The Rebirth Is Always the Hardest.
What a shame, because I am a walking corpse tonight,
deader than every orgasm you ever had to fake.
The wind blew away every free, light, beautiful
part of me, all the helium and iridescence,
and left behind the heavy, earthbound things,
the stale memories and undeserved feelings
that ossified into sharp, unyielding bones inside
the dankness of my closet, growing
into so many mismatched skeletons.
And we will go out tonight and revile and ruin
every pretty, idealistic thing born of air and color
and we will smother every haughty light that makes
such a void of the darkness
and we will piss on and lay waste to all the
time we were given
til it's gone
and oh, it's gone.
And we'll make all the most stupid and destructive
choices we can find
til I regret it
and oh, I regret it.
And I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
And I'm waking up.
And I'm at the airport.
All the planes are taking off and landing,
metal dreams rubbing their rust off on the clouds
and it's 86 degrees with a chance of rain,
says the tv screen high up in its corner
but the other one says there's no chance of rain,
there's no second chance
and I'm waking up,
full of ashes and dust, and the body I'm wearing
isn't the one I recognize,
and all night I'd dreamt of water,
of swimming in oceans, of salt in my eyes
and under my nails.
And oh, please, please tell me what to feel,
and I'll feel it, oh, I'll feel it better than anyone
can ever remember having felt it,
I just don't want to feel what I'm not supposed to.
I don't want to make mistakes again,
I don't want to destroy something beautiful again,
I don't want to wake up numb at an airport
or wake up crying at a hospital
and have to learn how to feed myself and
go to the bathroom and speak all over again,
and find all the height and weight and memories
I lost.
Oh, tell me, tell me where to -- where to?
Because I'm new, because I'm
tiny and terrified, because aren't we all?
And are we not all princes in the brier hedge
trying to reach and liberate the part of
ourselves sleeping in the castle,
the part that is who we all were as children?
And does life not thread its thorns through us all
and the wind in great gusts make us hollow,
until we are a thousand thousand fragile flutes
keening into the air,
playing the most beautiful and impossible
melodies?
--
C'est vrai, la renaissance est toujours le plus dur.
So make music with me.
deader than every orgasm you ever had to fake.
The wind blew away every free, light, beautiful
part of me, all the helium and iridescence,
and left behind the heavy, earthbound things,
the stale memories and undeserved feelings
that ossified into sharp, unyielding bones inside
the dankness of my closet, growing
into so many mismatched skeletons.
And we will go out tonight and revile and ruin
every pretty, idealistic thing born of air and color
and we will smother every haughty light that makes
such a void of the darkness
and we will piss on and lay waste to all the
time we were given
til it's gone
and oh, it's gone.
And we'll make all the most stupid and destructive
choices we can find
til I regret it
and oh, I regret it.
And I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
And I'm waking up.
And I'm at the airport.
All the planes are taking off and landing,
metal dreams rubbing their rust off on the clouds
and it's 86 degrees with a chance of rain,
says the tv screen high up in its corner
but the other one says there's no chance of rain,
there's no second chance
and I'm waking up,
full of ashes and dust, and the body I'm wearing
isn't the one I recognize,
and all night I'd dreamt of water,
of swimming in oceans, of salt in my eyes
and under my nails.
And oh, please, please tell me what to feel,
and I'll feel it, oh, I'll feel it better than anyone
can ever remember having felt it,
I just don't want to feel what I'm not supposed to.
I don't want to make mistakes again,
I don't want to destroy something beautiful again,
I don't want to wake up numb at an airport
or wake up crying at a hospital
and have to learn how to feed myself and
go to the bathroom and speak all over again,
and find all the height and weight and memories
I lost.
Oh, tell me, tell me where to -- where to?
Because I'm new, because I'm
tiny and terrified, because aren't we all?
And are we not all princes in the brier hedge
trying to reach and liberate the part of
ourselves sleeping in the castle,
the part that is who we all were as children?
And does life not thread its thorns through us all
and the wind in great gusts make us hollow,
until we are a thousand thousand fragile flutes
keening into the air,
playing the most beautiful and impossible
melodies?
--
C'est vrai, la renaissance est toujours le plus dur.
So make music with me.