Thursday, 4 September 2014

Battle Born

(Back to the family history thing. As a reminder, or in case this is the first of my posts that you've read: My mom had inflammatory breast cancer at 47, her mom had breast cancer at 59, her mom had ovarian cancer in her 50s. I now have breast cancer at 33. We are the only 4 women in that line of my family. So before diagnosis, I was classed as being at high risk of hereditary breast and ovarian cancer. Quite right.)

You know when you sing along to songs by The Killers at the top of your voice, wondering all the while what the hell Brandon Flowers is actually going on about? I've done that plenty of times.

I've not listened to The Killers in ages. Just put Battle Born on. Argghhhhhh! Flesh and Bone! That song! Fuck knows what Brandon "Breaker of Hearts" Flowers was really going on about, but I remember listening to it on a train (singing along at the top of my voice... silently to myself in my head) and it hitting me like a ton of shit that it was MY song. I think all but the first couple of lines chime with me. Big time.  

I've gone through life white knuckling the moments that left me behind.
Refusing to heed the yield I penetrate the force fields in the blind.
They say I'll adjust, God knows I must, but I'm not sure how.
This natural selection picked me out to be a dark horse running in a fantasy.
Flesh and bone. And I'm running out of time. Flesh and bone.
Somewhere outside that finish line I square up and break through the chains.
I head like a raging bull anointed by the blood I take the reins.
Cut from the cloth of a flag that bears the name, Battle Born.
They'll call me the contender, now listen for the bell, with my face flashing crimson from the fires of hell.

What are you afraid of? And what are you made of?
Flesh and bone,
And I'm running out of time. Flesh and bone.
And what are you made of?  Flesh and bone.
Man I'm turning on a dime. Flesh and bone.

This could decay like the valley below, defences are down.
The stakes are high, the fairy tale end, the staggering blow.
You led with your chin, this could be real simple.
And what are you made of? Flesh and bone.
And I'm running out of time. Flesh and bone.
What are you made of?
Faces forward and trade in this blindness for the glow of love.
And time is raging, may it rage in vain.
As you always had it, but you never knew.
So boots and saddles, get on your feet, there's no surrender 'cause there's no retreat.
The bells are sounding, in this monster land, we're the descendants of giant [wo]men.
Not sure if anyone reading this will get it. I might be being a bit weird and obscure. But in a nutshell I am cut from the cloth of a flag that bears the name Battle Born. Boots and saddle, I'm on my feet. Or something.

No comments:

Post a Comment