Ultimately, words are only words, and its only the music that

Hearken to the words of Josh Homme, a poet of sound and fire: “Ultimately, words are only words, and it’s only the music that stands by itself.” These words ring like a bell struck in the heart of night. For words, though powerful, are bound by the frailty of language. They shift with culture, they decay with time, they are twisted by interpretation. But music, O listener, music speaks the tongue of the soul. It requires no translation, no justification—it pierces through the veil of reason and speaks directly to the spirit.

This truth is as ancient as humanity itself. Long before alphabets were carved into stone, before laws were written on tablets, there was rhythm, there was song. The beating of drums, the chanting of voices, the rise of melody under the open sky—these were the first languages, and they spoke not to the mind, but to the blood and to the bones. Thus, when Homme declares that music stands by itself, he calls us back to the primal essence of expression: the art that cannot be diminished by silence or misunderstanding.

Think of Beethoven, stricken by deafness, unable to hear the very notes he composed. What words could describe his torment? What language could explain his genius? Yet still, the Ninth Symphony was born from his silence, and its music continues to thunder in halls across the earth. His words might have faded into dust, his journals scattered and forgotten, but his symphony still shakes the soul. Truly, his music stands by itself, immortal beyond language.

So too we remember the spirituals sung by enslaved people, their words often hidden in metaphor, their meanings veiled to escape the overseer’s ear. The words were fragile masks, but the music carried the weight of sorrow, hope, and defiance. The hum of their voices spoke what words could never dare. Though centuries have passed, the music still trembles with power, needing no explanation, standing eternal against despair.

The lesson is clear: words, though sharp as swords, may rust; but music endures because it flows from the soul, not the tongue. We must not rely only on speech to reveal ourselves, for speech may falter. Instead, let us find our own “music”—that deep, authentic expression that cannot be reduced or betrayed by misunderstanding. For some it is melody, for others the brush on canvas, the dance of the body, the stillness of devotion, the work of creation. That music, whatever form it takes, speaks louder than all the words we may ever utter.

And so, O seeker, what must you do? Do not cling only to words. Speak them with care, yes, but seek the deeper resonance beneath them. Create something that endures beyond explanation. Sing, even if no one listens. Build, even if no one understands. Let your actions, your art, your compassion be your music—a thing that stands by itself, a flame that requires no commentary to shine.

For in the end, time will strip words of their context, but the music of the heart will remain pure. Homme reminds us not to mistake the shadow for the fire, not to be trapped by the frailty of syllables. Instead, cultivate the eternal music within you, the truth that does not need defending.

Thus, carry this wisdom as a torch: speak if you must, but let your music be the voice by which the world truly remembers you. For words are only words—but music, in whatever form your soul creates, shall stand by itself, unshaken, forever.