JOY AND MISERY

I've always been a fan of the song Hospital Beds by Cold War Kids, so it was an easy choice to carry the emotional weight of both Chapter 2, POWER IN PAIN, and Chapter 3, THE LORD GIVETH AND THE LORD TAKETH AWAY. Florence + The Machine’s version makes it even more impactful. On the surface, it’s an obvious pick—both chapters take place in a hospital. But there's more beneath the surface.

The opening line, “There’s nothing to do here, some just whine and complain, in bed at the hospital,” serves as a microcosm of people who feel stuck in life, trapped by their circumstances. Life is filled with highs and lows—or, more extremely "joy and misery." But are we defined by sterile, hopeless environments and moments of pain? Or is it our response to pain that ultimately shapes who we become?

Mac begins to feel the pressure—both literal and emotional—of becoming a mother, with no escape from that reality. The line “coming and going, asleep and awake” describes her transformation: a part of her is dying, and a new Mac is being born. This evolution happens through pain, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. “Put out the fire, boys. Don’t stop, don’t stop…” becomes a desperate plea—not only to stop the pain but also the death of who she once was.

Once baby Blake is born, the most precious of moments quickly turns somber as he’s taken to the NICU. The line “I’ve got one friend, laying across from me, I did not choose him, he did not choose me” speaks to how people often enter our lives unexpectedly—whether by force or fate. I’ve always believed people are present for a reason or a season, and every relationship holds purpose. For Mac and Blake, their relationship begins in shared suffering: “We’ve got no chance of recovery, sharing hospital joy and misery.” These lines not only reflect their immediate pain but also foreshadow the suffering to come—and the people who will enter Mac’s life during this season. A new chapter begins for Mac, a season of darkness: the Season of the Witch.