On the surface this easily sounds like the most misogynistic song I've ever recorded, and it made my teeth hurt a couple of times while writing it.
A friend of mine was recently telling me of a few instances where the Oedipus myth has been used in popular culture, so I read up on that for a bit...it's much worse than I remembered. In addition, another friend recently posted some of Emily Wilson's fascinating musings on her translation of the Odyssey, (with a heartbreaking micropoem comment by Lev Mirov) and that all adds up to me basically pirate cramming a whole bunch of classical dysfunction into the song's main character, who's apparently having some sort of existential crisis in between sessions of aggressive BDSM daddy play and listening to Jethro Tull too much.
I'm basically using the backstory of the Oedipus myth to frame centuries of men abusing their sons sexually and perpetuating the creation of monsters and the fetishization of aggressive dominance...which can be very, very confusing if, as a victim of this horror, one later discovers that similar behaviors can become arousing in certain contexts.
Lyrics:
You want my touch you want it rough you need it demonstrated
You want a script to change expressions after masturbating
You want those bee stung lips
to get the snakebit
You lick the crumbs from every table when I'm done with it
You want to violate and validate and feel so bad
You need approval from the daddy that you never had
You want your clothes torn
You want your knees spread
Taken on the hard floor
Purified by hatred
I like to drink I like to fuck I use the finest drugs
I am a connoisseur of all the substitutes for love
I like my blood torn
I like my flesh red
Pull the pins out of her dress
I still prefer my daddy dead
Leave me with my feet bound
Meet me on the cleft way
Riddles at the entrance
Answer Man then Night and Day
Fry there in the cold sun
Settle for your park bench
Sit me on a gold throne
Earn it with a knifes edge
Come to me like a good son
Come to me like a good son
*Tell me the name
of the hole in my heart
What does this war mean
And what is wrong with me?
*micro poem by poet/composer/writer Lev Mirov, included with permission.
twitter.com/thelionmachine
(Cover image attribution to Albert Greiner sr. & jr. (ca. 1896): Louis Bouwmeester as Oedipus in a Dutch production of Oedipus Rex, c. 1896)
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