My husband wrote this song last winter (which was a hard and good one for us). I love how he weaves in so much (references to The Abyss, an obscure McSweeney’s book called Giraffes? Giraffes! and all of our favorite snacks). I also love how it showcases his deeply earnest yet totally goofy personality. As my friend Nate Allen describes it: this is the kind of music a therapist records in his basement. Because it totally is.
Anyways, it seems like creativity has been a key component of mental health for us, balancing the weight of the world we find ourselves in and getting lost in words and beats. To all of you who, like myself, the winters can be hard on, this song is for you.
Colder Than Mars
by The Maiden Name
and hold keys to cars we don’t own on our rings
and when we lie down, I can feel the oxytocin flow
like the Mississippi runs in the spring
if we’d stuck to applied sciences,
we might have ended up with better appliances
but anthills pop up through the carpet, yeah
our apartment’s kind of an armpit, yeah
no pork at our parties, chicken is safest,
and in minneapolis sambusas are the greatest
orange fanta, sans-ice
goat, basta, injeera, ricemy wife swears the vikings are a hockey team
because of the ice
I correct her, “that’s a basketball team, you know”
but I try to say it nice
we shop at the co-op, pick up some supplements at the food-shelf
we buy what we can from the farmers,
and then get what we can where we can wherever else.
pita or pancake? why is everyone snacking on my sidewalk?
spiced with ginger and mandrake!
I’m not gonna pick it up and put in my pocket
we drink what it see, drain it down, even up to the dregs
let it sit deep within us, like fruit juices in giraffe’s legs
what if to submerge is like the Abyss?
I mean the film from 1989
that I watched in 7th grade, with horror,
as that rat’s eyes met mine
he shrieked and tried not to drown,
but he couldn’t resist,
such a struggle in the brine
his lungs filled with water and he survived with clenched fists
[I mean paws, clenched paws]
its colder than mars here, and we import snow by the pounds
and doors are locked and closed,
from the first snow til the thaw of the ground
we’re all gonna die of loneliness, cozy with just ourselves,
only ourselves and a bottle of vodka taken down off the shelf
across the hall, paper thin walls, our salvation is bound up together
it’s not what we saw, but we heard the falls,
as we waited day and night through the weather
and if the sun ever comes out to greet us, we’ll beat it with a brick
and threaten, “if you ever try to defect again,
it’s over, we’ll finish the job, and this time we mean it.”