This is a song of solace for the engineer who designed the Death Star—the one that Luke Skywalker blew up in Episode IV: A New Hope. The other day, my-nameis-dylan requested that I write a song about Star Wars. That simple request had me dumbfounded at first; the Star Wars universe is so huge (no pun intended) that I could spend a lifetime writing songs about it. I was searching for a unique angle when I watched this and realized how absurd it is that the Death Star had this Achilles’ heel: shoot one spot and the whole thing explodes. I wondered who could make such a fatal design error, and then I read this: the engineers did recognize the error and tried to fix it, but a Wookiee caught up in red tape went ahead with the original design. After learning this, I thought it would be funny to write from the perspective of the engineer who first dreamed up the Death Star; oh, how his heart must have wept when his beautiful creation was destroyed. Now, listeners, I do not claim Star Wars expertise—the lyrics are based on pretty elementary research and my memory of the film—so please forgive me if I made an errant reference. Thankfully, I did learn that “Wookie” is correctly spelled “Wookiee.” Then again, that might not be the kind of thing I want to brag about knowing—especially to women. I devote this song to my-nameis-dylan for the request and to these awesome, inspiring Star Wars blogs: tiefighters, millenniumfalcon, starwarscollectors, fystarwars, beyond-starwars, mkjedi, ladyvader, starsandsabers, and star—wars. If you fancy, free downloads of this song can be found here, and it can be streamed on YouTube here. Actually, frequent listeners will be glad to know that with this track I finalized my first free album for gamers, geeks, and other nerds: Lovegame. Check it out. I’ll post more details and tracks from it during the week. Enjoy everyone; and, if you do, share it on Twitter and Facebook and stuffs! — Kavalier Calm
Death of a Star
Out here in space, only one thing still marvels man:
the depth and fire of the stars.
So, like any good engineer, I planned to build a wonder:
a star of my own—one to rival the suns—
for it will not give life, but death.
I built her—a wonder to behold;
nearly perfect, but for one minor flaw.
I told that Wookiee not build that exhaust port,
but, oh, how he argued: more concerned with red tape than the art.
And I hate those Jedi, those rule breakers;
there’s no equation for The Force—
in their world, physics fails to have meaning.
That shot was one in a million,
but that Skywalker made it.
And now my masterpiece is destroyed.
Oh, it would have given death;
but now it’s destroyed.