The Killers - Spaceman Lyrics Meaning
This is for the warfighters, an opening of my heart I hope will help.
I love how a good song can mean just about anything to anyone, how sure it makes you feel it was written just for you. Personally, the logic side of me thinks it's about an astronaut, literally a Space Man, but what do any of us really know.
My interpretation is equally as personal and unlikely, and yet it's too literal to not be right.
I served active duty with the US Army for years, did 3 tours worth of combat deployments, joined soon after the war started, so I knew what I was getting into, or at least I thought I did...
It really did start with a low light, that of the drill sergeant's pen light as they made their way to the bay room lightswitches where we recruits slept, after which they literally ripped us from our beds to bring us to the clinic that drew our blood to type it, where they'd smear a drop onto an index card that could be used to ID us in the non-zero chance event that we get blown to unrecognizable bits. They didn't need to say that's why they needed to archive our DNA, it was hard not to let the reality of what could easily happen sink in, and yes, coming to terms with the cold hard logistics of preparing for your gruesome death, does in fact leave a strange impression in your head.
Ideology amd patriotism aside, I never met another soldier that didn't at least in small part hope to leave their former lives behind. We'd be fools not to, fools to not realize that active duty service means such a complete overhaul of your life that you've no choice but to leave the star crossed world you knew behind.
Many of us also hoped for great things (being all that we can be in the US Army), to rise above, for me, in a literal sense as a flight medic, but I also thought the uniformity of our appearance would allow for some anonymity, at least that's what I thought till they started calling me by name (or "highspeed" as they do when your nametag isn't plainly visible), telling me to do extraordinary and frightful stuff I'd just as soon have pretended not to hear, except I flew too far
at that point, following direction was the best way to survive.
Then there was our night fire exercises, where they literally zipped white light beams (and shot over our heads and blasted fight scenes from saving private Ryan over loudspeakers while they blew smoke grenades and any other scary distractions) to get us used to disregarding the literal bombs and satellites we needed to low crawl through to make it "safely" to the other side. I was surrounded by other recruits and cadre, yet that night was the most alone I'd felt to that point, crawling through mud, under barbed wire, unable to see anything through the darkness or focus past the flashing explosions of lights from muzzles and flickering search lights and occasional flares that blinded our ability to see at night (close your dominant eye they said, as if you could ever know when). Surrounded by other recruits but unable to make anything out except the next patch of dirt your face is buried in right in front of you, unable to even crawl in a straight line. Never by yourself, yet so alone; a true turning point in my life. Oh what a lonely night indeed.
Out of order in the song, but that low crawl got me stuck with enough splinters that I got an infection, compartment syndrome, they literally cut me open to relieve pressure. I "guess" I changed my mind at that point, but I already signed the contract, so I guess, but didn't matter what my guesses were anymore, the die was cast.
That was my entry into service. Then there was my return from combat, my ETS from service, going home...
Coming home, I really was looking forward to the life I'd live, though I couldn't deny war would haunt me, bring some hesitation to this life I'd give.
My nephew expressed interest in the navy, thinking he'd cross over to the deep blue sea, I told him to look it over before making that leap, that there was a devil between him and his dream.
And you know, I'm fine, mostly, but I do hear those voices at night sometimes, more often lately as we deserted the very people I fought alongside to free them of the Taliban, and they justify my claims, but the public don't dwell on my transmission, 'cause it wasn't televised, though movies were made, newscasters showed footage, but none truly can capture our experience, the raw emotion of constant failure no matter the win, the realization that it was all for so little, but, it was the next turning point, seeing just how unaware my fellow citizens are to our plight. Yet again, I'm surrounded by my supportive American citizens, yet they know not, they cannot truly be with me...
Oh what a lonely night.
The above experience is largely universal to any active duty war fighter, the chorus may be more just my experience:
My platoon sergeant was one hell of a storm maker, quick to diminish your pain and insist it ain't so bad to bleed green.
My dream maker was a pretty blonde I fell in love with upon redeployment, right when I was most "mad" (in the sense of sanity, true madness)
, and madness did ensue.
The spaceman was my shrink (combat stress psychologist), who urged me to just look down and see my feet are now firmly planted on safe soil, the post traumatic stress was all in my mind... so he says.
I still hear those voices sometimes, they still call me by my name. I hope if you're a combat veteran or love one that is, that you find a better spaceman than I did, we've all had enough lonely nights and it's not all in our minds.
