Useless Magic: Lyrics and Poetry

‘'Songs can be incredibly prophetic, like subconscious warnings or messages to myself, but I often don't know what I'm trying to say till years later. Or a prediction comes true and I couldn't do anything to stop it, so it seems like a kind of useless magic.'' Florence Welch

Important information: My mother has been successfully initiated to Florence coven. Mission accomplished.

Who wouldn't fall in love with this outstanding book? A sublime piece of Art by a unique artist. Florence Welch is like an elf, a witch, a fairy, an Ophelia straight out of the paintings of Pre-Raphaelite artists. A songwriter and poet, inspired by mythology, Art, Literature. By life itself. So, let us leave the word to her...

There's a ghost in my mouthAnd it talks in my sleepWraps itself around my tongueAs it softly speaksThen it walks, then it walksThen it walks with my legs (“I'm Not Calling You a Liar'')


Now there's no holding back, I'm ready to attackMy blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out.The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unboundI hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground (“Howl”)

And oh, poor AtlasThe world's a beast of a burdenYou've been holding up a long timeAnd all this longingAnd the ships are left to rustThat's what the water gave us ( ‘'What the Water Gave Me'')

And now all your love will be exorcized And we will find new saints to be canonizedIt's an evensongIt's a litanyIt's a battle cryIt's a symphony (“Seven Devils”)

Oh the queen of peaceAlways does her best to pleaseIt isn't any useSomebody's got to loseLike a long screamOut there always echoingOh what is it worthWhen all that's left is hurt (“Queen of Peace”)

I'm worried we are entering an age of rageWhere only anger will be considered an assetAnd the gentle will be mocked, then eaten.Those with soft voices will have their tongues cut out,As punishment for not using them the right way.Don't you know your words are weapons,Kindness is obsolete,As obsolete as handwriting,As obsolete as silence and darkness in a city. (“Rage”)

Now, if this poem isn't the truest mirror reflecting our screaming society and the mob of the Twitter rebels, hiding behind a screen and dreaming revolutions while sitting comfortably on their sofas, eating pizza, I don't know what is...

‘'I don't know what makes a song a song and a poem a poem: they have started to bleed into each other at this stage, You can have everything.''

See photos of this glorious book on my blog: https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/