From Robyn on Patreon in 2025
In the British Isles, September is a time of fruition and melancholy: the harvest is gathered in, the sun is retreating, and endless wintertime looms after our brief excursion into summer.
Cones are signifiers. They are deployed, in the world of vehicle traffic, to make you notice them and what immediately surrounds them.
In this song, I picture a cone appearing in the corner of each verse: beside the lovers, the horses, the phone-booth on the shore, the glider crashing into the hillside (an incident my father described to me from WWII) and the teenage werewolf. Each scene, in my mind, occurs at dusk in that magic hour of luminescence when colours grow more intense even as they fade into the twilight.
In the middle eight, I picture an Alice-in-Wonderland figure counting blades of grass and looking in the mirror, awaiting entry to the Looking-Glass World. I imagine Lennon and McCartney found themselves in there sometimes, too.
These cones glow, they do not burn. They’re there to mark my visions and memories, so you can share them too. Cone on, my friends...