Today, I want to step into the shoes of a tortured mythical hero. I want to do so because I have no other way to express to Damien Rice how his music has taught me empathy, and how if he stops making it, I don’t know what I’ll do. So this is my plea:
Five minutes and fourteen seconds. That’s it. That’s how long it took. In five minutes and fourteen seconds you managed to completely, utterly, irreversibly fill my sorrow. Not a little bit, not mostly. Completely. It has been filled to the brim, almost overflowing, hovering at the meniscus of the words you borrowed from the only place you’ve known. This is how completely you have filled my sorrow.
So my question is, why would you do that? Why would you do that to me? That’s a huge commitment, man. Do you know what that does to a person? Do you realize that now it can never be filled with anything else? Seriously, why would you do that? Why would you ever sing Hallelujah if it meant nothing to you?
I don’t mean to be harsh. You have to understand, it comes from a place of deep, profound respect, a place of pure and unadulterated love, a place of remembering being in a post-five-minute-and-fourteen-second state of extreme Delicacy. There is no going back, you have to understand that. I cannot forget what it felt like to sit there and wish that I’d never heard it, so that I could hear it again for the first time, and then forget it all over, and so on, and so on, as if I was the victim of some ancient Greek punishment, as if I was Prometheus, my liver being eaten alive every day by a giant, hungry Eagle, only to have it grow back every night.
I want to be the Prometheus to the Eagle of your songs.
Punish me with your words, destroy me with your voice, torture me like the Greeks, only don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop. Don’t let me off the hook, don’t let me get away with it, do not forgive me for what I’ve done. Do anything else but that, I beg of you. Use me, dispose of me, haul me outside, leave me out with the waste, I don’t care, only do not stop now.
What is it? What do you want? Is my liver not tasty enough anymore? What do you want to hear? You want to hear what I have to say about you? You want to hear if I’m going to live without you? What the hell do you want?
Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you and all we’ve been through. That’s what I have to say about you. I will not live without you. Is that what you want to hear? I will die. I will do anything, I’ll beat my drum, I’ll beat my drum if it will make you come back. I know I have sinned but I will fall upon my knees, whatever it takes, whatever you want, whatever you need for five more minutes, for fourteen seconds more.
This has got to die. Did you hear me? I said this has got to stop. Enough now. You have a duty to Zeus to disembowel me on a daily basis. It is your job. Don’t you understand? I am a boy you can break, I deserve to be broken, I deserve to bleed by your hand and I need to know that you will back the next day to do it again. So whatever it is you need to do, do it, because my fate depends on it. Sit on a chimney. Put some fire up your ass.
I gave Man that fire. Now eat my liver.