This Window

She Wolf by This Window is a haunting, powerful anthem of feminine strength and primal loyalty. With the evocative line “Not born from God but from the earth. I am a she wolf and I protect my family,” the track channels the spirit of a woman forged not by divine decree but by raw nature—fierce, grounded, and unapologetically protective. This is the story of a beautiful young woman who stands guard over those she loves, not out of duty but instinct. Her strength is not ornamental—it’s elemental. The music pulses with tribal rhythms and cinematic tension, echoing the heartbeat of someone who knows what it means to fight for love, to howl against injustice, and to remain wild in a world that demands tameness.   The Mythic Pulse of “She Wolf” Elemental Identity : The protagonist is not a passive figure of beauty or grace. She is a creature of the wild—feral, maternal, and unyielding. Her power doesn’t seek permission; it emerges from the ground she walks on, the breath she exhales,...

“Where Is My Jesus?” by This Window is a haunting, experimental track recorded in 2008 at Morgue Studio. The song is known for its stark, minimalist instrumentation and emotionally raw delivery. The vocals are described as “stony” and the guitar “slithering,” creating a mood of spiritual dislocation and yearning. You can explore its sonic texture of the original mix on  YouTube . Mood and Lyrical Style The lyrics of Where Is My Jesus unfold like a scorched sermon—part lament, part indictment. With lines like “Where is my Jesus? Where did he go?” , the song opens as a spiritual dirge, but quickly mutates into a political mantra. It’s democracy refracted through betrayal, commerce, and crucifixion. The invocation of “a dollar or a pound of flesh” evokes Shakespearean debt and neoliberal decay, while “He threw out the money lenders. Created a stock market crash.” reimagines biblical rebellion as economic sabotage. Stylistically, the lyrics are sparse yet loaded—each phrase a jagge...

Is It A Dream by This Window — A Gothic Homage to Hammer Horror Step into a shadowed world where fog curls like memory and menace. This short film pays tribute to the iconic Gothic horror of Hammer Film Productions, whose chilling legacy from the 1960s and 1970s defined a generation of British cinema. Founded in 1934, Hammer became synonymous with eerie castles, blood-red lighting, and the haunting elegance of Victorian dread. In this homage, spectral imagery unfolds:  A Female Horror Villain,  a Banshee, mocking, floats between realms  A Victorian Gentleman, stoic yet cursed, watches from the gloom. Within the pipe smoke, a woman’s face twists in derision—her laughter a ghostly echo  A Victorian Vicar, cloaked in moral ambiguity, stands at the edge of salvation and sin The visual tone evokes chiaroscuro and theatrical decay, a dream of horror, filtered through the lens of memory and myth.

"Gone are the Days of You and I" by This Window Inspired by the existential writings of Jean-Paul Sartre "The age of reason is here to stay, gone are the days when we used to play..." This Window’s Gone are the Days of You and I is a stark meditation on the transition from innocence to existential awareness. Drawing from Sartre’s philosophical canon—particularly Nausea and Iron in the Soul —the lyrics evoke a world stripped of illusion, where play yields to responsibility and warmth gives way to the chill of self-awareness. The accompanying video underscores the tragedy of love lost in war. Time slips by, and lovers part after a brief respite from the battlefront, returning to the harsh reality of conflict. Though the imagery harks back to the 1940s, the narrative resonates with contemporary relevance, serving as a poignant allegory. The phrase "Iron in the soul" is no accident. It references Sartre’s wartime novel Troubled Sleep ( La Mort dans l’Âme ...

The death of romance "Dance this Way" is a short, searing piece of emotional reportage. In just a handful of lines, it captures the humiliation of being treated as an accessory rather than a partner. The narrator’s repeated “I hate you, I really hate you” is not melodrama but the blunt edge of betrayal — the kind that happens not in grand betrayals, but in the small, public moments where someone you love makes you feel invisible. The scene is painfully familiar: a couple arrives together at a favourite bar to see a favourite band — a shared ritual. But instead of sharing the night, the man abandons his partner to socialise with his friends. When he does return, it’s not to reconnect, but to issue a command: “dance this way.” The woman is reduced to a performer, summoned at will, her emotional state irrelevant. When she cries, he laughs. The dream — of romance, of mutual respect — collapses in that instant. Objectification The man’s behaviour treats th...

Blue Eyes — A Love Story Written in Shadows In Blue Eyes by This Window, desire is not a gentle tide but a riptide—pulling the narrator into a love that feels as much like possession as it does devotion. The song’s central image— “she stole my soul in her lipstick case” —is a perfect encapsulation of its mood: glamour edged with danger, intimacy laced with theft. The woman at the heart of the story is no fragile muse. She is strong, independent, and entirely self-possessed, her beauty sharpened by the knowledge of her own power. She is the kind of figure who could walk out of a Bronte novel and into a neon-lit city street—equal parts Catherine Earnshaw and a heroine from a glossy chick-lit paperback, the kind who wears heartbreak like perfume. Love or Hate? The narrator’s voice trembles between worship and accusation. Is she a saviour or a destroyer? The song never answers outright, and that’s its brilliance. The “blue eyes” are both sanctuary and snare—windows to a soul that may neve...

A Victorian Melodrama This video delivers a rich tapestry of visual symbolism and emotional tension, anchored by a haunting soundtrack and layered narrative. Maybe a ménage à trois set in the Victorian age? The English gentleman in a top hat evokes tradition and propriety, possibly masking repression or duplicity. His presence suggests a moral façade, hinting at deeper conflicts. The woman positioned before an 1888 American flag becomes both a symbol and a subject—representing national identity, commodification, and the complexities of gender in the Gilded Age. Meanwhile, the Maverick Rancher, marked by his "no brand" status, stands as a self-made outsider. His ambiguous role and potential paternity add emotional depth and narrative intrigue. Paternity The question of the baby’s paternity is central to the song’s emotional core. Through split-screen visuals, a Mid-Atlantic accent in the lyric "You Betrayed Me," and fragmented musical layering, the video crafts a rid...