Fallen & Falling To Pieces
You sing a love story of sheep, the she-wolf was once a woman who fell for and loved the hunter, praying for them, but was shunned because of his guilt when he lay with her – giving into the “sin”.
It´s written life was created to live forever, and it´s true, no matter we die, remember we´re Phoenix, we just transform. All we know we were born to live suffering to die, filling all the gaps in between with its pain spectrum. To love is not a sin, in a way, to love is to redeem, in a way. To love is seeking pleasure to ease all the pain.
It´s not that the man turned on her and wounded her, he did neither, though the heartbreaking video I didn´t direct shows so, it´s the naturally sinful, imperfect hunter who became the prey, and they both fell to pieces, becoming the she wolf and he wolf in sheep´s clothes.
It´s about the crushing feeling of being trapped in love and being hurtfully preyed upon, bleeding. Bleeding and healing. Bleeding while healing. Bleeding while living love to the fullest within our grasp. Together and apart. Apart and yet together, in pieces. In sharp masterpieces, God´s masterplan.
The hunter is in the claws of the she wolf, feeling helpless and unable to get away. It moans of the predatory nature of love, the way it can and does make us feel vulnerable and powerless, and how we can be and are brought to our knees by it, fallen to pieces, and still falling to pieces, pieces of love, as we cannot just fall out of love, I can´t, you can´t.
The hunter is also questioning what the hell, the horrors, the heaven the she wolf sees in him, just a fucking hunter who needs to feed, a broken man picking up the pieces and putting them back together, and is ultimately falling to more pieces as they struggle to break free, free from the food chain love is. Love was, love is, love will always be the most beautiful prison we have not decided, we have not chosen, nourishing us. Love has trapped us, fragile, love has taken us hostage, fearless. Maybe.
Just because we´re Sweetish and love Tove Lo or Loreen doesn´t mean we´re Swedish, subject to its capital trauma, Stockholm. People with Stockholm syndrome, a coping mechanism to a captive situation, form a psychological connection with their captors and begin sympathizing with them. In addition to the original kidnapper-hostage situation, Stockholm syndrome includes other types of romantic trauma in which there's a sacred bond between the love abuser and the person being abused. Feeling closely bonded or attached to the irresistible captor. Regressing to a childlike state of dependence. Selective memory of positive feelings or kind acts of the raptor. Denial, minimization, or excuses made for love abuse or maltreatment. Feeling emotionally disconnected, numb or detached. Why would I call it Helsinki, Finland? Because hell is sinking? Just kidding, we´re sinking in loneliness, the distant heaven with its present earthly horrors stays afloat, drowning us, drowning one more than the other, drowning nonetheless.
Love has decided us, love has chosen us. Love has defined us. Love has defied us. Love has not denied us. Love is God, love is divine. The found body still apart is just His sign we have, the sign we crave, the only sign our lost souls follow. To meet is the meat. And we gotta eat. We gotta feed. We are carnivorous. We are a carnal creation of God, however sublime, we are flesh and blood and milk and juice Adam and Eve. Love is our evaporating faith in God, in the sweltering heat of severed passion beyond the cross, or what´s left of it on this cursed earth, love is to believe. Love is to know, but at the same time love is so hard to believe. And we know, and we believe, we just know and believe. That´s why we make love, we make love to survive. We must make only love before we die. The rest is BS, BS flying, BS crashing, BS taking off, BS landing on our love-crazed, love-starved Fryday minds.
Our love song is a universal, relatable and thought-provoking narrative of hope experienced the hardest way, the most tragic. There is never an easy way in love, no easy way to love, delving into the most terrible complexities of love, personal transformation, personal annihilation, personal starvation, personal ejaculation, and the cosmic struggles we face in this cruel relationship here on earth. Only death is simple, everything else that leads to it, life, is so fucking complex. I don´t know how to deal with it, you do.
But I´ve lived this, I´ve felt this for endless months. How have I got this far? It´s not only symbolism. The deep cut bleedrics are real life and dramatically explore the innocent persona of a woman who perceives herself as a “she wolf,” embodying strength, independence, and resilience, unlike the hunter. The he wolf is weak, dependent, not that resilient, though it seems otherwise. The brave protagonist delves into her own vulnerability, realizing that she has been hurt and broken in various relationships. And “she” can easily be “he”, and love is always vernacularly and venerably swamped with “we = life”, because “just one”, like hate, could easily become death. But that would be too simple for the dead, but too hard for the survivor.
