Sunday, April 3, 2011

mind is a razor blade

Little boy, why did you have to chase me so hard?
Didn't your mother show you what to do?
Didn't your father tell you not to push?
Little boy, we could have been great friends,
but you frightened me to death, you see;
you made a rabbit out of me,
and now we can't go back to being anything.

(from the random album)
Perhaps I ought to thank you,
for you took my innocence away,
and made me cruel--
how did you know I'd need that later on?
You taught me to hide, and you taught me to lie,
and to tremble at the telephone--
to scream, but never cry.

(from the random album)
Surely you were wise beyond your years,
for you planted in me unknown fears
that since I've met time and again.
I wish I could have known it then--
I might have been grateful for the experience,
rather than for the darkness--
so useful to the hunted deer who doesn't know the way.

(from the random album)
But really, I would not have known
into how many arms a girl will let herself be thrown
just to escape the one who wants her most...
Better to dance with ten, who won't remember her name
than to be asked by one who can't forget it--

(from the random album)
Little boy, you made me feel guilt that day,
which never fully went away.
You told the world you hated me,
and that's when I began to see
how much it must have hurt
to have dressed up in your first clean shirt,
and hope like hell she'd understand
the things you felt, and take your hand--
but damn you, little boy, I never had a chance.
You couldn't see I wasn't ready
for what you monsters call 'romance'.

(from the random album)
Little boy, you never looked at me the same,
Said you didn't know my name,
and in the end you made me hate myself for hurting you.
But no one, ever, stopped to tell me what I ought to do.
Little boy, maybe someday, you'll walk my way,
and listen to the song I play.
And if you're still fond of passing notes,
perhaps we'll shed our childrens' coats,
and talk an hour or two of what's become of us, and why...
That finally we might say hello, forgive, and say goodbye.

(from the random album)

(From the superlative Emilie Autumn, the spoken poem Little Boy.)

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