Slipped by The National Lyrics Meaning – A Profound Dive Into Vulnerability and Resilience
Lyrics
My eyes have fallen
Counting the clicks with the living dead
My eyes are red
I’m in the crush and I hate it
My eyes have fallen
I’m having trouble inside my skin
I’ll try to keep my skeletons in
Is it weird to be back in the south?
And can they even tell
That the city girl was ever there or anywhere?
I’m having trouble inside my skin
I’ll try to keep my skeletons in
I’ll be a friend and a fuck-up and everything
But I’ll never be
Anything you ever want me to be
I keep coming back here where everything slipped, ah-ah-ah
But I will not spill my guts out, ah
I keep coming back here where everything slipped, ah-ah-ah
But I will not spill my guts out, ah, ah
I don’t need any help to be breakable, believe me
I know nobody else who can laugh along to any kind of joke
I won’t need any help to be lonely when you leave me
It’ll be easy to cover
Gather my skeletons far inside
It’ll be summer in Dallas
Before I realize, ah
I don’t want you to grieve but I want you to sympathize, alright
I can’t blame you for losing your mind for a little while, so did I
I don’t want you to change but I want you to recognize, that I
It’ll be easy to cover
Gather your skeletons far inside
It’ll be summer in Dallas before you realize
That I’ll never be
Anything you ever want me to be
I keep coming back here where everything slipped, ah-ah-ah
But I will not spill my guts out, ah
I keep coming back here where everything slipped, ah-ah-ah
But I will not spill my guts out, ah, ah
Eloquent, gloomy, and wrapped in a veil of introspection, ‘Slipped’ by The National is a musical journey through the shadowy corridors of the soul. Within its haunting melody, the lyrics bleed a cocktail of nostalgia, regret, and a certain rebellious resilience. Each verse feels like a chapter straight out of a confession booth—a place where the lead singer, Matt Berninger, divulges the complexities of personal growth against the backdrop of an indifferent cityscape.
Deftly weaving together elements of personal narrative and universal emotion, ‘Slipped’ is a song that resonates on a level that’s strikingly intimate. It tackles the heartache of unrealized potential and the aching notion of being out of sync with one’s surroundings. Through masterful storytelling, The National invites listeners into a sphere where vulnerability is examined with a raw and discerning eye.
Torn Between Places: When the Past Haunts the Present
The song’s lyrics point to a character caught in the gravity of a city that knows none of their past—the heavy implication being that ‘the south’ and ‘the city’ represent dramatically different phases of life. Perhaps the ‘south’ is where one’s roots lie, with ‘the city’ symbolizing where those same roots are meant to bear fruit. Yet, within the urban lights, one can feel like an alien, unseen, grappling with the question: Can you ever truly escape the essence of where you come from?
Is it as simple as geography, or do these places also symbolize an internal disconnect—a schism between the person you are and the person the world perceives? The song deftly captures this latent feeling of alienation, a sentiment echoed by many who find themselves lost in the transition from who they were to who they’re expected to become.
Anatomy of Pain: The Struggle With One’s Own ‘Skeletons’
The phrase ‘I’ll try to keep my skeletons in’ reverberates throughout the song, conjuring a stark visual of someone struggling to maintain composure, to keep the chaos within from spilling into the outside world. It’s a universal human struggle, the impetus to appear whole while internally, one might feel fractured by conflicts and insecurities.
Berninger’s delivery of these lines is practically an audible shrug, often the way one downplays their own battles in the presence of others. However, the decision to not ‘spill my guts out’ is not just about concealment—it’s a stand against vulnerability, a refusal to let the fractures define the totality of one’s identity.
Navigating the Maze of Self-Acceptance
Arguably one of the song’s loudest echoes is the conflicting desire to be both accepted and to remain unfettered by expectations. ‘I’ll be a friend and a fuck-up and everything, but I’ll never be anything you ever want me to be’—a stark resignation to the impossibility of fulfilling every projected desire, whether imposed by self or by society.
This line, rife with cynical acceptance, poses a question to the listener about self-identity and authenticity. As humans, do we contort ourselves to fit the molds set by others, or do we embrace the messy, unconventional aspects of our persona, even when they don’t align with the communal desire?
The Hidden Meaning: A Metaphor for Mental Health
While ‘Slipped’ can certainly be interpreted as a tale of romance gone awry, there’s a resonant undercurrent that speaks to mental health struggles. Berninger’s references to having trouble ‘inside my skin’ and the need to ‘cover’ and ‘gather my skeletons far inside’ are poignant descriptors of internal battles with depression or anxiety—conditions often hidden from public view.
By zeroing in on the personal tug-of-war between sharing one’s pain and maintaining a façade of strength, The National touches on the broader, often stigmatized conversation about mental health. It highlights the fine line between seeking solace through connection and the fear of burdening others with one’s internal strife.
The Indelible Lines: Crafting a Lyrical Tattoo on the Listener’s Consciousness
‘I don’t need any help to be breakable, believe me’—a single line that punches the air out of the room with its candidness. The National has a reputation for crafting lyrics that linger long after the song has ended and this is a prime example of their lyrical prowess. It’s an open admission of fragility, and yet within it, there’s an underlying strength.
And then there’s the poignant ‘I won’t need any help to be lonely when you leave me.’ It’s a line that anyone who’s experienced loss will find a somber truth in. Such lines don’t simply resonate—they haunt. They stick to the ribs of your memory, demanding you to acknowledge their truth.
