No Surprises, Please
A heart that’s full up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won’t heal
A composer sits and labors over his manuscript.
In order to compose a great song, one’s magnum opus, the composer must have a meticulous and unwavering attention to detail.
Each and every single note, cadence and beat of the song they compose must flow perfectly.
No surprises, please, he utters to himself.
For the more meticulously one plans, they create a safe and scientific predictability. But even the meticulous composer cannot truly control every aspect of his song.
Not wanting human error to ruin his work, he programmes machines to play the song perfectly. But without humanity, soul or passion, they simply play the notes on the page.
The result is a song that seems all too perfect.
His planning had created a wonderful song, but not the magnum opus the composer intended.
However, if human musicians were to play his song, he opens up a world of unpredictability. They each would interpret the notes, ebbs and flows on his manuscript in their own way.
Such unpredictability is uncomfortable for the meticulous composer.
But it exactly that which creates that elusive greatness.
The unforeseen surprises.
I’ll take a quiet life
With no alarms and no surprises,
You are a meticulous planner, Stubbins Doom. You’ve composed a wonderful song in your reign as champion. Along with the compulsive need to understand the world, to plan it out.
How the Burning Man feels no pain. The root of ambrosia. Who planted the bomb on Mount Olympus?
You’ve cast your eye over every aspect of Arcadia, manipulating the cadences and notes of Arcadia’s manuscript to ensure your own greatness.
You’ve created a world of no surprises.
But life in itself in imperfect, unpredictable.
That is the very nature of living.
And the very nature of death.
For one cannot plan your way out of death, nor predict it any more than he could predict that bomb would go off.
Your science cannot explain the unexplainable – why people yawn, why we dream or when we will die.
Life and death remain a mystery. Unexplained surprises are all around us.
This is my final fit
My final bellyache
No alarms and no surprises,
When death comes for you, Doctor Doom, it will come as an unforeseen surprise. I am the unplanned death to your World Championship reign.
All the planning in the world, and you still cannot work out when I will use this briefcase.
Well, I have an alarming surprise for you, mi amigo.
Like all scientists, you work from a world of predictability.
I exist in the unpredictable.
I am your finality, only when you hear my song begin to play will you understand. Your magnum opus… I come to kill it softly with my song.
I’m taking that title off you.
And there’s nothing you can do to plan, analyze or prepare for that.
Because just like death, it is not predictable, but inevitable.