Quinta-feira 30 Nov 2006, 20h:33

Here I don't want to impose a single or definite 'meaning' on this song as there is no such thing in this world that has an ultimate and universal meaning. It all depends on its impression on its listeners and readers. Words are free and language is ambiguous. But that is what makes this song great as it creates such an ambiguity which allows us to imagine a whole picture where we are free to cast our shadows and implant our passions.

Every time when listening to this song, I am totally lost in its tunes. I don't know where I am, I am in nowhere. The tune seems to have a magic power that calls an echo from my heart. It takes my spirit to a forest where castles hide, to an old hanging tree where songbirds rest, to a long road where morning mist and wild roses extend its end…I am shaking and awaiting for that silence or for that storm? Human beings are weak and vulnerable and that nature always drives our heart for an absolute purity in the universe to heal our wound…being as pure as a white rose, as clean as a baby's mind, as wild as the winter gale, as warm as that red burning wood, to be whatever we can’t be, whatever we have dreamed for. Such is life, life is always within hope but that is unattainable and you know that.

The greatness of this song lies in its unstructured theme. Even Page can’t tell what this song is all about. It is a piece of work that is produced almost simultaneously the same way as script work is done. Once it is done, it is done and you can’t look back upon it. Otherwise you freeze your mind. I agree with the view of ‘death of the author’. It is quite pointless to try to draw a summary or review on the author’s intention or try to figure out what the story is. All those work from which we can draw a review are mostly political speeches or those with attended power influences. The beauty of music is that it enables us to think free. There is no such ‘reality’ in music as its meaning is multiple in many respects. Music is pretty much a media via which we can carry our own thoughts and ideas. That stairways, the ring of smoke, that bustle in the hedgerow might have their own metaphoric meaning to Page or might be just a thought flashing across his mind at that instant, but that never matters. When we listen to this song, they are deconstructed as individual actors in our imaginary picture. They have no origins. It is really ‘us’ who create a meaning for a song.

I would be therefore more curious to know how others think about this song and make this song a great piece of art for themselves….