This Is a Song

I was interested in how easily a song can manufacture a memory. Give someone a kitchen, a yellow glove, a mother who has just died, and suddenly there's an emotional reality that didn't exist a moment earlier. Then take it all away. There's something unsettling about our ability to create entire worlds, only to destroy them in an instant. I wanted the song to expose its own tricks while leaving something much darker beneath the surface.

Hey! Your mother is dead She wasn't a second ago Now she's in the kitchen one hand on the table Wearing one yellow glove You remember it You don't I put her there This is a Song This is a Song A white car crosses a bridge at 8:15 There is no bridge I put it there No white car Still something crossed This is a Song This is a Song I make it winter Winter I make you leave You leave I bring you back Kitchen Hand on the table One yellow glove Hey! Remember? There is no kitchen This is a Song This is a Song A door shuts You heard it No door Still something crossed I put us here Hey! This is a Song This is a Song This is a Song This is a Song This is a Song