Breeds of Misery: Wistful nostalgia, sincere and mature regret

Best/Worst Verse: "And I'm sitting, sitting on the top of the stairs and you're crying out on the towpath by the river with all the swans and all the people walking by. And all of a sudden I'm stuck with an urge to unlock a door with a key that's too big for my hands, and I drop it, and it falls at your feet. Come on, come on, it's there at your feet."

I can sincerely say that no song gets me closer to that sob lurking at the back of my throat than this one. I think of it almost like a Lydia Davis story - a few physical but not too specific images placed aligned with each other, collaborating for the sole purpose of breaking your damn heart. Almost every triplet stanza of this song is its own memory-world, open to each of us, there at our feet.

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists.)

AuthorJohn Proctor