Sometimes songwriting is like taking something out of the oven that you didn't even realize had been baking. It comes out ready to eat, having percolated and set in your unconscious mind already, now fully formed and perfect.
Other times it's like growing a garden of potential ingredients. You harvest a bunch of individual pieces that each have a specific flavor profile, a texture, a way they sit on the palate, and you decide how they combine to manifest a specific truth your soul is compelling you to create.
In one situation you get a full song that erupts from you in one writing session, then in the other you get little moments that strike you in particular ways. You know the moments are out of place, but you also know they are important, so you keep their flavor on the back burner waiting to find out where they belong.
This demo from Skeletons is an example of that process, with its bridge that eventually became adapted for Windswept. I loved this moment so much, though I knew the lyrics weren't properly reflecting the emotional tone of the melody and delivery.
Cut to later on, when I was building Windswept out (scroll down to see the original demo I was working with). But it was also missing something. I knew in my gut that it needed to be attenuated with something more intimate, something really vulnerable, in order to fully unlock its poignancy.
I loved all of the vast metaphors of the original demo - building this castle with someone, having them demolish the whole thing, feeling like your grand dream has been dashed - but when you have so much grandiosity in a song, I find it can be a bit unmoored. It needs to be paired with a moment of real blood, a closeup of the wound. To truly grasp what war is like, you need the overview of the information, who won the battles, what the implications were on a large scale... but you also need the direct account of individual soldiers. You need to know what it was like to be terrified, fighting, wounded, seeing your friends dying around you.
My mind went back to this moment from Coals, and I knew the emotional tone at the root of it was perfect, though it needed to be adapted for the content and context of Windswept.
“I could still love you
Like my arms are breaking
We could still be alone
And I still know you
Like a silent answer
Like a storm in the coals
In the coals”
When I sat with both Windswept and this part, I looked inside of myself and realized the problem with the lyrics was that they were wishful thinking. I was trying to will something into existence with my writing that wasn’t actually concrete. In other words, these lyrics, in the truth of my heart, weren't actually a statement; they were a question. Like so many things in life are. It’s easy to express too much certainty in lyricism - to gravitate towards the absolute with its safe, strong roots. But so many of the most beautiful and heartbreaking aspects of life are in the bitter and honest in-betweens. So I rewrote it more honestly:
“Could I still love you?
Though my arms are breaking?
Could we still be alone?
Do I still know you?
Are you still my answer?
To the question I’ve asked since I was born”
Can I still love you? Are you still my answer? I don't know. And that lack of knowing is a huge part of the emotional texture of the final piece. That acknowledging of the uncertainty made it feel true to me. So much more complex and human.
Full Lyrics:
Tell me if I'm wrong, but I don't belong here anymore
Tell me if I'm wrong, but nothing is right
You called me on the phone, told me a story where I had not been born
I could still love you
Like my arms are breaking
We could still be alone
And I still know you
Like a silent answer
Like a storm in the coals
In the coals