Thursday, March 10, 2011

LYRICS

Blue Ridge

Set the pin, my sweet diamond: you as the wooden wheelchair we kept near the basement stairs. Oh, you used the fire as a call
to inspire you and your collapsing knees into pulling your rotting teeth free.

I see you as the clotted blue and black on your grandmother's eyelash, and me as the puddled rusty mess on your kid sister's mattress.

We all start as an abcess (or as an abandoned bird's nest) and then there's you as my spirit guide struggling to keep me alive. And I
recently dreamt of the day that we met, love (in that high unguarded heat on our Catholic school retreat.)

I see you as the "No, stop, don't..." that you scream when we're sleeping, and me as a younger man giving in and retreating.

I see you as the clotted blue and black on your grandmother's eyelash, and me as the puddled rusty mess on your kid sister's mattress.

We all start as an abcess.

Blood Loss

I fell almost in time with the folding waves (watching you and your calm claw away at the mistakes you might
make if you stayed.)

"Why won't you stay? Why won't you let me talk?"

"I haven't been myself since I took you on."

"Why won't you sleep? Why won't you come around?"

"I think it's natural, it's inevitable, and I will wait this out if you'll wait this out."

"I will wait this out if you'll wait this out."

Pink Lights/Great Meadow/Orange Hearts

You drew a limb, two eyes, and a claw, and the sun in the shape of a circular saw blade. You drew first blood, and
your cousin kept you coughing all the while with her hands around your neck. It was the sweetest push and pull
you'd ever felt.

And you kept her running on:

All, "Everything is fine!"
All, "This is everything you could ever want, and ever hope to be!"

I said, "Love, you are a great meadow."
You said, "Love, you are a wingless robin."
I said, "Love, you are like the greenest hill ever."
You said, "Love, you are..."

"I cut a little orange heart out of you, and replaced it with a copper colored toddler's shoe in the hope that what you really
meant to say might find it's way out of you that way."

"I started a fire and let it burn all night long. I tried to call you at your father's house, but he wouldn't put you on the phone.
'Cause you got caught in a pick-up truck with a boy you barely knew, and you let him touch you, with the hope that what
you really meant to say might find it's way out of you that way."

Pink Lights pt. 2

In sparks, you circle the room while the party picks up (swells and balloons.) Dear, I can't help you now if you won't use
these hands to push against the pull of your new friends. You watched the furnace explode, and with a second to act you
covered my throat. Still I can't help you out if you won't use these hands to push against the pull of your new friends.

"Burn bright, pink light, and stay with me tonight."

"You watch the water and I'll watch the sky; we'll watch the wind push the waves, watch them raise and break, watch
them fizzle and die."

"If you bend the branch back and I tie it down, we'll stay safe from the cold and wrapped head to toe,
before the rain hits the ground."

Burn bright, pink light (and stay with me tonight)

Real Connection

The way you move around these little distractions: taking aim, but never taking action. This means everything to me.
They fake, too, so why can't we? While never feeling any real connection.

The way you move around these difficult questions (with tired face and angel blank expression.) Oh, Corin, please you're
killing me. You're living all my dying dreams (while never feeling any real connection.)

And this means everything to me. They fake, too, so why can't we? While never feeling any real connection.

Wired Paws

I watched you tear apart your room. I watched the dust from your books form a cloud around you.
I made the biggest sign in the world, and it read, "I saw you first." You played, "Press your palm to
mine, and run your lips from my cheek to the top of my spine." I played, "How many boys have made
you cum?" And you couldn't smile wide enough.

You cried, "Oh, bullet or knife? Am I your friend or your wife? Dear John, you made me crazy with
that nonsense last night, and all that talk about the pretty preteen that you bought in Belize to keep you
company."

I caught you kissing your cousin's neck after your grandmother's wake (a bottle of Jim Beam in your lap.)
While laying back on a pile of coats you mouthed, "I love you most."

And, "Dear Caroline, this is starting to make me sick, like, remember when you called me an 'unfuckable
prick'? Well, they were words, and that's it, there's nothing to forgive or forget: you're just a bad set of teeth."

(You Are One of Two) Actual Events

This is Portugal, and you're an Irish girl (trying to find her way home.) You owe money (big, big money) but you won't answer your telephone.
We've all got it bad. Maybe not as bad, but we've all got it bad.

If this is a war then you're a minefield (oblivious to the fact that you might explode.) Almost too sure in the way you move around me.
Almost damning yourself from the go.

So watch for my hands around your throat. Just to let you know.

If conquest is your objective, darling, stay true and fastened to this belief:

I will stick around forever, and I will love you more (and more) as the months repeat themselves.

But, what you're looking at is this simple fact:

I loved you more (and I needed you more) when you were holding back.

We Threw Dynamite (And Everything Evaporated)

We were made up of the great things that people make when they break things, or that people change when they need things.

"We thought you'd know what to say, and that's why we let you say things."

It's like we communicate through closed eyelids off the coast of some island in a fishing boat we were trying to sink. While the
police drag the section (of the river we were sailing in) our courage disappeared when we realized what we could have saved.

Now sometimes on our off days (after packing up and boxing away, and before 'Holy Hell, what's happenning?') we feel displaced.
We feel diseased. We feel put upon. We feel cancerous. We feel like we could scream, but no one would answer us.

And you sang, "Your Hair's Still Wet" on the car ride here, and you kept talking.

Why won't you keep quiet?