slack
06-25-2006, 11:06 AM
As kids we used to play like syringes
The family's finally here, they brought you balloons,
sharp paper cards with fuzzy red hearts,
and the most perfect flowers to fill out the room
(to kill out the mood). Mom says it's going to be
a beautiful day, oh, but what does she know anyway.
"You should be smiling" the way the sun must be smiling
on the kids in the yard playing kickball for Christ.
Someday, girl, someday you'll be strong enough
to burn with the best of them.
You look like a prune, so shriveled and cute.
Sleepytime now. You're so beautiful and pure.
You're gonna be new, girl, I swear.
The day is young. We look so healthy
and strong burning alive in its beautiful light.
Labored hands are hesitant, but who could resist
brushing gently through your tangled hair,
twirling stray wisps. Should I say anything at all
or just sit here and listen. Spidery fingers interlace
while the plastic web glistens.
Maybe someday you'll hear my words in your soft head.
Maybe someday you'll hear the timbre of my voice,
and how it trembles for you like a forest before the fire.
The family's finally here, they brought you balloons,
sharp paper cards with fuzzy red hearts,
and the most perfect flowers to fill out the room
(to kill out the mood). Mom says it's going to be
a beautiful day, oh, but what does she know anyway.
"You should be smiling" the way the sun must be smiling
on the kids in the yard playing kickball for Christ.
Someday, girl, someday you'll be strong enough
to burn with the best of them.
You look like a prune, so shriveled and cute.
Sleepytime now. You're so beautiful and pure.
You're gonna be new, girl, I swear.
The day is young. We look so healthy
and strong burning alive in its beautiful light.
Labored hands are hesitant, but who could resist
brushing gently through your tangled hair,
twirling stray wisps. Should I say anything at all
or just sit here and listen. Spidery fingers interlace
while the plastic web glistens.
Maybe someday you'll hear my words in your soft head.
Maybe someday you'll hear the timbre of my voice,
and how it trembles for you like a forest before the fire.