Karly

I don’t know if I have ever mentioned this here, but around this time last year I hit what I so eloquently called an academic slump; the days were short, and the Scottish wind was freezing… as someone who was born in a tropical climate, this was a recipe for disaster. Now, you may wonder, what Taylor Swift had to do with this or if she helped me overcome it in some way. The answer is going to shock you: I decided to compile a Taylor Swift lyric anthology, this was before the release of The Tortured Poets Department, so I was working with roughly 243 songs. Now, because I’m insane, I did this in a week and used my University of Edinburgh printing credit to print it all off, including an introductory page, and then proceeded to bind it. Of course, I’m not going to publish it or use the blog to post my daily lyric selection, but I thought it would be fun to start this out with an anecdote. 

If you are at all familiar with The Eras Tour, you’ll know that every night Taylor regaled the audience with an acoustic section. Before the European leg, she only sang two songs: one on the piano and one on the guitar, but starting in May, she began to create mashups. Most of these weren’t just random, although, I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks Taylor just started singing Maroon when she couldn’t think of anything else. Nearly every time she chose two songs that complemented each other in such a brilliant way that highlighted her storytelling genius and interconnectivity across eras. I really am unsure as to whether this could count as a “Trust me, I’m a Linguist” post because it is discourse analysis but just for the sake of fun, we are going to leave technicisms out. Now, let’s explore some of my personal favourites, shall we?

False God x Slut

Starting off strong with what has been dubbed by some fans as the ovulation mashup. This mashup was plated during the piano section in Gelsenkirchen night 1. If you’re familiar with both Slut! and False God, you’ll know that both of them are melodically similar but not only that, they both have sensual undertones, which Taylor highlighted by including both But we might just get away with it, religion’s in your lips/ Even if it’s a false god, we’d still worship/ We might just get away with it, the altar is my hips/ Even if it’s a false god, we’d still worship this love and Half-asleep, taking your time in the tangerine/You’re not saying you’re in love with me/You’re not saying you’re in love with me, but you’re going to/Half-awake, taking your chance, it’s a big mistake/It might blow up in your pretty face/I’m not saying “Do it anyway,” but you’re going to.

For the final stanza of this mashup,We’d still worship this love, even if they call me a slut/Even if it’s a false god, we’d still worship this love/ Even if it’s a false god, they might as well be looking at us/ We still worship this love, even if it’s a false god, Taylor chose to do one song per verse, resulting in a very interesting message. The reference to worship gives the love a sacred, almost religious intensity, implying that the speaker and their lover are willing to revere their connection despite external judgment (“even if they call me a slut”), this can also be seen in other songs, such as But Daddy I love Him, in which the speaker (Taylor, in this case, if we were talking about Folklore or Evermore, the lines would be a bit blurry), rebels against the community she was brought up in, as seen in the stanza: God save the most judgmental creeps/Who say they want what’s best for me/Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I’ll never see/Thinking it can change the beat/Of my heart when he touches me/And counteract the chemistry/And undo the destiny/You ain’t gotta pray for me. The line “they might as well be looking at us” suggests a sense of defiance or exhibition, as if their love is on display for the world, yet they remain unwavering in their commitment.

It’s passionate, reckless, and self-aware all at once—acknowledging the flaws but choosing devotion anyway.

The Bolter x Getaway Car

This one is probably one of the most beloved mashups from The Eras Tour. Making its debut in Edinburgh N2.  As it was the first time she played The Bolter, understandably she chose to sing it almost to its entirety up until after the bridge, where she came in with Getaway Car. This mashup tells the story of a woman who is both victim and architect of her own escape. From the opening lines about almost drowning as a child, there’s a sense that she’s always been on the edge—both of survival and of something darker. She’s a “curious child,” out of place, and grows into someone who is magnetic yet ultimately untethered, always running. The nickname “The Bolter” sets the tone: she doesn’t stay, not because she’s weak, but because she’s wired to flee.

