There’s been snow on the ground for a week and a half now
It doesn’t seem like it’ll be going away just yet
In fact it’s projected to snow a little more by the end of the week

Which on the one hand is nice because last winter there was no snow
And it provides a single-second sigh of relief from the impending global meltdown
But on the other hand it’s really cold
And I don’t love really hot weather but cold is worse

Because cold has a lower threshold for being unbearable
It’s not a common opinion among my friends though
A bunch of them want to move to Vermont or Canada
Just because they want an colder average temperature

Also I think it’s because Canada is supposed to be more progressive than the United States
Which isn’t hard to do, most countries are
But at the end of the day it’s still a nation founded on racism and genocide
And no amount of supposedly “democratic socialist” politicians can undo that in 4 years
Or 5 if you’re in Canada

It’s like the snow on the ground growing older
It certainly doesn’t appear to be the same because of the dirt but it’s still the same snow
That’s been sitting there for a week and a half now
I’ve been writing for a while and I’m starting to burn out

What most musicians would do is not write a song like this at all
Or they’d write the lyrics first and then come up with a few chords
So leave it to me to switch the order around
But when I try to be a normal person, I just get bored

So I’m effectively writing poetry in the warmest room in the house
Okay maybe not but it sounded nice to say
There’s only two chord progressions in the entire song
And I played them enough to make it last five minutes

So now I have nine verses and nine choruses to flourish
And I’m worried since the lyrics are being written as prose
That I’ll worry about this song for ages and will never be finished
But if it does I’ll consider that a triumph

Most artists couldn’t do something like this if they wanted
They have labels to satisfy and agents to pay
The expectations are higher for them so they dilute their sound
And tailor it to whatever audience liked their first album

And if they’re lucky they’ll have one song explode
And in 2 years it’ll be all that anyone knows
And they’ll live in the shadow of a singular moment
And I’ve used the same word to start the last 5 lines of this song

And that’s 6 right now, most says that’s overkill
But for me it’s not enough, I couldn’t even hit 10 verses
I’m stuck in the single digits, even though it’s not competition
Yet I’ll wonder what other weird words I could have written

Now, I may believe some music is awful and no one should hear it ever
But having to break up over money is a fate worse than death
Oh, the label doesn’t think your new record has a hit
And you’re not me so you can’t just go write another one in a minute

Sales bring expectation which brings a spotlight
But it only stays on you if you get every note right
You can’t change your sound unless your fanbase is stable
And for most indie artists, they’re simply quite unable

Now I may just be projecting, realistically this is what they like
I don’t mean the constant overbearing sense of not being good
But at least on a smaller level, you’d figure bands are doing what they want
In the sense that if they don’t want to make pop, they’re not gonna

Is this how Jeffrey Lewis writes his songs?
Is name-checking too corny?
Yes it is that’s why I don’t do it
And I don’t sing about the pandemic directly
Because in 5 years no one will give a shit about it and it’ll be out of date

Music is art, that means it has to expire
You have a one-minute window before you’re the target of hate
But if you’re lucky your hate will draw people in
That said it’s more likely you’re just not that good at all

I went back and added this at the end so it’s not very good
I needed a ninth verse and thought it should go here
I should care but I don’t
Being self-referential is rarely cool, just annoying
But I’ll sacrifice being good if it means I’m never boring

So in 27 years when all my friends are famous
And I’m walking around Mount Laurel, NJ, cold and shameless
People will point at the never-was, shouting and faithless
Ranting “money is the death of art” bleeding on the pavement