“Why’s he singing that?” someone often asked Silver, assuming she would know why I made the choice I made, believing that the choice of song held obvious clues to the man within. Silver would shrug her shoulders and laugh inside, waiting to tell me it happened again.
People think they’re clever when they listen, when they think they’ve caught a clue. This rampant literalism, this inability to see beyond the surface, has clipped my impulse to joke with people. Sing a song about a drunk and they’ll assume I’m a drunk. Sing about a bad relationship and they’ll read an unhappy heart between the lines. Humanity is so thoughtless that when they find a reasonable thought, it becomes a gospel truth.
But I didn’t write the song. I just liked the way it sounds.