Franki Love lends her heart-melting voice to one of the prettiest verses I’ve ever heard that I had to put an arc reactor-powered fridge in my chest just to keep myself alive. (Sorry, Iron Man reference.) She makes me want to fall in love, float in outer space, fall into bed all at the same time. She makes my heart melt like butter on fresh toast.
Love is an indie singer-songwriter from LA. And she reportedly recorded her part for this song in New York. Which means she and Clem Castro were never in the same room when they recorded the song. How she did it? I don’t know, maybe via long distance phone call. And Clem Castro? Clem is the Dragonfly Collector a.k.a. the main songwriter/singer/guitarist of Orange & Lemons and The Camerawalls but I think you knew that already.
Until the cows come home, for me, is more preferable than the overused forever. I mean, no one lives forever. And nothing lasts as long. And while they mean more or less the same, as in for an indefinite length of time, until the cows is more, y’know, ‘grounded’. Or at least it’s less cheesy. It doesn’t say neverending. And you can’t say you’ll love someone forever, without having a part of you saying that that isn’t absolutely true. But you can promise to stay in love for a very long time. Or, until the cows come home.
Of course, cows do come home every day during twilight. They just won’t do it on their own. Growing up in a family of farmers in a rural town, the thought of cows coming home reminds me that we used to have one or two. Every day, before it gets dark, someone has to go the fields and get the cows. Sometimes, it’s my father, sometimes it’s my auntie. Other times it would be my uncle, who, sadly, left us last year.
Well, cows do come home eventually. You just hope that, being languid creatures that they are, the cows would take their own sweet time and keep their unhurried pace on the way back home.
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