The King of Pain

King Of Pain lyrics, by Sting

There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
There's a flag-pole rag and the wind won't stop

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a little black spot on the sun today
That's my soul up there
It's the same old thing as yesterday
That's my soul up there
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
That's my soul up there
There's a flag-pole rag and the wind won't stop
That's my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall
That's my soul up there
There's a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall
That's my soul up there
There's a blue whale beached by a springtime's ebb
That's my soul up there
There's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web
That's my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a king on a throne with his eyes torn out
There's a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt
There's a rich man sleeping on a golden bed
There's a skeleton choking on a crust of bread

King of pain

There's a red fox torn by a huntsman's pack
That's my soul up there
There's a black-winged gull with a broken back
That's my soul up there
There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

King of pain
King of pain
King of pain
I'll always be king of pain
I'll always be king of pain
I'll always be king of pain
I'll always be king of pain

I was just reading some comments to my previous blog, and I was fascinated by the comment that behind great humor there is always a great sadness. That provided me a strong connection to my late brother David's blogs, since his blogs could be hilarious, but also at the same time could be cruel, depressing, or infuriating.

I think of the song by Don McLean, "American Pie," where he speaks of "the day that the music died." When David died, in many ways, it felt like "the day that the blog died." I think of Jim Rome on his sports shows, where he always admonishes the listener,"to have a take and don't suck!" David always had a take, and his takes never sucked, since they were always honest, perhaps almost too honest, although they could be gross, dark, and relentless in their impact.

In our family, we all "tuned in" to David's blog, almost as if it was a weekly or semi-monthly TV show. David's TV show has been suddenly yanked off the air, and all of us former viewers have been suddenly left feeling a great void.

David's blog was many things, but dull was not one of them. My first reaction to his latest installment could, on the one hand, be as if someone had poured a hot cup of coffee in my lap, as his comments could be cruel and shocking. Alternatively, his blog could be like an extended cold shower, with a chilling dose of the sad reality that he felt was his life.

David was truly alive when he was blogging, playing his guitar, and recording his You Tube videos. David's mantra was that he was "the king of pain," and that he felt like "a butterfly trapped in a spider's web; That's my soul up there."

I recently watched a documentary about the film director, Sam Peckinpah, in which one of the commentators spoke of the sadness about how Peckinpah died at a relatively young age, due to his drug usage and alcohol abuse. The commentator spoke of how society values great artists because "they spend their lives dancing on the edge of a cliff," but when artists like Peckinpah fall off the cliff, like many artists do, they find that difficult to accept.

David, too, was an artist and he clearly relished the opportunity to dance on the edge of a cliff, throughout much of his life. Remembering the intensity of David's dramatic dances, and the emotional impact of those dances upon all of us who watched, makes it easier to accept that we will be deprived of the opportunity to see any more of his performances.