My Chemical Romance My Way Home Is Through You Lyrics
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It's also about the fans who look to the band to "save them" since their parents don't do anything besides throw prescriptions at their problems. Internet Archive's in-browser audio player requires JavaScript to be enabled. It appears your browser does not have it turned on. Please see your browser settings for this feature. Please don't scroll past this—the Internet Archive is growing rapidly, and we need your help. As an independent nonprofit, we build and maintain all our own systems, but we don’t charge for access, sell user information, or run ads.
This garden is something of a shrine to everything that they achieved, there. Lan Wangji always tells him to focus on the achievements, rather than the failures. He runs his fingers along the leafy greens and down to the white bulbs just beginning to break the surface.
Notes:
To me this seems to mean that he's going to kill the person in question anyway, obviously. Also there is some irony that he is giving the victim a choice as to how badly he would like to die. While in most of their songs the meaning is more obvious, there is always a meaning. My Chemical Romance produces songs that are sometimes very personal so while we may not recognize the meaning or significance, the band does.
With the lyrical quality of their other songs, it is obvious that there is logic behind the lyrics. One of the things that Wei Wuxian loves about Lan Wangji is the way that he can convey so much with one syllable, one raise of his eyebrows or shrug of his shoulders. There are people who misunderstand him, who think that he is cold, but Wei Wuxian understands the way that he keeps his emotions guarded and opened up in only short bursts. So he smiles and unfolds his legs to stand and stretch out. ’ He knows from the subtleties in Lan Wangji’s body language today that the answer will be yes. He crouches down beside his turnip plants and thinks of the Burial Grounds.
About My Way Home Is Through You Song
He closes his fingers on the grass around his crossed legs, dry from the rain but beginning to dampen with dew as the evening stretches towards night. It is difficult to focus on the beating of his heart when his thoughts are caught up in the music, but Wei Wuxian brings himself back to his centre. He concentrates on the new, small core that he has been cultivating, very slowly. Mo Xuanyu’s core vibrates gold inside him, but Wei Wuxian does not desire power again.
In his experience, such allegiance has brought only terrible things. That is why in their cottage, alone, in a distant corner of the woods just inside the Lan territory, he feels most at home. He’d never thought that seclusion would suit him, but being locked away with Lan Wangji has proven more soothing than he’d expected. ‘Sometimes, when you make love to me,’ he says, and then he snickers when Lan Wangji gives his hair a light tug. Genius is the ultimate source of music knowledge, created by scholars like you who share facts and insight about the songs and artists they love.
Guns
He turns onto his back and blinks away the last semblances of light sleep. As his consciousness pulls him into the room, he becomes conscious of the rain hammering against the sloped roof of the cottage. The shutters crackle with the howl of wind outside, and he recalls the tinkle of running water from his dream.
‘We ought to invite A-Yuan and Wen Ning to have dinner with us again,’ he says, and Lan Wangji smiles. The heavy rain has saturated the soil with water, and his boots sink with every step. Sometimes he likes to walk out here without shoes and allow the mud to shape around his toes.
My Way Home Is Through You Lyrics
To feed the core, he concentrates on his inner power and on the double cultivation that he has started to work on with Lan Wangji. They sing at night, strange songs of nocturnal birds and the shuffling of trees as they talk to each other. Wei Wuxian likes to listen to them and imagine what they are saying to one another, even though he does not understand their language. Wei Wuxian thought that he could cope with having people stare at him – there was a time when he’d enjoyed being the centre of attention.
Wei Wuxian has always loved to talk, but with Lan Wangji he has found too a pleasure in silence. Shared seclusion has taught him the value of words unsaid, thoughts unshared, and he knows that Lan Wangji knows every intricacy of his mind without the need of his speaking it all. He finds Lan Wangji’s hand without looking up, and interlinks their fingers together. Lan Wangji’s fingers are cooler than his, and his thumb grazes across the back of Wei Wuxian’s hand in a reassuring motion. ’ It’s a playful complaint, but one that Wei Wuxian feels like making.
As time went on though, he became jumpy, paranoid at the way that people glanced his way with wary, guarded, accusatory or pitying expressions. He became convinced, once even, that a fellow cultivator was planning to frame him for something terrible. These days, Wei Wuxian prefers to think of himself as sectless.
He had not noticed that the music had stopped. Despite the settling in the atmosphere, his heartrate does not change, and he finds his arms light when he moves them into his lap. They radiate down through his veins, sounds which pick out vibrations in the air that he did not know existed. Back when he played his flute more, he found that he could bend the spine of the air to his command with the music, but Lan Wangji’s music is more in harmony with the nature around him. Wei Wuxian finds that his body fuzzes with the energy of the air around him when his lover plays.
My Chemical RomanceSmall comforts mean big things for him, now. He remembers the times when he had nothing, when they first built a home in the Burial Grounds, and he reaches for reassurances of warmth. Lan Wangji hums in assent, lowering the guqin from his lap and extending his hand to take Wei Wuxian’s. Wei Wuxian pulls him to his feet too and brushes a little dirt from his white outer robe. As he does so, he remembers a time when Lan Wangji used to flinch away from his every touch, aghast. He’s still stiff in posture, forever stiff in posture.
Sleep weighs light on Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, and he is half-aware of the quiet, steady-paced movements around the cottage. There are few rooms, a second sleeping-quarters included because Wei Wuxian could not be in Lan Wangji’s company all of the time, so the scent of cooking dinner drifts through the sliding shutter opposite the bed. The food that Lan Wangji cooks is simple, always small in portion, not spicy or layered in flavour but surprisingly homely. Wei Wuxian has a pledge never to give away that he likes it too much, but it is difficult to hide his feelings from his husband.
‘Let’s harvest some of the vegetables for dinner,’ says Lan Wangji, and he rests a hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. ‘These stems are a little broken,’ mutters Wei Wuxian, annoyed to have to admit it to Lan Wangji. He prods at some of the plants as he passes. The sturdiest vegetables have survived well, the cabbages blooming like flowers and the potato plants.
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