Tuesday, 14 April 2015

The Scientist. . .

This blog post is a song request from +Rochelle Savage 

This blog post features The Scientist by Coldplay.  Thanks Rochelle for requesting this song.  It's been milling around in the recesses of my mind for some time.  I was waiting for the right time to release it, so to speak.  When you write, there is kind of like a flow of emotion that emanates from you, whether you continue on that emotional wave, whatever seems to be overwhelming you at the time and sometimes you just run with it, sometimes you switch it up and change gear.  I think people go through melancholic phases sometimes.  It's not a depressing thing to do, it's something that for me personally that I recognise in beautiful artwork that have tragic stories that the artists chooses to depict pain in their own lives and you can marvel at it their skill in a painting, a sculpture, a photography, even a performance art piece or installation.  

Come up to meet you
Tell you I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are
I had to find you
Tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart

Tell me your secrets
And ask me your questions
Oh let's go back to the start
Running in circles, coming up tails
Heads on a science apart

The 8 bar piano introduction leads in the male vocal with his yearning plea of an apology.  Is it as simple as that?  Would you be easily swayed, quick to forgive for any relationship breakdowns.  Wiping the slate clean may seem to be the only logical thing to do when things get to an impasse.  There's only so much malleability you are willing to exercise, particularly when you're unsure whether the relationship is worth saving.  Was it ever worth starting in the first place?  Is it even worth asking questions.  The very questions that are on the tips of our tongues, we always seem to know the answers to - so why bother asking them?  He's probably practised his poker face in the mirror enough times, practising holding his facial muscles just so, in a perfect pose with poise to ensure that you can't really see his truth.  He seems to think that it's easy to rewind time - but you have the luxury of waiting to make the right decision for a change - for you.

I was just guessing at numbers and figures 
Pulling your puzzles apart
Questions of science, science and progress
Could not speak as loud as my heart

Tell me you love me
Come back and haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing our tails
Coming back as we are. . .

I don't know about you but one of the most irritating things that someone can do is make assumptions about you by trying to guess what you're like, what makes you tick and how do they do this by the way?  Deliberately pressing all of the wrong buttons like some crazed awkward teenager who struggles to master the controls of that 90's StreetFighter arcade game in the mall while you scramble around in the panic room you call a heart shutting down all of the ventricles that lead to your innermost chambers.  So logic and science, maybe even common sense, do not speak as loud as his heart.  Well, if you're not in that way inclined, if you're not prepared to get your heart broken (again) then you don't need to let him anywhere near your heart again.  I mean seriously, how irresponsible would you be?  A sucker for punishment?  He can chase his own tail if he think you're going to return to that first square of that hopscotch, throwing caution (or a pebble) to the wind and balancing precariously on one leg, hopping gingerly from square to square in the expected sequence that love expects you to play.  Good luck trying to keep your puzzles together. . .

Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start

I hope that you think about (or feel) what matters to you.  Too often we let the science of our minds override the art of our hearts.  There is no wrong answer by the way.  I guess it boils down to whether if you give yourself half a chance, whether you are willing to admit that your heart speaks as loud as his. . .