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I fried my head, I'm not a brunette |
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I'm a down and dusky blonde |
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I am living in a tree |
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When I lie in bed I see |
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Beyond my lover's head the moon, |
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I hear the rain |
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I am conscious of my voice, |
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As a tool it's more demure |
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Than your friend the singing queen |
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With her matinee good looks |
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She talks like talkng from a book |
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I speak the language of my village, |
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Of my street |
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But I need a friend and I choose you |
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I tell you the way I feel |
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The truth is crushing like a heel |
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I will forget the kiss and feel |
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If you will too |
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Tell me tales of punk-rocking girls |
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It's a dim and distant page |
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But I mostly blame my age |
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Please make allowances for me |
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I do not see |
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It's a drag that you're getting old |
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I love to think about the year |
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When we sobbed and then |
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We cheered |
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The town deserted like a film |
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Your torso crushing me |
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Into the country and the tunnels |
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And the fields |
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But I need a friend and I choose you |
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I tell you the way I feel |
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The truth is crushing like a heel |
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I will forget the kiss and feel |
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If you will too |
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I read a book a day, like an apple |
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But I did not eat |
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And so the doctor came to me |
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He said a woman does not live |
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By the printed word |
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Forgive yourself and eat |
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Autumn sped along outside |
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Trick photography on speed |
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I was locked inside a room |
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They made a deal, they would control |
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The simple things like bodies |
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But I kept my soul |
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When I need someone I chose you |
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Because the fledging soul awakes |
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And on the balcony she quakes |
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And she is waiting for the sign |
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And when the brother does not come |
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Abd when the sister's much too young |
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She chooses you |
