Sometimes words are just music themselves. Like 'Chicago' is a

Hear the words of Tom Waits, the gravel-voiced bard who turns smoke and silence into song: “Sometimes words are just music themselves. Like ‘Chicago’ is a very musical sounding name.” In this utterance lies the ancient recognition that language is not only meaning, but also melody. For the sound of a word, its rhythm, its shape upon the tongue, can stir the soul even before the mind grasps its definition. Words are not mere tools—they are notes, vibrating with mystery, carrying both sense and song.

To say that words are music themselves is to see language as living sound. Each syllable has a rhythm, each vowel a tone, each consonant a percussion. Some words march like drums, others float like flutes, still others crash like cymbals. The name “Chicago” carries weight and swing, evoking trains and jazz clubs, smoky nights and restless streets. Its music is not in its letters alone, but in the imagery and rhythm it awakens within us. In this way, words become songs even without melody attached.

This truth has been honored by poets through the ages. Consider Homer, chanting the Iliad to the ancient Greeks. His listeners could not read his words, but they felt their music. Names like “Achilles” or “Odysseus” rang with rhythm and power, not only because of the deeds they described, but because the sound of them carried weight. In such names, story and song were joined. So too, Waits reminds us, a single word can be music, carrying in its syllables an entire symphony of associations.

Or reflect upon the speeches of Martin Luther King Jr., whose voice turned ordinary words into hymns. Phrases like “I have a dream” live not only because of their meaning, but because of their rhythm, their rise and fall, their song. His words did not merely inform—they transformed. They echoed in cadence like gospel, lifting hearts as though they were melodies. This is the power of words as music: they transcend logic and enter the realm of spirit.

The meaning of Waits’ insight is this: language is not separate from music, but part of it. To hear a word deeply is to hear its tone, its weight, its rhythm. Writers, singers, and speakers who recognize this truth can move people in ways beyond argument. For the word that is chosen for its sound as much as its sense can pierce memory, stirring both heart and ear alike. In such words, beauty hides in plain sight.

The lesson, O seeker, is to listen not only with your mind, but with your ear. When you speak, when you write, when you sing, do not think only of what your words mean—think also of how they sound, how they move, how they fall and rise. Honor their rhythm. Choose words not only for clarity, but for melody. For in doing so, you will give your voice a power that lingers, a resonance that outlives explanation.

And what must you do in life? When naming a child, a place, or a dream, listen to the music of the word. When writing your story, let your sentences flow with rhythm as well as reason. When you wish to persuade, let cadence carry your truth. Remember always that words are music themselves, and that to use them well is to play an instrument older than any lyre, more powerful than any song.

Thus, let Tom Waits’ words guide you: listen for the music hidden in every syllable, every name, every utterance. For the world itself was spoken into being, and even now, each word we breathe is a note in the endless song of life.