Story
This track came about after countless weekends and evenings spent thinking about the DSM and diagnosis. The first version was a heavy piece of writing, full of criticism and reservations about the limitations of diagnostic systems. The music was slow and sombre, and just listening to it made me feel tired. So I let it go.
Then, more than six months later, while reading old fables, I suddenly pictured the DSM lying in a forest. A fox, and an elf were examining the now rather hefty book.
And that’s how the new lyrics came to life.
In a way, it’s a song in its own right, standing on its own — and yet, not quite. Nature observing us humans, and our need to classify and categorise everything.
N.B: the beast refers to 'the second comming'by W. B Yeats (1919)
Then, more than six months later, while reading old fables, I suddenly pictured the DSM lying in a forest. A fox, and an elf were examining the now rather hefty book.
And that’s how the new lyrics came to life.
In a way, it’s a song in its own right, standing on its own — and yet, not quite. Nature observing us humans, and our need to classify and categorise everything.
N.B: the beast refers to 'the second comming'by W. B Yeats (1919)
Lyrics
Every age invents its madness
Names it softly, pins it down
Once a fever, once possession
Now a label passed around
We count the leaves, we weigh the weather
While the roots forget to hold
Every heart is sorted neatly
In a forest growing cold
Who is ill, and who decides?
Ask the fox beneath the fern
We search the mind for crooked branches
While the whole wood twists and turns
A face becomes a paper portrait
Eyes become a little wage
Every smile rehearsed for strangers
Every self a polished cage
We praise the ones who need no tending
Leave the tender ones alone
Then we wonder why the garden
Will not bloom around the stone
[Bridge]
We kept polishing the pebbles
As the earth grew thin below
Tell me, dear one, should we learn
To bend where bitter branches grow?
Or change the hand that plants the briars?
Look at me, then look again
What do you find beneath my features?
What is yours beneath my skin?
Where does all the madness live?
In the root or in the rain?
Who must change to keep on living?
Who keeps sowing all the pain?
Perhaps the question isn’t
Which mind has gone astray
But what sort of world keeps making
Minds that must adapt this way
The old beast runs through bracken
Faster than the birds can fly
And we name its hurried footsteps
Progress, as it passes by
Names it softly, pins it down
Once a fever, once possession
Now a label passed around
We count the leaves, we weigh the weather
While the roots forget to hold
Every heart is sorted neatly
In a forest growing cold
Who is ill, and who decides?
Ask the fox beneath the fern
We search the mind for crooked branches
While the whole wood twists and turns
A face becomes a paper portrait
Eyes become a little wage
Every smile rehearsed for strangers
Every self a polished cage
We praise the ones who need no tending
Leave the tender ones alone
Then we wonder why the garden
Will not bloom around the stone
[Bridge]
We kept polishing the pebbles
As the earth grew thin below
Tell me, dear one, should we learn
To bend where bitter branches grow?
Or change the hand that plants the briars?
Look at me, then look again
What do you find beneath my features?
What is yours beneath my skin?
Where does all the madness live?
In the root or in the rain?
Who must change to keep on living?
Who keeps sowing all the pain?
Perhaps the question isn’t
Which mind has gone astray
But what sort of world keeps making
Minds that must adapt this way
The old beast runs through bracken
Faster than the birds can fly
And we name its hurried footsteps
Progress, as it passes by
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