[WM] 84.3: Mad World lyrics
Apr. 22nd, 2009 10:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deep_red_bells(ooc: part of this fic series)
All around me are familiar faces
worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
There’s nothing new anymore.
You used to find so much joy in travel. But after a few hundred years, you‘ve been everywhere, and seen everything. There’s nowhere left to go. You can’t go anywhere, it’s just returning. The places haven’t changed enough for things to feel new. You miss that so much. The excitement, adventures, the thrill of discovering somewhere new.
Things change, but there comes a point when you stop caring. Manhattan becomes Haddyn. The wealthy live above, the poor in the slums far below the shining, floating city. There’s nothing…beautiful, left in the world. There’s no part of the Earth that’s been left untouched and natural. It’s nothing but cities, teeming with people and life and technology. Even the art and the music feels stilted and shallow and meaningless.
You have a pretty home in a pretty tower, and there are times you feel utterly locked away in it. You aren’t like them, after all. You’re durable, strong. It takes a great deal of damage to hurt you. But you can’t repair that damage like they can. In a very real way, that makes you much more fragile.
There is nothing new or beautiful left. You feel unfulfilled, and bored.
And then the dreams return.
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very very, mad world
They came back. The demons, the vampires.
You don’t know how, but you can feel them. Crawling under your skin, whispering to you. Pulling you down to the dark world below.
At first you’re absolutely certain it means it’s over. It’s like you’ve been waiting for this. Maybe it’s the only reason that you’re still alive. It becomes a madness, an obsession. Tracking down what’s left of the Council--raving, insane men and women, but you find them, and you make sense of their ravings. No, you are not the Chosen. You never were, really, just a product of Willow’s spell. And even if that duty had fallen to you, you died. The destiny would have passed.
But still they call to you.
Eventually you can’t fight the urges and you find them. There is no light in the lower cities, no sunlight to burn them. Such a perfect little hunting ground for the vampires.
Lurks. They call them lurks now. The name makes you smile. It’s so very appropriate. You find them, you study them. They seem to have forgotten how to maintain a human face and exist wearing only the visage of the demon. This also pleases you, and you can’t say why. It’s…honest. It’s right. They were always monsters. They had no right to pass themselves off as anything else.
You leave without ever confronting one of them.
You’re honest when your husband (it seems strange to call him that after all this time, husband, as though there should be some other term for two people who have been together as long as you have) asks you where you’ve been, though you know how much it will upset him, and it does. You could have tried to lie, brought Claire into it somehow--she would’ve lied for you. But there’s no point, you feel, in lying to him anymore. He knows you too well. You ask him to forgive you and swear you will never be so reckless again.
You just had to see. Somehow the seeing, and the knowing, helps you find a place in the world again.
Muse: Baileigh Solis
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (OC)
word count: 654 (including lyrics)
All around me are familiar faces
worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
There’s nothing new anymore.
You used to find so much joy in travel. But after a few hundred years, you‘ve been everywhere, and seen everything. There’s nowhere left to go. You can’t go anywhere, it’s just returning. The places haven’t changed enough for things to feel new. You miss that so much. The excitement, adventures, the thrill of discovering somewhere new.
Things change, but there comes a point when you stop caring. Manhattan becomes Haddyn. The wealthy live above, the poor in the slums far below the shining, floating city. There’s nothing…beautiful, left in the world. There’s no part of the Earth that’s been left untouched and natural. It’s nothing but cities, teeming with people and life and technology. Even the art and the music feels stilted and shallow and meaningless.
You have a pretty home in a pretty tower, and there are times you feel utterly locked away in it. You aren’t like them, after all. You’re durable, strong. It takes a great deal of damage to hurt you. But you can’t repair that damage like they can. In a very real way, that makes you much more fragile.
There is nothing new or beautiful left. You feel unfulfilled, and bored.
And then the dreams return.
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very very, mad world
They came back. The demons, the vampires.
You don’t know how, but you can feel them. Crawling under your skin, whispering to you. Pulling you down to the dark world below.
At first you’re absolutely certain it means it’s over. It’s like you’ve been waiting for this. Maybe it’s the only reason that you’re still alive. It becomes a madness, an obsession. Tracking down what’s left of the Council--raving, insane men and women, but you find them, and you make sense of their ravings. No, you are not the Chosen. You never were, really, just a product of Willow’s spell. And even if that duty had fallen to you, you died. The destiny would have passed.
But still they call to you.
Eventually you can’t fight the urges and you find them. There is no light in the lower cities, no sunlight to burn them. Such a perfect little hunting ground for the vampires.
Lurks. They call them lurks now. The name makes you smile. It’s so very appropriate. You find them, you study them. They seem to have forgotten how to maintain a human face and exist wearing only the visage of the demon. This also pleases you, and you can’t say why. It’s…honest. It’s right. They were always monsters. They had no right to pass themselves off as anything else.
You leave without ever confronting one of them.
You’re honest when your husband (it seems strange to call him that after all this time, husband, as though there should be some other term for two people who have been together as long as you have) asks you where you’ve been, though you know how much it will upset him, and it does. You could have tried to lie, brought Claire into it somehow--she would’ve lied for you. But there’s no point, you feel, in lying to him anymore. He knows you too well. You ask him to forgive you and swear you will never be so reckless again.
You just had to see. Somehow the seeing, and the knowing, helps you find a place in the world again.
Muse: Baileigh Solis
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (OC)
word count: 654 (including lyrics)