There’s a push and pull in her relationships—initial passion (“started with a kiss”), but the inevitability of departure (“ended with the slam of a door”). Love is a game to her, a chase (“taming a bear, making him care”), but the moment she sees cracks forming (“the littlest leaks down in the floorboards”), she knows she must go. The way leaving “felt like breathing” suggests that escape is second nature to her, a necessity rather than a choice.

The integration of Getaway Car at the end solidifies the theme of reckless, doomed love and betrayal. The transition from being part of a Bonnie-and-Clyde duo to switching sides reinforces the idea that she is not just a runner—she’s a survivor. The line “’Cause it always ends up with a Town Car speeding / Out the drive one evening” ties the entire mashup together, emphasizing the cyclical nature of her life: love, thrill, escape, repeat. And yet, in the end, “it felt like freedom”—a bittersweet declaration that, despite the heartbreak and chaos, she is at peace when she’s on the move.

The Black Dog x Come back… Be here x Maroon

I have a very clear memory of hearing this song on a grainy livestream in my tiny student bedroom, needless to say, I believe I was as shocked as the people at Wembley were when I heard stanza after stanza of The Black Dog, which, by the way is one of my favourite songs, and then to hear it combined with Come back… Be Here and Maroon, was definitely, in very simple words, something else.

This mashup is soaked in heartbreak, obsession, and the inescapable pull of memories that refuse to fade. The imagery is visceral, shifting between quiet devastation (“I am someone who, until recent events, you shared your secrets with”) and moments of seething bitterness . There’s a sense of spiraling—an inability to let go, even as the other person moves on, effortlessly slotting someone new into the spaces they once occupied together.

The repeated refrain “you forgot to turn it off” is haunting, turning something as mundane as location sharing into a cruel tether. The speaker watches, helplessly, as their former lover enters The Black Dog, as if their presence there is a fresh wound every time. The past is inescapable—songs that meant something (“The Starting Line”) are now shared with someone too young to understand their significance. The intimacy of those moments, once sacred, is now defiled by time and circumstance.

Come Back… Be Here shifts the longing into desperation—the feeling of knowing someone is physically distant but still emotionally close enough to haunt. The gut-wrenching “I don’t wanna miss you like this” clashes against the brutal reality: they are in London, detached, while the speaker is trapped in reminiscence.

And then Maroon crashes in like a tidal wave, rich in its deep, red-stained imagery. The love that once burned vibrantly has rusted, the intensity of passion reduced to the remnants of a stain. “The lips I used to call home” encapsulates the aching realisation that something once so familiar is now foreign.

By the end, we circle back to “you forgot to turn it off”, closing the loop of obsession. This is the kind of heartbreak that lingers, gnaws, and refuses to be neatly packaged away. It’s raw, messy, and deeply human—an anthem for those still tethered to a love that no longer exists.

Hits Different x Death by a Thousand Cuts

Yet another London gem. If you know me, or you’ve asked what my favourite Taylor song is, you’ll know that (after a long, convoluted answer of me ranking different songs and comparing bridges, etc.) it is Hits Different. I’ve listened to it tirelessly on the tube, the train, North London streets (because it is a fundamental part of my London Vibes playlist) and up until now I realised that it is actually very heartbreaking despite the upbeat tone. The imagery is visceral, almost cinematic: throwing up on the street, wandering through a haunted club, asking traffic lights for answers they can’t give. The speaker is stuck in the past, reliving the love and the pain simultaneously, unable to separate the two. There’s a desperate search for meaning (“I trace the evidence, make it make some sense / Why the wound is still bleedin'”), yet no logic can mend the heartbreak.

The repetition of “Trying to find a part of me that you didn’t touch” is particularly gut-wrenching—this love didn’t just leave a mark; it consumed, possessed, and then abandoned. The love that was once “one for the ages” is now “a lawless land,” chaotic and unruly, where even old comforts (“our songs, our films”) feel like ghosts of something that used to be.

The contrast between “moving on was always easy for me to do” and the realisation that “it hits different this time” captures that uniquely agonizing kind of heartbreak—the one that refuses to fade, no matter how much time, distraction, or self-destruction is thrown at it.

