lirik lagu hotel books - take very little
[intro]
“the first time i met sarah, she said that if i wanted to ever be an artist some day, i would have to learn how to dig deep inside myself and create something of expression. and i remember telling her i already sold ten thousand records and i felt like i had put in enough time to at least call myself an artist. and she said that creating entertainment and creating art are very different things, and she said that the only way that you can really create art is if it’s honest expression of something. you can’t express yourself if you don’t know who you are. i was upset that she said that, but there was still a part of me that was inspired. and uh, looking back on the experience of creating music and putting everything i can into it, i have learned that it wasn’t worth…it wasn’t worth losing the ones that i had to to get here. and so she challenged me to write a poem about the things i wish i knew how to say. that-that’s what this poem is: a response to that.”
[part 1]
i guess we can take shortcuts in the darkest corners
because the highest earners scale the mountain with the quickest
and the thick of it
and i would give up any of it to slow down
’cause maybe the sound won’t be quick
but we can at least make it painless
and this game is the distribution of weight
angles lights trying to be a star
while getting hit by comets and vomit
which we eat to keep down the negative youtube comments
the spotlight isn’t part of the sk!ll set
the [?] void of cohesive thought
when this love gives a lot and takes very little
it’s brittle, so you have to love what you do and stay true
and find the right formula to not be bothered by the side effects
hide your legs, hide your neck
hide your tears, and hide your fears
and pretend i’m the fearless leader you want me to be
because without this fake personality
i would be performing in the streets
watching friends turn enemies
or even worse, distant memories
or even worse, love turned to apathy
with a voice in my head whispering
“this is the price you have to pay if you want to sell anything”
and no doubt any of us would sell out
if only somebody was offering
it’s not about the art, it’s about the swallowing
it’s about the hallowing, it’s about the empty vessel
you want me to be so i can record at record speed
and i’m sorry
but to me, it doesn’t mean anything
so please don’t give up on love and don’t let your hopes fall up and don’t throw up every time you think about what you could be because the hope was real
and everything we feel is a legitimate experience
i just wish you didn’t put your faith in me
[part 2: chris bernstorf]
bank notices or selfishness
alcohol or somebody’s death or somebody’s words
by birth or by choice:
we will all someday find ourselves shaking and barefoot
before our lives collapsing
our homes lying like dry bones
in heaps of plaster and broken beams
despair can route us there, let us calcify our bodies
stunted, into a petrified forest, poisoned and frozen by tragedy
or we can choose perspective
let suffering run off like the rain into the sea
to reveal the truth beneath
the rock below, the peace and the floods of pain and the process
the promise that every scr-p of our lives will be redeemed
and reused as the builder makes us new
that every ounce of tragedy and ash
will water and fertilize a garden of unimaginable beauty and fruit
that all of this goes somewhere, yields something
that perseverance will produce character
and character hope
that every tear really will be wiped away
that we will one day be complete
and that, therefore, along the way, we can sing
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