there were dreams of lovers and nosy neighbors (ourselves included),

Flowers are messy. They bring water, dirt, fertilizer, pollen, thorns, fallen petals, water-logged stems, dead leaves, and ultimately dead flowers. But they are considered by most to be among the most beautiful things in the world. The mess is the price of the beauty.

This woman no longer could see any beauty in her life. No rug was worth the vacuuming. No boyfriend worth the angst. No flowers worth the mess. She wanted as little interaction, as little friction as possible.

She could not become streamlined enough with her straight lines. Ironically, the most streamlined things there are-- from bullet trains to bottlenose dolphins-- are made of curves.

If she had only learned to bend... or if anyone in her life had noticed her obvious signs of mental illness and pre-suicide behaviors. Then again, it may have been these well-meaning attempts at intervention that drove her into isolation. We'll never know, now.


Next Song: Undertow