The Past Is Our Plaything
Navigating Lost Dreams: Dean Wareham's Melancholic Reflections
Lyrics
I have nothing to say to the mayor of L.A.
I have nothing significant to communicate with the mayor of Los Angeles.
At seven o’clock in the morn
It's seven o'clock in the morning.
I have no retort for the king of New York
I lack a suitable response for the king of New York.
It's late and I feel so forlorn
It is late, and I feel a deep sense of loneliness.
Tonight I am playing my three-thirty-five
Tonight, I am playing my guitar (specifically a Gibson ES-335).
While gazing at your photograph
While looking at a photograph of someone or something important.
We’re living inside a beautiful dream
We are currently experiencing a beautiful dream-like state.
A winter where memory sleeps
A season of winter where memories are dormant.
The past is our plaything, she cannot talk back
The past is a tool for our manipulation; it cannot speak back to us.
We’re making it up as we go
We are improvising and creating our story as we progress.
The dandy is fashioned to crash and to burn
A person who is stylish and extravagant is destined to face failure and destruction.
As blue turns to grey
Transitioning from a cheerful state (blue) to a more somber one (grey).
I challenged myself to a duel yesterday
I engaged in a personal challenge or conflict yesterday.
I carried a lock of your hair
I carried a physical token of your presence, symbolized by a lock of your hair.
I insulted myself, I counted to twelve
I insulted myself and counted to twelve, possibly referencing self-reflection or inner turmoil.
We fired three shots in the air
We collectively discharged three shots into the air, implying a shared action or event.
It’s a gay parade, she’s above my pay grade
There is a joyous celebration or procession, and someone/something is beyond the speaker's social class.
I feel like I’ve taken first prize
I feel like I have achieved something significant, akin to winning a prize.
We're living inside a beautiful dream
We continue to exist in a dream-like state.
A winter where memory sleeps
A repetition of the previous mention of a winter where memories are dormant.
The planes have been grounded, there’s nowhere to go
Due to circumstances, airplanes are not flying, and there is a sense of being stuck.
The city we loved is now lost
The city that was once loved is now lost.
The towers have fallen, my brother is gone
Reference to the tragic events of 9/11, with the speaker's brother being lost in the collapse of the Twin Towers.
As blue turns to grey
A continuation of the transition from a cheerful state (blue) to a more somber one (grey).
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