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Florence + The Machine
My Boy Builds Coffins

My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails
He doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails
He doesn't make tables, dressers or chairs
He can't carve a whistle 'cause he just doesn't care

My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor
Kings and queens have all knocked on his door
Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves
They all come to him 'cause he's so eager to please

My boy builds coffins, he makes them all day
But it's not just for work and it isn't for play
He's made one for himself
One for me too
One of these days he'll make one for you
For you, for you, for you

My boy builds coffins for better or worse
Some say it's a blessing, some say it's a curse
He fits them together in sunshine or rain
Each one is unique, no two are the same

My boy builds coffins and I think it's a shame
That when each one's been made, he can't see it again
He crafts every one with love and with care
Then it's thrown in the ground, it just isn't fair

My boy builds coffins, he makes them all day
But it's not just for work and it isn't for play
He's made one for himself
One for me too

And one of these days he'll make one for you
For you, for you, for you, for you

Florence + the Machine, helmed by the ethereal songstress Florence Welch, crafts music that transcends mere sound, merging into the realm of poetic narrative and spiritual exploration. One such profound narrative-driven melody is ‘My Boy Builds Coffins,’ a track from the band’s 2009 debut album, ‘Lungs.’ Eerie yet exquisite, the song blends the macabre with the mundane, delving into the universal certainty of mortality while brushing with the existential nuances of creation and purpose.

The lyrics are imbued with a haunting literalism crossed with metaphorical depth, painting a vivid picture of a craftsman whose life’s work is to construct final resting places for souls departing this plane. Yet, beneath the surface of these darkly woven lyrics, lies a rich tapestry of contemplation that touches on fate, love, and the inherent artistry in the act of letting go—a siren call to anyone who has ever pondered the inexplicable coincidences of existence.
Crafting an Anthem of the Inevitable: A Foreboding Overture

The opening lines of ‘My Boy Builds Coffins’ set a tone of inevitability and resignation. There is an acceptance of a role that holds no attraction of adventure or variation—no romanticized building of ships to sail the seas nor the creation of everyday functional art. The relentless repetition of coffin-making speaks to the inescapable nature of death and the cyclical monotony that often characterizes our existence.

In this stark admission of life’s work devoted to the dead, we find an unsettling comfort found in the regularity of purpose. The protagonist’s partner may not take pride in creating melodious whistles or polished furniture, but instead, dedicates his craft to serve as the final artisan for both the illustrious and the infamous, suggesting a democratic finality in the face of mortality.
A Gallery of Souls: The Coffin Maker’s Diverse Clientele

Florence Welch paints a vivid tableau of the diverse spectrum of humanity that dances through the doors of the coffin craftsman. From the highest echelons of royalty to the most marginalized drifters of society, death is the grand equalizer, uniting every disparate thread of humanity in an ultimate shared destiny. The song’s refrain highlights the coffin maker’s willingness ‘to please,’ a poignant allusion to the indiscriminate nature of death and the peculiar comfort in its certainty.

The insidious melody weaves a spellbinding connection between the living and the deceased, between the one who fares well by doing a service and the ones who inevitably benefit from it; a service without prejudice or choice. It conjures an exploration of value and worth, where in death, perhaps the true equality of life is exposed.
The Loom of Fate: Reflections on Self-made Destinies

In the most haunting twist of the song, the narrative reveals that the coffin maker has constructed his own coffin, as well as one for his beloved narrator. This stark confrontation with one’s mortality brings us face to face with the concept of predetermination. The coffins waiting for their eventual occupants symbolize the fixed realities awaiting us all, regardless of how we spend our waking moments.

The presence of these personal coffins serves as a reminder of the inextricable link between life and death. We weave the narratives of our lives, marked by the things we build, both tangible and intangible. And in admitting our mortality, we acknowledge the meaningfulness of our impermanence, finding beauty in the ephemeral artistry of life.
Casting Elegies in Wood: The Heart of the Artisan

A bittersweet lament permeates the lyrics as the song contemplates the fate of the coffins once they are interred. The ‘shame’ that the artisan’s creations are consigned to the earth, never to be seen again, is a metaphor for the underappreciated acts of love which prevail in the face of life’s impermanence. They resonate with the profound sadness in creating something not to last in memories or histories, but to be surrendered to obscurity.

This speaks to the anonymity of countless artists and craftsmen throughout history whose works are beloved but whose names are forgotten. There’s a somber recognition of the mortal coil where love and care are infused into every creation, only for them to fade into oblivion—a reflection on the human condition and the pursuit of legacy.
Echoes in The Graveyard: Decoding the Inner Crypt

Beyond the surface-level exploration of mortality, ‘My Boy Builds Coffins’ uncovers a hidden layer about the mundanity and unpredictability of life. The refrain ‘one of these days he’ll make one for you’ serves as a chilling reminder that death is the only promise life makes us. It is a universal truth that doesn’t care for timing or convenience, reinforcing the song’s push to appreciate the now.

The piercing delivery of these lines by Welch, underscored by the haunting instrumentation, weaves a chilling realization that death is both personal and collective—a shared dance with the shadows that accompanies every beat of life. This permanence, woven through the narrative, invites listeners to contemplate the great mystery: the convergence of life’s spontaneity with the unchanging certainty of our final breath.