i was a lover, before this war
held up in a luxury suite, behind a barricaded door
now that I've cleaned up, gone legit
I can see clearly: round hole
round hole, square peg don't fit
I'm locked in my bedroom, so send back the clowns
my clone wears a brown shirt, and I seduce him when there's no one around
mano y mano, on a bed of nails
bring it on like a storm, till I knock the wind out of his sails
And we don't make eye contact, when we have run-in's in town
just a barely polite nod, and nervous stares towards the ground
I once joined a priest class, plastic, inert
in a slowdance with commerce
like a lens up a skirt
And we liked to party
and we kept it live
and we had a three volume tome of contemporary slang
to keep a handle on all this jive
Ennui unbridled, let's talk to kill the time
how many styles did you cycle through before you were mine?
and it's been a while since we went wild and that's all fine
but we're sleepwalking through this trial
and it's really a crime it's really a crime it's really a crime
it's really criminal
We're just busy tempting, like fate's on the nod
running on empty, bourbon and god
it's been a while since we knew the way
and it's been even longer since our plastic priest class
had a goddamned thing to say
I was a lover before this war
--tv on the radio, i was a lover
am currently at a loss for my own words to sort out the puzzled mess in my head. so i have to use the words of others right now.
all that is left is an empty shell
of my heart that is crushed
i don't never wanna see
what my mind has seen
when you loved me
every night, every night alone with you
every night alone now
I love you
and I miss you, too
i really do love you
and I really miss you too
but I don't know you
and I don't need you
and I don't want you anymore
--cat power, empty shell
funny, upon reading it, depending on the context of the love, it can be either romantic (fully intended i'm sure) or not.
was feeling like molasses earlier, so much so that the brain overpowered itself and shut down for a few hours out of fear of spontaneous combustion.
presently don't really feel any different, only that the immediacy of earlier is over, and now the blank slate is waiting to be filled with words and thoughts that make sense.
this song just came on. both points of view are rather fitting for the moment.
She walked in with sadness in her eyes
I could tell she'd been sleeping with the stars
"Well hello I'm dawn..."
"Yes I've seen you around..."
"I just live down from here..."
She has a dad she doesn't know
Who sends her letters with no return address...
"I don't know his name..."
"He don't know my face..."
"I am better off this way..."
On the weekends I drive her into town
In a car that I borrowed from my mom
She makes hotel beds
Where the sidewalks end
And I wait for her to come home...
Please come home
The one day she finally stops coming around
My best friend said she probably moved out of town
Not a letter was sent...
Not a phone call was made
And I hope she comes back here
--damien jurado, denton, tx