lirik lagu marsy mars – i just want to make jelly of the stars
[verse 1]
“i eat any bar that would use my family name
with the prejudice of caramel ”
my brother laughed at my display of rapperly flair
and the stars above applauded
upon the hill at night, he knew how to get through to me, simply
by refusing to treat this child like a child
and we’d catalogue everything in nature: the constellations;
of what cheese the moon; a chorus of frogs, anything wild
perhaps alarmed by my tendency to vandalise
the chorus’ lillipads, dessicate habitats
and my generally aggressive disposition, brothеr
master ever of thе revealing question, asked “say i could give
you anything; what do you really, really want?”
i said “i want to conquer everything in this galaxy i see
like our daddy would…”
[pre~chorus & chorus]
…i want to make mama out of mother
but a father out of dad
i want to punch the moon spinning
through milky way and mars bar
but most of all i just want
to make jelly out of the stars
and then have wit enough to spread it”
[verse 2]
“venus for academy, mercury for a hunting ground
and mars for the party – no mars a prison for villains
whose villainy can’t be contained in earthly bounds”
so went the stops on my tour of the universe
sat on the same hill with dad a while later, bro left behind
i was engulfed with a silence he and i never encountered
the truths and laughs we shared that pulled the night
close to hand seemed replaced by proof of our insignificance
dad said not one word in dialogue, just a mantra, a missive from
a realm of gorgeous solipsism “every person’s a world of their own
the world is nothing but something to conquer and control
no different from ourselves, and that’s why i tell you
every person’s a world of their own, sunshine,”
he all~but cried, with star~yoking pride and the tear
of a vision of ambition fulfilled both in his eye
[pre~chorus 2 & chorus]
he don’t know
will never know
couldn’t know
that i just want to make jelly out of the stars
[verse 3]
“kiddo,” “yes bro?” “enough stargazing
time for a show of wit charblazing;
freestyle for me”
“err, ‘i’ll dress you in that pewterous shine
true and luminous i intuited while red shoe’ing
out of the uterus
her soul opens to mine to mate
the dead weight of her ex abating
words lurk behind my tongue waiting
so i can get all panegyrical unequivocal
redeem those so vocal but not lyrical.’”
“very good, you’d leave llamas pack n dalai proud,” he said
massaging his wrists like from chains they’d just been allowed
“to rap the way you rap, think the way you think
and give the way you give, is to be free”
my eyes wonderpaneled at these ideas as they took in too
his tender caress of those wrists, which he was fond of
thrusting up, insisting “see these severed hands i wear round
my wrists, cut from a past that would not let go!”
before those impressions, nutcrackers of my incomprehension
yielded rank to as sad a thing as i’d ever say
“if we’re born free,” i asked this figure brotherly
“why does it hardly ever feel that way?”
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