For the last few months I've been working on a song called 'Jepeto' with DJ Ilz. The song draws inspiration from the idea of 'Jepeto' the puppet maker in Pinochio, it's an exploration of the concept of god and looks at the idea of any all knowing deity being this perpetually lonely and misunderstood creature, flawed in exactly the same way as the rest of us. The idea came about when I was thinking about what it would be like to be God, I had this realisation that if you knew everything, if you existed everywhere and in all time you could never learn anything, the whole universe would run like clockwork and you would have nothing to distract yourself from the infinite, particularly if you imagine 'God' existed before the universe itself. If that was the case, would it be wrong to create other consciousnesses and subject them to the same crisis of identity for your own benefit? Would the whole pursuit be pointless anyway? Could you ever make anything that wasn't, in essence, a reflection of yourself anyway?
I've pretty much finished writing, here's the song as it stands now -
Jepeto
I once heard we were made in your image;
And every single crime we’ve committed is your fault;
So if it’s possible, that you’re the one responsible,
Then could I just forget about it all?
Dear Jepeto just sits by his window, watching the children play;
Am I a real boy? Will I ever be a real boy,
Or just another puppet carved out in your name;
I had an epiphany thinking about the bittersweet,
Synergy of love and misery and loneliness and mystery,
That we call life, where we all die;
Where every one of us is just a twig on the tree,
I was thinking if god was just an animal like us,
Had actual life, blood and lived and he breathed,
Then wouldn’t he know loneliness,
A hunger that would eat at him like nothing we could feel to a millionth degree;
Cause if I was aware that I could never die,
I don’t think that I could even live;
Imagine facing daylight, where everything was made by,
Your own hand and no man but you could exist;
There were only constant answers, never any questions,
Constant anger, eternally restless;
No one to talk to and no one to be with;
And everything you touched had no meaning;
Dear Jepeto just sits by his window, watching the children play;
Am I a real boy? Will I ever be a real boy,
Or just another puppet carved out in your name;
So go on, tell me,
Are we just wooden dolls,
I don’t know, about the soul,
Till we all roll home;
So go on, tell me,
Are we just wooden dolls,
I don’t know, about the soul,
Till we all roll home;
Picture the madness of a million different sadnesses,
An infinite reality with infinite insanity;
Where every single minute formed an hour,
Every shower every drop of rain nothing that could stop the pain, powerless;
Yet powerful, all knowing and certain;
Where there was no final curtain and your word the only verdict,
Judge, jury, criminal; all the individual could do,
Was sit and contemplate a total lack of purpose;
So from his desperation and majesty, he shaped from his tragedy,
Space and a gravity, creation and this savagery;
All the possibilities his mind contained,
He tore apart and scrawled upon this page,
And to that end he made himself these little wooden dolls,
And gave us what we later called a soul,
But a soul is just another set of strings,
That are only special because they reflected his;
So go on, tell me,
Are we just wooden dolls,
I don’t know, about the soul,
Till we all roll home;
So go on, tell me,
Are we just wooden dolls,
I don’t know, about the soul,
Till we all roll home;
Dear Jepeto just sits by his window, watching the children play;
Am I a real boy? Will I ever be a real boy,
Or just another puppet carved out in your name;
Cause if it’s some game where he wrote the rules and,
He knows the outcome then how come we get played the fool;
I don’t want to keep my mouth shut,
And be just an outcome or tool,
I just want breach my chest pluck that heart from its cage,
The blood in my veins are my chains;
Because if god exists he’s ignored our pain,
And an angel’s just another word for slave,
So go on, tell me,
Are we just wooden dolls,
I don’t know, about the soul,
Till we all roll home;
So go on, tell me,
Are we just wooden dolls,
I don’t know, about the soul,
Till we all roll home;
