All I'm asking is for a little respectand then spells the word out for him (and us) just in case he's too stupid to figure it out, that's all that matters. The rest is something for her to sing in between.
How does it feel?you feel something, and all the rest of the gibberish about Napoleon in rags and a princess on the steeple and diplomat who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat don't much matter. What matters is when he keeps coming back to ask you, "How does it feel?" The words "feel" and "home" are emotional fireworks, and he's asking you, damn it, so listen.
How does it feel?
To be without a home?
Like a complete unknown?
Like a rolling stone?
Here we are now, entertain us.and though there are other great lines in the song ("A mulatto / An albino / A mosquito / My libido"), the attitude is created by that one line. The logical meaning or meanings, whatever it or they might be, don't matter -- it's all emotion. For me, it feels like, I don't know, the boredom of being. Ennui. Fuckitness. It's an emotion, not a logical conclusion.
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It annoys the hell out of me that people consider the lyrics to, oh, say, "Working Class Hero" more profound than the lyrics to "She Loves You," or that it is the lyric that makes Neil Sedaka's "Calendar Girl" somehow inferior to "Billie Jean" (Sedaka's is the better song on both counts). All lyrics suck -- except, of course, "Subterranean Homesick Blues."
posted by Faze at 11:08 AM on September 6, 2006