And then there’s the lingering paranoia at the end: “I heard your key turn in the door down the hallway / Is it you? / Or have they come to take me away?” The breakup has unraveled the speaker so completely that reality itself seems distorted. It’s not just sadness—it’s madness, obsession, the slow, torturous process of grieving someone still alive.

The Tortured Poets Department x Now That We Don’t Talk

This mashup is laced with nostalgia, bitterness, and reluctant acceptance—it’s the perfect collision of The Tortured Poets Department’s romanticised dysfunction and Now That We Don’t Talk’s sharp, self-preserving clarity.

At its core, the speaker is caught between two truths: the intoxicating, all-consuming nature of their past relationship and the realisation that detachment is the only way to regain a sense of self. The repeated question—“Who’s gonna hold you like me?”—lingers like a ghost, a desperate plea disguised as a rhetorical question. There’s an inherent arrogance in believing no one else could possibly understand this person like they do, yet an underlying sadness in knowing they’ll never get to prove it.

The first half of the mashup revels in the idiosyncrasies of love: typewriters, chocolate bars, inside jokes, and Charlie Puth. But even in those details, there’s foreshadowing—the self-sabotage, the dread upon waking, the cyclone of emotions. Love is intoxicating, but it’s also destructive. “You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” is a particularly striking line, cutting through the romantic delusions with a dose of biting reality.

Then the shift—Now That We Don’t Talk—where the wistful longing of The Tortured Poets Department collides with the aftermath. The speaker is no longer the one begging for answers; they’re reclaiming their independence, albeit with some lingering resentment. They no longer have to pretend to be someone they’re not (“I don’t have to pretend I like acid rock”), and yet, they still ask: “Who’s gonna hold you like me?” The contradiction is devastating—it’s the battle between wanting to be over it and wanting to still matter.

By the end, the power has shifted. The only way back to dignity is to become a mystery again, just as they were when the relationship first began. It’s a full-circle moment, but it’s not necessarily triumphant—it’s just how it has to be. The heartbreak remains, but so does the necessity of moving on.

The Archer x You’re on Your Own, Kid

This mashup is a heart-wrenching meditation on loneliness, self-worth, and the exhausting pursuit of validation. The Archer’s existential yearning collides seamlessly with You’re on Your Own, Kid’s gradual acceptance of independence, creating a narrative that moves from self-doubt to reluctant empowerment.

The opening lines of The Archer set the stage for an internal battle—“Combat, I’m ready for combat”—where the speaker prepares for an inevitable heartbreak, despite their attempts to deny it. The repetition of “Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?” is devastating, revealing both arrogance and insecurity, an aching contradiction that sets up the emotional vulnerability that follows.

Then, the shift into You’re on Your Own, Kid is jarring in the best way. The hopeful yearning (“I wait patiently, he’s gonna notice me”) is quickly crushed by the realisation that “I searched the party of better bodies / Just to learn that you never cared.” The desperation of wanting to be seen in The Archer finds its answer here: they were never truly seen at all.

The refrain—“They see right through me”—is like an echo chamber of invisibility, a slow-burning realisation that no matter how much they gave, they remained unnoticed, unchosen. And yet, as the song progresses, the speaker sheds the illusion that external validation could save them. “Everything you lose is a step you take” is a turning point, transforming pain into progress, a forced lesson in resilience.

By the end, “You’re on your own, kid / You always have been” is no longer a lament—it’s a call to self-reliance. The pain of being unseen doesn’t disappear, but it becomes a part of the journey, a step toward something greater. The mashup captures the exact moment when heartbreak turns into hard-earned growth, making it one of the most emotionally resonant pairings yet.

You’re Losing Me x How Did it End?

This post is an autopsy of a love that withered away, a poetic dissection of a relationship that couldn’t be saved despite every desperate attempt. The fusion of You’re Losing Me and How Did it End? turns heartbreak into something almost forensic—analyzing every wound, every moment where love slipped through their fingers.

