1. |
You Don't Drown Me
03:55
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If fickle, still you only stray a little;
keep me snapping at your heels
for fear you'll suddenly start to heal,
and have no use for me.
I can't be bothered to tell you so.
“Love must be shown to be valid,
for words so belittle what should be known,”
I ad-lib as convincingly as I can without seeming desperate.
Oh lord, this urge to cuss you out.
Can I afford to let you know that I have doubts?
Can you be trusted not to pounce when I am weak?
I surrender my throat to your teeth:
rip it out if you wish, or just leave it, pale and panting,
but I refuse to keep dwelling on this.
I swim through skystars;
the breaths of a thousand suns swell in my lungs.
This longing for a compelling explanation keeps me sleeping in the lion's den.
Vow that I'll never fall in love again.
No. Never fall in love again.
Oh subtlety, I fall on my knees before thee.
Like every word he speak be prophecy.
“Believe in me,” I will him to understand-
that the heart is a weapon to a dangerous man.
Try to damage you just a little bit,
so I can try and make you regret everything and anything.
Hold my breath through all this posturing;
vow that I'll never fall in love again.
No, never fall in love again.
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2. |
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Note to self:
a wealth of sadness does not transform itself
to a warm gladness even after the rafters
and roofs falling through from too much rain,
from too much rain,
from too much strain,
from fists clenched tight in a mockery of delight.
My wrists are yours to slap or snap or kiss.
I will hear what you have to say about this.
And I will let myself be dragged into your opinion,
and I will crash my plane knowing that it was my decision.
Another note to self:
I am more than a little bit easy to lead around
and maybe I should work on standing my ground,
on standing my ground...
or on landing softer when I fall down.
Because I will fall down.
Or maybe I will never move again.
My neck is yours to break or to walk away from.
I will respond with only a slight hesitation.
And your indifference is my heart's inspiration:
I love the way you stare through me as if I was an apparition.
But I am prickly and defensive and ashamed,
with only a vapid hunger to show that I ever came at all.
And I should work on the way that I fall.
And I should work on the way that I fall.
And I should work on the way that I crawl even though I've two legs to stand on
and you've got nothing but an excuse that is not an acceptable reason.
My wrists are yours to slap or snap or kiss.
The uncertainty of what you will do fills me with bliss.
My neck is yours to break or to walk away from.
How thrilling, this chill running down my spine.
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3. |
Forever Circean
02:55
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So I don't complain.
And I abstain from thinking about just what it means.
And oh it seems you gleam like a falcon's wing;
I dream I am more than just a voice that sings,
prophetic in my patheticness:
Oh joy. Oh boy.
What a shame.
The moon ripples and I blur
(the point of no return),
just ashes in an urn.
Throw the world under a train-
as if love could ever be the same once named.
I frame you in the focus-
You don't seem to have noticed so I shoot.
But you just come out...cute.
Oh joy. Oh boy.
What a shame.
Oh, go ahead and bear those fangs.
Who am I to try and tame you?
If I fled or if I lay down beside you,
there will always be a predator inside you.
Oh joy. Oh boy.
What a shame.
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4. |
Weep, These Oranges
02:32
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I understand completely;
you want the sweetness wholly.
“This love is transitory,”
you claim with a grin.
My love for you is mandatory.
But did you ever begin?
It is a sin to be ashamed:
to claim your victory was nothing.
Paralysis by way of modesty is criminal.
The analysis of love is natural.
The analysis of love results in disillusionment.
How void, this fulfillment.
I take the knife from your hands,
for you are to slow by far;
I feel more than enough
without these jolts of impatience running through my heart.
I cut the oranges; you reach for a piece;
Its blood coats your teeth.
How surprising, this relief.
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5. |
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It's raining sharks again.
Good thing they haven't scented my heart yet.
(I adore the way they only seem to be in my mind.)
Oh the sea and wind
and the sailboats on the horizon,
if I close my eyes then all that's left is what's inside me,
and what the fuck is all this stuff inside me?
And what the fuck am I supposed to do with sharp feelings of division within me?
Oh, harp: break your strings and then tell me you can sing-
well beneath my skin it's the same thing.
All this aimless blood pumping,
If I could harness it for energy, or for love- well.
How lucky I would be, and how gruff with affection in my throat.
But instead of an actual note of sincerity,
my voice overflows with reluctancy:
metaphorically, if the sharks had any mercy they would devour me-
(But I can open my eyes and ignore
the hours I spend heartsick and silent.)
my mind is calm, but my heart is violent.
Nonsense. Nonsense. Nonsense. Nonsense.
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6. |
On Matrimony
03:55
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Executioner, why have you been degrading me?
This is not the kind of thing
that comes without consequences.
Evidently I am not the world's greatest mind
at inventing plans of vengeance.
It seems just kind of pointless and hollow.
Executioner, why have you been picking sides again?
Left or right or right or wrong or down or up
or not in love anymore.
As a judge you are not impartial.
I hereby declare that it is a crime to pretend,
punishable by death.
Off with your head.
I hate pranks and I hate lies
and I hate knowing that I have been wasting your time.
I beg your forgiveness.
I command that you understand
that I landed awkwardly;
and that I am still recovering.
And this is not the kind of thing
that should come without consequences,
but evidently I am not the world's greatest mind
at inventing plans of vengeance.
it seems just kind of pointless and hollow.
I feel just kind of graceless and callow.
This is just lovelessness and sorrow.
But I have decided that by tomorrow
I will believe that the sparrows
will be back in time to play piano at the wedding.
They will play piano at the wedding.
You'd not believe how they play piano.
I swear they sound like angels when they fly away-
you would be lucky to dig their graves.
You would be lucky to dig their graves.
I feel just kind of graceless and hollow.
I swear they sound like angels when they fly away;
Like lovelessness and sorrow.
Oh God! I can hardly sleep...
The happiest day of my life is tomorrow.
I do believe that you would be lucky to dig their graves.
I do.
I do.
I do.
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7. |
Tranquility Falls Thrown
03:31
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A beginner's mistake.
Like forgetting about the cake
and making the smoke alarms howl
like angry animals on the prowl for meat.
(You sweep me off my fucking feet.)
Chorus:
And seeing as it's too late
for me to put my foot in my mouth,
let me say how honored I am to have been duped this way.
And seeing as it's too soon
for me to regret anything I've just said
let me pose for a photo with you,
immortalize this moment with you,
take this opportunity to deny the effects of proof to you.
How tranquil the water.
Have you fodder for the wolves,
or were you planning on starving them? Poor beasts...
How could you!
Teeth and bone and sinew, all the same as you...
The only difference be the quarry-
and how sorry am I really?
Not very.
Chorus
And it's all so juvenile;
how evolved are we that we react with such ferocity?
But the romance of these naivety-burnings is magnetic.
I predict that tomorrow we forget the source of this fury.
Oh the joys of selective memory.
Tranquility falls thrown.
If you aren't lying to someone then you are waking up alone.
(But how happy my heart! I grin.
My memory burns up like pine needles and I can love you again.)
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