So. Test For Echo.
looking down on empty streets, all she can see
are the dreams all made solid
are the dreams all made real
all of the buildings, all of those cars
were once just a dream
in somebody's head
she pictures the broken glass, she pictures the steam
she pictures a soul
with no leak at the seam
let's take the boat out
wait until darkness
let's take the boat out
wait until darkness comes
nowhere in the corridors of pale green and grey
nowhere in the suburbs
in the cold light of day
there in the midst of it so alive and alone
words support like bone
dreaming of mercy street
wear your inside out
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms again
dreaming of mercy street
swear they moved that sign
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms
pulling out the papers from the drawers that slide smooth
tugging at the darkness, word upon word
confessing all the secret things in the warm velvet box
to the priest-he's the doctor
he can handle the shocks
dreaming of the tenderness-the tremble in the hips
of kissing Mary's lips
dreaming of mercy street
wear your insides out
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms again
dreaming of mercy street
swear they moved that sign
looking for mercy
in your daddy's arms
mercy, mercy, looking for mercy
mercy, mercy, looking for mercy
Anne, with her father is out in the boat
riding the water
riding the waves on the sea
I spoke too soon.
Gods, I'm too tired to acknowledge the pain.
Fibrmyalgia is a bitch, but I refuse to be fibromyalgia's bitch.
I've been under an interesting amount of physical and neurological stress over the last month, not admitting to it, not recognizing it, not doing much about it -- now paying for it with a month-long fibro flare and two complex partial seizures, one that became a secondary generalized tonic clonic, one that sent my entire reality spinning and twisting down the rabbit hole.
But you know what? It's all good.
Tantric sex last night helped a great deal, pushing me into a very high state of consciousness, making me feel as connected as possible to what I percieve to be the universe and divinity and my own higher self. I came down from it calm, physically sedate, and tranquil as a lotus-eater. I opened myself up enough to see his aura completely (it's very bright and strong, like the sun). We need to do it more often. The fiery, passionate, pulse-pounding fuck of sex is fantastic, but it can hurt my central nervous system if it's too intense. Tantric is much better.
I'll make myself better. Slowly.
Driven up and down in circles
Skidding down a road of black ice
Staring in and out storm windows
Driven to a fool's paradise
It's my turn to drive
But it's my turn to drive
Driven to the margin of error
Driven to the edge of control
Driven to the margin of terror
Driven to the edge of a deep, dark hole
Driven day and night in circles
Spinning like a whirlwind of leaves
Stealing in and out back alleys
Driven to another den of thieves
But it's my turn to drive
But it's my turn to drive
Driven in -- Driven to the edge
Driven out -- On the thin end of the wedge
Driven off -- By things I've never seen
Driven on -- By the road to somewhere I've never been
But it's my turn to drive
But it's my turn to drive
The road unwinds towards me
What was there is gone
The road unwinds before me
And I go riding on
But it's my turn to drive
But it's my turn to drive