The Von Bondies - C'mon C'mon Lyrics Meaning

The rope is our realization of the fraying umbilical cord of lost youth inevititablty remeberbered with sad sentimentality on many levels and so many reasons. It is a first clear image of our finite lives; the realization of how much longer traditional adulthood really and its disappearance of youth's seemingly constant, and therefore seemingly normal daily, even inevitable, excitement of frothy days and nights, it's varieties of people, places and time itself. It is the grim knowledge of a long and certain tedium required for a continued and certainly dull, sad, haunted series of decades until death. There is for many a stage of panic and entrapment we know we must somehow endure; an Grieg stricken isolation of unfulfillable and , for many, unendurable loss. It is be physically as well as psycholically painful, exhausting and irretrievable. This loss of effortless and, though we know it not yet, expected froth and enchantment in daily life can contaminate the inevitable next and normal stage of life. And memories can lose their balance of positives and negatives, become mawkishly sentimental erased of the normals ups and down they, too, contained. Nostalgia becomes the herion of these memories of choice numbing us to the possible joys that, if given a chance, can enlarge, multiply and synthesize the menories yet to be made in a new and ineluctable next era of life.
The memories of my young adulthood were nothing less than magical. They were so charmed that all of us in our family of friends knew just how unimaginably charmed those times were. So many are gone: so many are dead and dying, and we clinge achingly to those of us still living in one way or another. How could times of such glamour, in its original, archaic meaning, have been real? Did we dream them? If so, we awakened with a terrifying jolt, the sheets soaked, and we sobbing.
Only the few of us left have the strength to linger over the many pictures something urged me to take. All are in albums color coded: Halloween; Christmas; summers; birthdays; dogs and more dogs; and, oh, the grievousness at out ingratitude of the beauty of our youth. If a fire broke out in my house I'd first toss my dog out a dirt or window to safety. Second, out would fly the picture albums.
I am sixty this year and the end has easily discernible features. We few left of that golden age look at those pictures with our typical wacky joy, but now a patina of pain, wonder, disbelief and appreciation.
We were Pittsburgh's "Club Sunnyledge" as Rob always called us. We sparkled and we glowed and we reveled in our youth. There are those who wouldn't believe the stories we could tell.

Most people don't experience anything anywhere near the shimmer that for each day was for us of the ordinary. But that's not the point.

"Things were good when we were young"

Rebecca Dean