Just take for instance a time of great depression Fate out of reason Bad times in season
Don't shut your heart out (Your heart out) Don't cry your eyes out (Your heart out) Don't shut your heart out (Your heart out) No no no, heart out
Don't cry for me, Mexico Or Savage Pencil I'm nearly healthy
And they try to take my eyes out (Your heart out) Friends try to work my soul out (Your heart out) But I don't sing, I just shout (Your heart out) Heavy clout, heart out
Now here's a joke to cheer you up Old times, no surgeons Just magicians and dungeons There they take (your heart out) With a sharp knife, it wasn't fake (Your heart out) They had no anaesthetic (Your heart out) That joke's pathetic
Just look at me Too much speed But very plain You're lucky, friend, you've got one to take out (Your heart out) You know what I'm talking about! (Your heart out) I don't sing, I just shout (Your heart out) But all on one note Sing, sing, sing, sing Sing, sing, sing, sing Look at me, I just ding
“I don’t sing, I just shout” could be Smith deconstructing the typical job description of someone in his shoes as the band’s “singer” but perhaps also defining his vocal style as a tactical choice rather than a lack of ability. Singing could be with your heart out, vulnerable, or even be faked, like magicians. Shouting projects power. By claiming he does it all on one note, he’s leaning into a minimalist, anti-musical stance. He isn’t trying to entertain; he’s trying to endure. “Don’t cry for me, Mexico” is a play on Evita’s “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,” likely a jab at the burgeoning “world music” interests or the trendiness of certain aesthetics in the late ’70s. Savage Pencil references the legendary music journalist and illustrator Edwin Pouncey. By telling a critic not to “cry” for him because he’s “nearly healthy,” Smith is asserting that he doesn’t need the sympathy or the “intellectualizing” of the press. It’s not just enemies trying to take his eyes out; it’s his friends trying to “work his soul out.” Smith compares his modern “depression” and “bad times” to ancient ritual sacrifice. The “joke” is that while the ancient world was physically brutal (taking the heart out with a sharp knife), the modern world is psychologically brutal (friends and industry “working the soul out”). He calls the joke “pathetic” because, in his view, the modern struggle is actually more exhausting than the ancient ritual. “Too much speed, but very plain” references Smith’s amphetamine use which was probably common in the music scene, but it could also be a reference to the music—fast, relentless, yet stripped of any fancy “musical” ornamentation. “I just ding” is a strange but playful conclusion. After all the talk of shouting and heavy clout, “dinging” sounds like a typewriter or a bell—the sound of a machine or a clerk marking a file. It’s the detective from the prior song punching the clock after a long night of shouting.
“I don’t sing, I just shout” could be Smith deconstructing the typical job description of someone in his shoes as the band’s “singer” but perhaps also defining his vocal style as a tactical choice rather than a lack of ability. Singing could be with your heart out, vulnerable, or even be faked, like magicians. Shouting projects power. By claiming he does it all on one note, he’s leaning into a minimalist, anti-musical stance. He isn’t trying to entertain; he’s trying to endure. “Don’t cry for me, Mexico” is a play on Evita’s “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,” likely a jab at the burgeoning “world music” interests or the trendiness of certain aesthetics in the late ’70s. Savage Pencil references the legendary music journalist and illustrator Edwin Pouncey. By telling a critic not to “cry” for him because he’s “nearly healthy,” Smith is asserting that he doesn’t need the sympathy or the “intellectualizing” of the press. It’s not just enemies trying to take his eyes out; it’s his friends trying to “work his soul out.” Smith compares his modern “depression” and “bad times” to ancient ritual sacrifice. The “joke” is that while the ancient world was physically brutal (taking the heart out with a sharp knife), the modern world is psychologically brutal (friends and industry “working the soul out”). He calls the joke “pathetic” because, in his view, the modern struggle is actually more exhausting than the ancient ritual. “Too much speed, but very plain” references Smith’s amphetamine use which was probably common in the music scene, but it could also be a reference to the music—fast, relentless, yet stripped of any fancy “musical” ornamentation. “I just ding” is a strange but playful conclusion. After all the talk of shouting and heavy clout, “dinging” sounds like a typewriter or a bell—the sound of a machine or a clerk marking a file. It’s the detective from the prior song punching the clock after a long night of shouting.