lyrics purge
My back, it hurts so bad.
It aches like history.
............
.......
....
..
.
What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart?
[Said in stage-whisper, dream sleep, sleeping/or pretending to]:
--please don't break my heart again.
--baby, were you sleeping ok? Nighmares again? are you ok? what's wrong?
(He massages my hair and kisses the top of my head. In spite of myself, I like this.)
She's got one magic trick. Just one and that's it.
She disappears.
And if life is really as short as they say, then why is the night so long?
I'm only stronger. I'm one of the strongest womyn you've ever met.
Baby.
Baby?
Hey.
Baby.
*drag on cigarette*
I'm the kind of girl can shove a knitting needle through her lip, sleep on a bed of nails, and still be up for coffee in the morning.
And I still want him to scratch the back of my head, and kiss me on the top, and fold me in his arms--and he, he is not one of the masses of suckers who will do this for cheap, transitory adulation (an easy game to win), but the one who feels and knows and challenges my every day, and yet whose skin runs against mine in harmony, whose mind touches mine in ways that meld and bend, with eyes that see through things others cannot -- so, yes, his arms at the end of the day against me, my skin smelling of Origins products to heal and protect -- a sign of calm and acceptance and protection and rest.
Can't we just let go of the dreams we create for our psychiatrists and just BE who we are, together? Without the fears, the memories, the projections? Just BE. It's who I am, it's what I ask.
Just this. In this moment.
God, it's great to be alive. It take the skin right off my hide to think I'll have to give it all up someday.
It aches like history.
............
.......
....
..
.
What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart?
[Said in stage-whisper, dream sleep, sleeping/or pretending to]:
--please don't break my heart again.
--baby, were you sleeping ok? Nighmares again? are you ok? what's wrong?
(He massages my hair and kisses the top of my head. In spite of myself, I like this.)
She's got one magic trick. Just one and that's it.
She disappears.
And if life is really as short as they say, then why is the night so long?
I'm only stronger. I'm one of the strongest womyn you've ever met.
Baby.
Baby?
Hey.
Baby.
*drag on cigarette*
I'm the kind of girl can shove a knitting needle through her lip, sleep on a bed of nails, and still be up for coffee in the morning.
And I still want him to scratch the back of my head, and kiss me on the top, and fold me in his arms--and he, he is not one of the masses of suckers who will do this for cheap, transitory adulation (an easy game to win), but the one who feels and knows and challenges my every day, and yet whose skin runs against mine in harmony, whose mind touches mine in ways that meld and bend, with eyes that see through things others cannot -- so, yes, his arms at the end of the day against me, my skin smelling of Origins products to heal and protect -- a sign of calm and acceptance and protection and rest.
Can't we just let go of the dreams we create for our psychiatrists and just BE who we are, together? Without the fears, the memories, the projections? Just BE. It's who I am, it's what I ask.
Just this. In this moment.
God, it's great to be alive. It take the skin right off my hide to think I'll have to give it all up someday.