Both Hands

~

I am walking out in the rain

and I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again

and I am getting nowhere with you

and I can't let it go and I can't get through

the old woman behind the pink curtains

and the closed door on the first floor

she's listening through the air shaft

to see how long our swan song can last

and both hands, now use both hands

oh, no, don't close your eyes

I am writing grafitti on your body

I am drawing the story of

how hard we tried

how hard we tried

and I am watching your chest rise and fall

like the tides of my life and the rest of it all

and your bones have been my bedframe and your flesh has been my pillow

I am waiting for sleep to offer up the deep with both hands
oh, with both hands

but in each other's shadow we grew less and less tall
and eventually our theory's gonna explain it all
and I'm recording our history on the bedroom wall
and when we leave the landlord will come and paint over it all

I am walking out in the rain

and I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again

and I am getting nowhere with you

and I can't let it go and I can't get through

and both hands, now use both hands

oh, no, don't close your eyes

I am writing grafitti on your body

I am drawing the story of

how hard we tried

how hard we tried

You had time

I'm not sure about this one. What kind of story it tells. And it doesn't feel like one of my stories, except maybe... It reminds me of... The feeling I get when I tell people that I'm sad or scared or tired and their only reaction is to say, "why?".

The melody and her voice sounds like rain and it's all so very beautiful and calm and melancholic. And I don't really need anything else on a gray and rainy day, when the world is full of wooshing noises and nothingness. Except maybe a warm hand. That would be nice.

~

how can I go home with nothing to say?
I know you're going to look at me that way
and say, "what did you do out there?
what did you decide?
you said you needed time and you had time"

you are a china shop and I am a bull
you are really good food and I am full
I guess everything is timing
I guess everything's been said
so I am coming home with an empty head

you'll say, "did they love you or what?"
I'll say, "they love what I do.
the only one who really loves me is you..."
and you'll say, "girl did you kick some butt."
and I'll say, "I don't really remember,
but my fingers are sore
and my voice is too."

you'll say, "it's really good to see you"
you'll say, "I missed you horribly"
you'll say "let me carry that, give that to me"
and you will take the heavy stuff
and you will drive the car
and I'll look out the window making jokes
about the way things are



how can I go home with nothing to say?
I know you're going to look at me that way
and say, "what did you do out there?
what did you decide?
you said you needed time and you had time"

Will you still love me tomorrow?

Her voice. It haunts me.

~

tonight you're mine completely
you give your love so sweetly
tonight the light of love is in your eyes
but will you love me tomorrow?

is this a lasting treasure
or just a moment's pleasure?
can I believe the magic of your sighs?
will you still love me tomorrow?

tonight with words unspoken
you say that I'm the only one
but will my heart be broken
when the night meets the morning sun?

I'd like to know that your love
is love I can be sure of
so tell me now, and I won't ask again
will you still love me tomorrow?

so tell me now, and I won't ask again
will you still love me tomorrow?
will you still love me tomorrow?
will you still love me tomorrow?

'Til Kingdom Come

Songs are never really easy to figure out, and they can mean so many things at once, soothe or riot emotions in so many situations. Me, I find that a beloved song or melody or tune is a place to return to.I make homes in the songs that I hold dear. And I always come back. Always.

This one is a bit of a mystery to me, but it sort of makes perfect sense, too. All the best mysteries do. There's something comforting about the steady piano and the gentle guitar. The subtle melody carries me away to open skies and closed off rooms, to secrets and confessions, to promises and changes of heart. A song, for me, about letting go. Of death, perhaps, or of heading in a new direction and leaving things you once loved behind - or taking them with you, never really letting go, while picking up new things to love along the way. Of how life doesn't pause for anyone. How everything always keeps moving.

Stories about letting go have always fascinated me, because I've never been good at it. I'm terrible at it, actually. I'm the kind of person who'll begin sobbing because of the way a particular sunset looks on the TV screen - because that I'll never get to see that exact sight ever again. I've lost so many things and I never could stop missing them. I just don't know how to. And accepting death? Leaving this world without feeling anything but resignation and love for the things that were once mine? I don't think I will ever be able to feel that way. I love this strange little planet far too much to even imagine letting go some day. It's nice to dream that I might, though. To hope.

I took in the beauty of this (I haven't listened to it in months, and it was like coming home, it always is) on the way home from the subway, wearing my new flowery dress with pride, looking at the stars and thinking about all the mysteries still ahead of me and the pear soda I had yet to drink up. It was one of the best walks home I have ever had.

~

still my heart and hold my tongue

I feel my time, my time has come

let me in, unlock the door

I've never felt this way before

and the wheels just keep on turning

the drummer begins to drum

I don't know which way I'm going
I don't know which way I've come

hold my head inside your hands

I need someone who understands

I need someone, someone who hears

for you I've waited all these years

for you I'd wait 'til kingdom come

until my day, my day is done

and say you'll come and set me free

just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me

in your tears and in your blood

in your fire and in your flood
I hear you laugh, I heard you sing

I wouldn't change a single thing

and the wheels just keep on turning

the drummers begin to drum

I don't know which way I'm going

I don't know what I've become

for you I'd wait 'til kingdom come

until my days, my days are done

and say you'll come and set me free

just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me

just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me

just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me

the perks of being a wallflower #2

a very, very sad poem that I found in this lovely book about an hour ago.

~

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
valentine signed with a row of Xs
and he had to ask his father what the Xs meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three A. M. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly


That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.