The repetition of “Stop, you’re losing me” feels like a fading heartbeat, a cry for action that never comes. It mirrors “Come one, come all, it’s happening again”—a resigned acknowledgment that the end was inevitable, a tragedy that’s played out before. There’s exhaustion in the words, especially in “I’m getting tired even for a phoenix”—an admission that even the strongest, the ones who always rise, sometimes reach their limit.

Then, “We hereby conduct this post-mortem” shifts the tone from pleading to posthumous analysis. The love has already died, and now it’s being examined under a microscope, dissected in a way that is both brutally honest and achingly poetic. “How the death rattle breathing / Silenced as the soul was leaving”—this isn’t just a breakup; it’s a slow, painful departure, a ghosting of the soul rather than the body.

The final lines—“My beloved ghost and me, sitting in a tree, D-Y-I-N-G”—are a tragic twist on childhood innocence, spelling out the fate of something that was supposed to last. Love isn’t just lost here; it’s buried, mourned, and left to haunt the o  ne who tried the hardest to save it.

This mashup doesn’t just capture heartbreak; it makes you feel the weight of it—the slow unraveling, the desperate last attempts, and finally, the painful realisation that no matter how much you love someone, you can’t make them fight for you.

I Hate it Here x The Lakes

This mashup intertwines I Hate It Here and The Lakes into a beautifully melancholic meditation on disillusionment and escape. Both songs capture the exhaustion of existing in a world that feels suffocating, where cynicism reigns and solitude becomes the only solace.

The opening lines of I Hate It Here introduce a sharp, almost sardonic wit—seeking meaning in a world that often feels meaningless, longing for a deeper connection but settling for the bittersweet acknowledgment that some things are just not meant to be. The contrast between finance guy poets and debutantes in another life sets the tone for a yearning that feels both intellectual and deeply personal.

Then The Lakes sweeps in like a dreamscape, a longing not just to escape but to disappear into something poetic and eternal. Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me? feels like a thesis statement for both songs—grappling with the idea of being understood only in retrospect, of artistry that thrives in isolation but also aches for recognition. The lakes, much like the secret gardens and lunar valleys, become symbols of refuge, places where only those who truly feel can go.

The way these two songs merge is hauntingly seamless—both conjure up an internal world where nature offers solace, where the dream of escaping the weight of modern life is a constant temptation. The repetition of I hate it here leading into Take me to the lakes makes the yearning feel even more desperate, a plea to leave behind not just a place, but a way of existing.

It’s the perfect mashup for anyone who has ever felt like they don’t belong, who craves a quieter, more poetic world but knows they can only access it in their mind.

Long Live x New Year’s Day x The Manuscript

This mashup is a masterful farewell—an emotional, nostalgic, and deeply poetic way to close out an era. By blending Long Live, The Manuscript, and New Year’s Day, it captures the essence of time passing, of memories solidifying into legend, and of letting go while still holding on.

Long Live is the anthem of triumph, of looking back at the battles fought and the victories won. It’s a song about legacy, about the stories that will outlive the moment. When combined with The Manuscript, which reflects on the passage of time and how memories shift from lived experience to written history, it creates a powerful sense of bittersweet reflection. The line “Now and then I reread the manuscript, but the story isn’t mine anymore” hits especially hard in this context—this was once her story, our story, but time moves on, and ownership of those moments fades.

Then, New Year’s Day brings in intimacy—amongst all the grandeur of Long Live, this song reminds us that what truly matters is not just the spectacle but the quiet moments after. The glitter on the floor after the party represents the aftermath, the reality that lingers beyond the celebration. And the repeated plea—“Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere”—is an acknowledgment that even as eras end, some connections are too deep to ever fully disappear.

The mashup feels like a love letter to a journey, a way of saying goodbye while preserving the magic forever. It’s triumphant and tender, celebratory and sorrowful—just like the best endings always are.

As the ever-so-iconic Miranda Priestley would say, that’s all. Only now that I’m about to post this do I notice that this post is well over 3k words, which is a lot. I can’t sign off without asking our dear readers: what is your favourite Eras Tour mashup? or alternatively, did you have a dream mashup? Tell me in the comments below, or as always, feel free to reach out on Instagram! Until next time.