The key line in the meatgrinder slaughter machine “A shot in the dark beats a walk in the park” emphasizes that the disasterous risks taken and left in love are more than worth it, even when they do result in heartbreak. The thrilling dangers are simply nature, humanity is damned, however blessed we are. Human nature always jeopardizes bliss, tell me about it, adding depth and intensity, only to create a perfect disharmony, however painful, there is always some pleasure, some hurtful harmony, lots of it. Bleeding is living, loving is bleeding, the only difference from death. Live and let live, not live and let die.
Because love is, I gotta repeat this magical line, magical realism, it´s mine, it´s always been mine, love is a giant leap of faith, and we have jumped from our previous hells to greater Israhells, and yet touching the sky, being the beautiful spectrum of the rainbow, together, or apart. Fallen to pieces. Falling to pieces. Risen like Jesus. Risen like hope. Pure love. Pure blood. Pure heart stains. She wolf = he wolf bloodstains in sheep´s clothes, you and I deep in love, bleeding in the devouring darkness, living in the flickering light. The supernatural love not even death can part. I love, live and let live. I don´t live and let die, no matter I´m a hunter. I haven´t eaten for many months …
Your story is mine, because you are mine as much as I am yours, two worlds apart. And yes, we revolve and evolve around embracing vulnerability and finding strength in the beautiful or ugly face of heartbreak and weakness. Our ever-more addictive, catchy rhythm and melody encourage all lovers, even haters, to acknowledge their pain, learn from it, and ultimately rise above it, as we do, fallen to pieces, falling to pieces, the shared, sharp masterpieces of God´s masterplan.
The emotional vulnerability one experiences when in a love relationship is priceless, tell me about it. It´s the most precious treasure there is to keep here on earth. On this plane, on this island. Love is a plane, however crashed. Love is an island, however deserted. And yes, it does signify all the pain and heartbreak of losing oneself to the other, while also offering the immense opportunity for growth and transformation on the soul level, being closer to God, leaving the mundane more behind, savoring the most beautiful gift of all, love. You and I, deep in love, nothing, I mean nothing will ever tear us apart. No matter how much fallen to pieces. No matter how much falling to pieces. We are the Plane Island, just shot down, no big deal.
I can be marooned, but that´s the only Perrodise I actually have, I cling to. Love is an island. You can be baptized, because that´s the only Pinktuary within my true fairytale, within my shooting range. She wolf = he wolf bloodstains in sheep´s clothes. There are no failures or imperfections in love, just tragedies. We both know everything about it, when Paradise is lost, when Atlantis is found, when only the deep, merciless ocean of pain remains to deal with, love is the only pleasure left.
I choose love, I decide love. I told you, I tell you, I will always tell you. Or it chooses me, it decides me. You told me, you tell me, you will always tell me, remembering us, reminding us that music of love has the superpower to touch our hearts and souls, and She Wolf (Falling to Pieces) does just that. Its melodramatically meaningful bleedrics and captivating composition continue to resonate with our vast audiences, making it a timeless addition to the world of music beyond our one heart, beyond our one soul, beyond our two seek-you bodies, whole and whole not.
You sing a love story of sheep, the she-wolf was once a woman who fell for and loved the hunter, praying for them, but was shunned because of his guilt when he lay with her – giving into the “sin”.
A shot in the dark
A past lost in space
Where do I start?
The past and the chase?
You hunted me down
Like a wolf, a predator
I felt like a deer in love lights
You loved me, and I froze in time
Hungry for that flesh of mine
But I can't compete with a she wolf
Who has brought me to my knees
What do you see in those yellow eyes?
‘Cause I'm falling to pieces
I'm falling to pieces
Falling to pieces
I'm falling to pieces
Falling to pieces
Did she lie in wait?
Was I bait to pull you in?
The thrill of the kill
You feel, is a sin
I lay with the wolves
Alone, it seems
I thought I was part of you
You loved me, and I froze in time
Hungry for that flesh of mine
But I can't compete with a she wolf
Who has brought me to my knees
What do you see in those yellow eyes?
‘Cause I'm falling to pieces
I'm falling to pieces
Falling to pieces
I'm falling to pieces
Falling to pieces
I'm falling to pieces (falling to pieces)
Falling to pieces (falling to pieces)
I'm falling to pieces (falling to pieces)
Falling to pieces
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HEY THE SHE WOLF, THE SUBSTACK VERSION IN SHEEP´S CLOTHES WILL BE UNDRESSED BY HEY THE HE WOLF.
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