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Fingerprints on Photographs

from Higher Learning by The Napoleon of Crime

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about

There's this idea in philosophy that says that the person you are now is not the same as the person you were in the past. This occurs on both a qualitative basis (you might be more patient, say, or smarter than you used to be) and in a more mundane, physical way (you've replaced a bunch of your atoms, you're taller, or heavier, etc.). The important thing is that it's not a metaphor -- this perspective claims that you are, in every meaningful way, an entirely different person.

What I've done here is try to apply this idea to a breakup song. When you're in a relationship with someone, you contribute in some small way to his or her sense of self. If he or she changes such that they no longer care about you the way they once did, you have to take that in stride as the result of the person you helped build, in the same way that you accepted the person that the world had forged when you came into their life. It's about coming to terms with the fundamentally unknowable and separate qualities of another person, especially once that person pulls away.

This is a super brainy way of framing what is essentially an emotional issue, though, which is where the second half of the song comes in. All the intellectual gymnastics in the world aren't going to make it hurt any less to get over someone when you didn't expect to have to: things break down -- there's no rhythm, no pattern, no melody to hang on to. There's some chaos, then it's over. The head can try to make sense of what has happened, but the heart gets the last word.

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lyrics

I think my heart's on my sleeve
but yours stays in your chest
traces of expression fade
like secrets you've confessed
all the things that made you
only you can know
but sweetheart, there are times
when your history starts to show

how often do you think of
the people you've kissed?
there's not a lot who know you well
and fewer still that you'd miss

is there a box or a book of pictures?
sepia scenes and younger figures
memories stored and bound in leather
stained by tears and shifting weather
that changes like minds
that change like the tides

you've got a beautiful past, you know
anyone would be proud
to be a featured player there
if they were so allowed
you can't ever see your future
although you've come so far
you'll only ever know who you were
or, if you're lucky, who you are

but during some nighttime
you changed once again
and who you were in the morning
was not who you had been

now it seems you don't remember
first your fortune glows like embers
but what hits closest to the nerve
is you know that ashes never burn
and fires can die
if you change your mind

I leave fingerprints on photographs
signatures in oil
you can tell I've been here from
the way your pictures are spoiled

credits

from Higher Learning, released July 10, 2013
written by David Gassmann

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The Napoleon of Crime Washington, D.C.

"He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order . . . My horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration at his skill." -- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Final Problem" ... more

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