This song is about having a relationship for the kicks and not being meaningful. The relationship is going downhill but he still continues it. It makes no sense and is ironic and absurdist.
I've interpreted the song's message as being noPOGER.
noPOGER: no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Means you don't get anything in return or worthwhile when you self-improve yourself. Essentially, you don't get the prize for playing the game or the prize wasn't worth it and was a disappointment, in this case the prize is a women who has a high laycount or is below your looksmatch. Akin to the analogy of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow because the female, like a pot of gold, is very tricky to get. The rainbow is the manifestations of your ambitions of self-improving to score a female only to be disappointed with the prize at the end of the rainbow.
We take sour sips from life's lush lips
And we shake, shake, shake the hips in relationships
Stomp out this disaster town
You'll put your eyes to the sun and say, "I know
You're only blinding to keep back what the clouds are hiding."
And we might have started singing just a little soon
We're throwing stones at a glass moon
Whoa oh, we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning, whoa-oh
We keep the beat with your blistered feet
We bullet the words at the mockingbirds singing
Slept through the weekend and dreaming
Of sinking with the melody of the cliffs of eternity
Got postcards from my former selves saying, "How you been?"
We might have said goodbyes just a little soon
(Stomp out this disaster town)
Robbing lips, kissing banks under this moon
Whoa oh, we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning
Whoa oh, we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning, whoa-oh
It was ice cream headaches and sweet avalanche
When the pearls in our shells got up to dance
You call me a bad tipper of the cradle
Tired yawns for fawns on hunter's lawns
We're the has-beens of husbands
Sharpening the knives of young wives
Take two years and call me when you're better
Take teardrops of mine, find yourself wetter
Whoa oh oh, we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning
Whoa oh, we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning
I've interpreted the song's message as being noPOGER.
noPOGER: no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Means you don't get anything in return or worthwhile when you self-improve yourself. Essentially, you don't get the prize for playing the game or the prize wasn't worth it and was a disappointment, in this case the prize is a women who has a high laycount or is below your looksmatch. Akin to the analogy of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow because the female, like a pot of gold, is very tricky to get. The rainbow is the manifestations of your ambitions of self-improving to score a female only to be disappointed with the prize at the end of the rainbow.
We take sour sips from life's lush lips
And we shake, shake, shake the hips in relationships
Stomp out this disaster town
You'll put your eyes to the sun and say, "I know
You're only blinding to keep back what the clouds are hiding."
And we might have started singing just a little soon
We're throwing stones at a glass moon
Whoa oh, we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning, whoa-oh
We keep the beat with your blistered feet
We bullet the words at the mockingbirds singing
Slept through the weekend and dreaming
Of sinking with the melody of the cliffs of eternity
Got postcards from my former selves saying, "How you been?"
We might have said goodbyes just a little soon
(Stomp out this disaster town)
Robbing lips, kissing banks under this moon
Whoa oh, we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning
Whoa oh, we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning, whoa-oh
It was ice cream headaches and sweet avalanche
When the pearls in our shells got up to dance
You call me a bad tipper of the cradle
Tired yawns for fawns on hunter's lawns
We're the has-beens of husbands
Sharpening the knives of young wives
Take two years and call me when you're better
Take teardrops of mine, find yourself wetter
Whoa oh oh, we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning
Whoa oh, we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning
