|Date:||February 13th, 2008 07:51 pm (UTC)|| |
It _is_ hard to accept sometimes, the futility of trying and the wishing you could and the presumption inherent in trying and wishing.
There have been so many times when I longed to be one of the guys I imagined Oingo Boingo were singing about in "Pain", the ones who travel around taking other people's pain onto themselves.
So give me all your troubled thoughts
And baggage you can't handle, no
We'll gladly take it off your back
(we soak up lots of pain), yeah
Little junior on the bus--his notebook by his side, yeah
He hardly ever makes a fuss--he soaks up so much pain
We've traveled far this monkey and me--by airplane boat and train, yeah
We're here to eat up all your sins (and soak up all your pain), yeah
Just shake my hand and give me your name (we soak up...soak it up...)
(Though, I have to say, the song strikes me as far creepier and more nefarious listening to it as an adult.)