The Script: The Man Who Can't Be Moved Meaning
Song Released: 2008
The Man Who Can't Be Moved Lyrics
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag I'm not gonna move
Got some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand
Saying, "If you see this girl can you tell her where I am?"
Some try to hand me money,...
1TOP RATED#1 top rated interpretation:
the lyrics (and videoclip) to this song, although quite literal and simple actually have a much profound meaning behind them. when you listen to the song you can imagine it unfolding in your mind thanks to the fantastic composer but basically all it is saying is that its about a man who wishes his love would return to him and has the hope she will even though she has obviously moved on. in the song he sings about going to a corner and not moving but i think "the corner" is a metaphor for a state of mind in which he will never leave his feelings for the girl, although everyone tells him to move on (eg, the police officer) he'll always hold onto the hope.
2TOP RATED#2 top rated interpretation:
This song is so influential and very cleverly wrote die to the fact that not only one person can relate to the song people all aver the world can be inspired.
To me this song is about someone breaking up with the one person they never thought they'd be without but now that special someone has gone all's they're going to do is sit there and wait where they first met just to see if that one special person does actually care and he/she is willing to wait as long as they are reunited back altogether like they were before.
3TOP RATED#3 top rated interpretation:anonymous Aug 1st 2012 report
I once met a man. His name was John, and he was 23 at that time. I was 10.
Nobody believed me when I said I saw something amazing. Maybe because I never told them what it was. But he did, despite the lack of information, and evidence. He told me to smile, for I was crying, nobody believed anything I said anymore, even if I did provide enough things to back my claims up. He told me to hold my head up and be strong, because soon enough, I would forget them, and they would forget me. I answered him, more tears streaming down my little face, "I don't want to forget you!" He just smiled at me, and eventually gave me a pat.
I had no relation to John, He was just a man who brought me home after I ran away to the nearby park. I was scared at first, like any other lone 10 year old would be. But not too soon after that, he had earned my trust. I don't know how, and I don't really care too much to be completely honest. All I remember is him talking to me on the swings, with his shiny badge on his collar and his fancy hat on his head.
No sooner that later, we talked to each other everyday, for two hours aproximately. I asked him about his life, and he asked me about mine. It was a friendly one-on-one talk, everyday, for 15 years, without fail.
He would come even if he was sick, because "I don't want to see you upset," he tells me. I rarely get sick, but if I do, I hide it from my parents and sneak out to the swings, where I know he would be waiting for me.
I knew he was always going to be there, waiting for me, waiting for a brand new story. I trusted him so much, and he trusted me. When we said our good-bye's every evening, I would be in tears.
And he would comfort me, like he usually would.
Then, suddenly I stopped. Work was getting in my way, and I didn't have time to drive to the old playground anymore. I told myself, "I'll visit it tomorrow." But I kept saying this line over and over, until it became a regrettable habit. "2 months have passed and I haven't visited it." I said to myself as I was making my way home, "Why don't I surprise him?" So I turned back and headed to the playground.
When I came, the sight scarred me. It cut so deep into me. I don't think I would forgive myself anymore. I was greeted by a crowd of people. Looking down at a grave. It was placed right under where the swings used to be. The Playground was a cemetary for only one person.
The people looked behind them, they locked eyes with me. It was pure awkwardness and sadness until a woman said: "He's been waiting." I burst into tears as I walked up to the tombstone, for it read "Here Lies The Man Who Had Waited, And Cannot Be Moved Until They Came."
I was struck with nothing but pure and utter guilt. Had he died waiting for me? I was afraid to ask, for it felt too impolite to do so. They had lost a friend, because of me.
I looked around the "Playground" in search of anything, anything at all, to offer him. I had found a flower that I thought had died. It was white, and it had an orange center. He told me that flowers like these were rarely seen. I just laughed at it, I thought I was silly how a flower could be so rare. I understood much better now,
it was rare, for it stood for something, white as in the kindness a person has, and orange as in the sadness they're hiding behind smiles and laughs. It may not make sense to you, but to me, it makes a difference.
I laid the flower on the grass. I quietly whispered "I hadn't told you my story yet." I heard people leaving, their feet hitting the grass. Shuffling awkwardly back to their cars and bikes. I sat down, I smiled at him, as though he was still alive, I told him all the different things he had missed, and how much I missed him. He was just 38. Too young if you ask me. I was 25. My heart hurt. I regret not having visited him. He meant so much for a stranger. He isn't a stranger now though, he was like an uncle to me. Like a teacher, his smile can fill the whole world with happiness, and he can cheer anyone up in a matter of minutes.
Having lost him is like having lost a father, a teacher, an uncle, it's like having lost a family. I stayed there for about 2 hours, when I decided to go. I told him I would be back, and it would be a promise.
His job is done. I patted his tombstone and told him "Don't get cold." as I ran back to my car. I started it and looked at the passenger window once more before I left.
I saw a swing, a man with a coat, a badge on his collar and a fancy hat, with a little 10 year-old girl. They were laughing, and they were happy.
I drove off. The memories still with me.
I smiled through tears, because that's what he was doing.
anonymous Dec 15th 2019 report
It was never the right time for me and this guy. He kept putting this song on FB.
He sent it to me. Sad but it means simply waiting for that one person to return.
You may be in other relationships but that one person never leaves your heart.
Beautiful song resonating with many people and interpretes their special story
Clearly this song is about a man who is homeless. Obviously the man is sitting on the corner of the street homeless and one day his perfect dream girl walks by and perhaps they smile at each other but from that day on the man vows not to move in the hope this mysterious woman will one day return. Any other interpretation is rubbish!!!
anonymous Jun 7th 2011 report
first of all i luuuuvvvvv this song! it is my favorite. i think this is a song about someone who was is a relationship and either regrets his relationship or he misses his girlfriend that broke up with him...... :::::))))))))))))))))))))
anonymous Feb 3rd 2011 report
this song is about waiting, and waiting, and waiting, for that love to come back to you. you have hope even though you probably know its not going to happen you want it to. you know that if that love does come and look for you everything would be right and perfect. its that one person you cant live without but they have moved on and that is one of the worst feelings in the world.
anonymous Oct 3rd 2010 report
This song makes me shed tears every time I hear it, I probably have some problems with me.
Really nice catchy song I heard yesterday for the first time..
the lyics are awesome!!
More The Script song meanings »
Submit Your Interpretation
Blog posts mentioning The Script
|Revenge of the Nerds... songs about science|
|To Where You Are||anonymous|
|Jenny Was a Friend of Mine||anonymous|
|I Would Die 4 U||anonymous|
|Cause For Concern||anonymous|
|Talking to the Moon||Kaceyhope1|
|This Is It||anonymous|
|This Is It||anonymous|