You cannot quit me so
quickly
Is no hope in you for me
No corner you could squeeze me
But I’ve got all the time for you love
The space between
The tears we cry is the laughter that keeps us coming back for more
The space between
The wicked lies we tell to keep us safe from the pain
Will I hold you again
These fickle fuddled words confuse me
Like will it rain today
We waste the hours with talking talking
These twisted games we’re playing
We’re strange allies
With warring hearts
What a wild eyed beast you be
The space between
The wicked lies we tell that hope to keep us safe from the pain
Look at us spinning out in the madness of a rollercoaster
You know you went off like the devil in the church
In the middle of a crowded room
All we can do my love
Is hope we don’t take this ship down
The space between
Where you smile and hide
That’s where you’ll find me if I get to go
The space between
The bullets in our fire fight
Is where I’ll be hiding waiting for you
The rain that falls
Splashed in your heart
Ran like sadness down the window into your room
The space between
Our wicked lies is
The hope to keep safe from pain
Take my hand
Cause we’re walking out of here
Right out of here
Is all we need dear
The space between
What’s wrong and right
Is where you’ll find me hiding
Waiting for you
The space between
Your heart and mind
Is the space we’ll fill with time
The space between
The tears we cry is the laughter keeps us coming back for more
The space between
Our wicked lies where we hope to keep safe from pain
The space between
The space between
(Dave Matthews Band not endorsed by The Word.)
Off-kilter
Key thoughts on a song
Surface
Water, water everywhere. Symbolic of many things.
Dave Matthews has done it again with "The Space Between" off their "Everyday" CD. My current jam of the quarter is this song, which in my opinion would be a little bland if not for its video -- now showing on VH1, every 2:14 a.m., Central. It quickly slipped off the roster.
Water, water everywhere. A woman carrying a child is waist-deep in water, looking back. The pond is wide, with lily pads, waves and brackish, impenetrable water. She is looking back and it starts to pour. She is soaked. The baby awakes.
Matthews continues to play, continues to sing, oblivious to the rain and the smile on his lips. Rivulets cascade down his guitar. Drummer Carter Beauford taps on puddles forming at the rim of his drums. Raindrops also drum on the instrument with him.
Guitarist Stefan Lessard slides his fingers up his frets, the metal glisening in the rain.
Violinist Boyd Tinsley gently lifts his bow and looks to Matthews. The rain stops. It is twilight.
Matthews plucks his guitar, imagining the woman and her child, imagining a couple drenched and huddled at the back of an open pickup, imagining dark dancers in grass skirts twirl on the water's surface, and raindrops dance atop drums and lilypads. The rain breaks.
The sky is riddled with plumes of smoke from stacks that pierce the sky. It is filled with gray clouds highlighted with the pinks and oranges of twilight. A woman waits for Matthews at the other end of the harbor. Matthews snaps out of his reverie.
Could Matthews have been a factory worker, spending his day off from work singing and playing his guitar? Could there be a small patch of lake where factories haven't yet fenced them all in? A space that is a sign of infinity, hope, escape, change?
I like how there's just enough blue patches in the sky to remind you of pristine heavens. I like how the perfect moon, so imposing, is partly obscured by shapeless masses of gray clouds. I like how that perfect blue sky hiding beneath the clouds is punctured by smoke stacks and black plumes. They extend like well-used paint brushes. The water is opaque and black, rippling with waves. It is beauty and reality hyperextended.
The woman fixes her hair and Matthews turns back. He takes off his guitar. He closes the gap. The video ends.
