There are two possibilities here. One is that, for reasons not readily apparent, this was material Springsteen needed to trot out to get past a particular sort of writer's block. The other, speaking of literary fixations, is that Ernest Hemingway reviewed this record in 1957, in the following passage about F. Scott Fitzgerald: "His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and their construction and he learned to think and could not fly anymore because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless."