(Fred Eaglesmith) Stumbling past your house baby At the break of day I thought I saw your silhouette Dancing cross the shade And I went down to the mission I called and called your name Till an angel with a face like yours Came down and let me in
Thought I saw your reflection in a cigarette machine In a bottle in the gutter In a window on the street In a storefront in a picture on an old broken TV I swear it was you staring back at me
I heard soldier’s voices by the city gate There were junkies lying on the ground They made me look away I spilled you in a mirror I chopped you into lines Over some old kitchen sing I swore I’d let you die
Thought I saw your reflection in a cigarette machine In a bottle in the gutter In a window on the street In a storefront in a picture on an old broken TV I swear it was you staring back at me
Old radios and broken mirrors Dogeared things I read Worn out movie stars In faded limousines I stumble through my own charades Coffee cups and clowns I can’t keep up with parades I keep falling down
Thought I saw your reflection in a cigarette machine In a bottle in the gutter In a window on the street In a storefront in a picture on an old broken TV I swear it was you staring back at me
Listen to a clip of the song:
[audio mp3="http://www.marygauthier.com/MG2012/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/04-Cigarette-Machine.mp3"][/audio]
“Cigarette Machine” is the story of a haunted but lovable fellow whose pain I can feel, and whose skin I am comfortable inhabiting on stage. He is haunted by lost love, haunted by sorrow, haunted by failure, haunted by the ghost of his former self, and trying make a life in a world that no longer makes sense to him.
He is an addict.
On the surface, “Cigarette Machine” tells the story of a lost romantic relationship, but underneath, the deeper meaning of the song is an exploration of the horrors of addiction. A major loss can break a person down and be the driver of addiction and mental illness, it can suck the hope out of a human heart.
Fueled by denial and trapped in the hell of powerlessness, the crushing grip of active addiction howls throughout this song. We all know the story, we’ve seen it before … swearing it off and five minutes later, picking it back up … I’ll quit tomorrow, the mantra of the addict.
All of this is implied here, the words beautifully framed by circular chord changes that just go endlessly round and round, like addiction itself—chained to a merry-go-round in hell.
Many of us intimately understand getting caught up in a person or a substance that’s not good for us, and starting to spiral downward from the wrongness of the attraction as we refuse to let go of our pursuit of what we want. Most will let go before the behavior becomes insanity (insanity being defined as doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results). Repeated long enough over time, compulsion can become addiction. The chase then becomes relentless and starts removing things from a life, greater and greater losses will continue to enfold, but the addict is no longer able to control the compulsion and keeps sinking further down into deeper water.
The character’s life in this song has spiraled completely out of his control. He is haunted, troubled and lost, having hit any numbers of bottoms but still descending blindly into the hole he is digging for himself. This is the nature of addiction, falling into the self-dug hole. The hole will get deeper and deeper, (unless and until the addict puts the shovel down and quits digging), but the soul sickness of addiction abhors admitting bottom. It can’t even see that it’s digging a hole—the addict does not know, cannot see, that he/she is sick. Addiction blames, lies, denies, and will eventually kill unless the compulsion is broken. One must hit bottom, and bottom is simply putting down the shovel. Simple, yes, but not at all easy—in fact, many say it takes a supernatural intervention to truly break addiction.
The character in this song is in terrible shape, but he doesn’t know it. Much like the guy in the song I wrote called “I Drink,” this character is delusional but lovable—and we root for him, we feel for him, we want him to find his way back home.
I particularly love the lines: “I can’t keep up with parades, I keep falling down.”
It brought tears to my eyes the first time I heard this—I felt compassion for this guy’s human frailty, and ultimately, compassion for everyone else’s frailty (including my own).
Yes, I’ve been where this guy is. It was a long time ago, but I remember it as though it was yesterday and I don’t ever want to go back there again. Lord willing, I won’t have to.
This is a truly great song. Thank you, Fred. You keep hitting ‘em out of the park.
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