I came up with this song while I was thinking of a way to create a fusion of genres that I am particularly fond of (ie. folk, house). The lyrics of the songs were written in a flurry, as sort of a cautionary tale about the evils of humanity and how greed can seduce a person’s soul. Then, thinking that simple, frugal words and a strummed guitar weren't sufficient enough in conveying the desperate tone, I applied my voice through a vocoder at certain moments. Although one may think that that decision was a schlocky, whimsical touch, I intended it to project an extension of melancholy sentiment I threw in an ominous synthesizer during the supposed breakdown midway through the song. This section was imagined as a funeral dirge in memory of the death of goodwill; it later evolves into a requiem of insanity/corruption. To create an eerie and subversive undertone, I played my voice in reverse over the synthesizer, which came out sounding ritualistic and demonic in nature. Then, at the end of the song, all hell breaks loose, figuratively and in a way literally. This portion was conceived in my mind as a sort of house party in hell. The unnamed hero of the song has been tempted by Satan and has decided to let loose his inhibitions, so appropriately, the end comes off as a hedonistic sonic narrative of a lost soul who inevitably joined the tormenters he could not defeat.
The title, as confusing and inadvertent as it sounds, describes the futile efforts of people who try to rise against the system, then are merciless crushed. Their hopes and ideals are squashed by the totalitarian, stentorian voice of authority. The protagonist, once a moralizer and fighter for rights, is horribly scarred from experience, and ends up a disillusioned man who revels in decadence, a postmodern Lord Henry.
Lyrics
Verse
What are you waiting for?
The sun is glistening for you
But the luster, well it blinds me
And binds me, till my hands caress no one
Chorus
All the willows are burning in their irreparable debt
They’ll lure you and betray you with a check
Verse
Oh, permit the trespass against the beggar
Cause soon…
The art of squinting points you toward cheerful killings
The black gasoline coalesces both sin & virtue
Chorus
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