“Aftertaste of Gold” is a rare moment on Life’s a Gasp when the air stops whipping by quite so fast and you can actually feel the autumn leaves slowly float down in real time. We’re still in Beijing, walking slowly through cancerous weather, but somehow we’re also somewhere extra, on a polar axis between heaven and earth, calling it hell. Life’s a Gasp and you can’t tell exactly when it ends. You lose your mind, your memories deteriorate and everything is actually gone: the love, anger, thrills, and chills; the magic, the moments of heightened awareness; even the person at your side. A fog wraps around you and all that remains is the aftertaste of gold.
When I was younger, walking always before you up to the summit or tangled in crowds. All that’s left over is the aftertaste of gold.
We changed together. Walking slowly beside you through cancerous weather, disillusioned with God. And then when it’s over just the aftertaste of gold.
And then it’s the present and I’ve fallen behind. I grope for your shadow I’ve long since gone blind, and all that remains is the aftertaste.
Was it the Temple of Heaven or the Temple of Earth? Was there rain and me singing or was it warm and I cursed? All I remember is the aftertaste of gold.
Now I can’t remember. A fog wraps around you. Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I recall?