Rock-a-die baby??

'A mother sings a lullaby to her child...' - Porcupine Tree's Blackest eyes starts off with this line...And this got me thinking -- What is it, that makes a series of well-placed low tempo notes that puts an infant to sleep? Why the sudden decent to nocturnal opacity? Furthermore, judging by the cranial capacity of a baby, I couldn't help but ponder -- Do these lullabies contain a deeper meaning in it's lyrics? I found myself dwelling into this. I also found myself doing something a lot cooler, but completely unnecessary -- Interpret a lullaby. After this, I could safely conclude, that they are quite brutish! Yes. I said brutish! Before further ado:

"Rock-a-bye baby on the tree top,
when the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,
down will come baby, cradle and all"

Interpretation:

An infant hangs in the balance, upon a tall, arboreal vegetation. The weather is unfavourable to the present situation and a gentle zephyr comes by and rattles the carrier of this infant in a to-and-fro, oscillatory motion, thus causing a mid-air dilemma whereby the sanctity of the bough supporting this cradle is put to the test.

When this supporting bow stands defeated by the gentle breeze, it causes the cradle to succumb to gravity and accelerates towards the earth, being pulled at 9.8 m/s (squared). The cradle is now falling due to gravity and of course, some top-notch unsuccessful parenting, making it descend to the tarmac below.

If there were a few more lines to it, it would probably foretell that the baby was pile-driven into the ground and the innocent greenhorn baby is now educating the tarmac of the anatomy of an infant human brain! The baby probably still lies in it's compromised cradle, helpless and betrayed by forces of nature.


Question : Babies fall asleep to this??

The wrong note

Ah... Thus begins yet another downward spiral of a crumpled piece of paper into the overcrowded waste-bin of undervalued opinion labelled: 'We, the bloggers of the world'.

Let our mundane lives create room for thought bereft of necessity;

Let our monotonous schedules finally throw light upon the cobweb-ridden grey matter of creativity;

Let the technology of the future provide the stage for the drivel of the past;

Let the leaders of Vox Populi be replaced by the prosaic ramblings of the commonman.

....Lost between the subways of the intricate Internet, I pray...Let my Blog awake!