Do very little
This thought began, like most thoughts begin, when a flock of birds flew in through the back door. They were Flapping and squawking and shitting on the linoleum of my kitchen floor. In the middle of all that noise they told me things in code. Like where the best coffee is and that I should fix my clothes. When a pack of bunnies came hopping through the window to my right and began to do what bunnies do I started to understand. You see in the midst of all that fuss, in the whimpers and the squeaks, I heard a child sing. Singing the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard, It almost brought me to tears. It was a song about my car and the state that I leave it in.
Just as I was about to have the third major breakthrough of my adult life a Doe and a Deer started using the telephone, They had to make a call to their brother in Des Moine. He hasn’t got any eyes, so how he sees? No idea… They’re telling him that this place, like many others, is haunted by a ghost. They’re saying that It’s all very simple really and that the answer to all of this is that we need to get away to the country. Surely It’s not my fault that can’t stop myself from going on about the state of things, what else is there to do? Quite frankly don’t really care at all what you have to say about me. Life can get so needlessly complicated when people start to categorise and document everything.
Changing things isn’t easy when you don’t want things to change. Comfort is comfortable and going without isn’t fair when you’ve worked for it. Anyway who am I to say anything about anyone, or anyplace, or anything. I’ve just been living my life how I’ve lived it, I don’t know any another other way to go about it.
Please would you hold my hand? Well really I want you to hold my heart, but that isn’t something we can do, for all sorts of reasons. On a good day the pain is just about bearable and on others to get by I picture you open faced and kind hearted, taking what I perceive to be left of me into your soft and outstretched arms. If someone offered me a million pounds for my heart, I wouldn’t not consider it. There is of course the quite major sticking point however that I need my heart to keep beating. I need it to stay treading out a sad and steady measure inside what’s left of a chest long abused by daydreams and half baked romantic notions so that I can keep hearing all the things that you’ll say and seeing all the things you’ll do.
Who’s the voice in your head? For me It’s you. I’m always thinking about you. I wish it weren’t you but it is you and I’m starting to feel surprisingly fine about it. Maybe this is how it’s all supposed to feel. It’s you. It’s always you. Really, honestly, Truly. Maybe It’s only ever been you…
This thought began, like most thoughts begin, when a flock of birds flew in through the back door. They were Flapping and squawking and shitting on the linoleum of my kitchen floor. In the middle of all that noise they told me things in code. Like where the best coffee is and that I should fix my clothes. When a pack of bunnies came hopping through the window to my right and began to do what bunnies do I started to understand. You see in the midst of all that fuss, in the whimpers and the squeaks, I heard a child sing. Singing the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard, It almost brought me to tears. It was a song about my car and the state that I leave it in.
Just as I was about to have the third major breakthrough of my adult life a Doe and a Deer started using the telephone, They had to make a call to their brother in Des Moine. He hasn’t got any eyes, so how he sees? No idea… They’re telling him that this place, like many others, is haunted by a ghost. They’re saying that It’s all very simple really and that the answer to all of this is that we need to get away to the country. Surely It’s not my fault that can’t stop myself from going on about the state of things, what else is there to do? Quite frankly don’t really care at all what you have to say about me. Life can get so needlessly complicated when people start to categorise and document everything.
Changing things isn’t easy when you don’t want things to change. Comfort is comfortable and going without isn’t fair when you’ve worked for it. Anyway who am I to say anything about anyone, or anyplace, or anything. I’ve just been living my life how I’ve lived it, I don’t know any another other way to go about it.
Please would you hold my hand? Well really I want you to hold my heart, but that isn’t something we can do, for all sorts of reasons. On a good day the pain is just about bearable and on others to get by I picture you open faced and kind hearted, taking what I perceive to be left of me into your soft and outstretched arms. If someone offered me a million pounds for my heart, I wouldn’t not consider it. There is of course the quite major sticking point however that I need my heart to keep beating. I need it to stay treading out a sad and steady measure inside what’s left of a chest long abused by daydreams and half baked romantic notions so that I can keep hearing all the things that you’ll say and seeing all the things you’ll do.
Who’s the voice in your head? For me It’s you. I’m always thinking about you. I wish it weren’t you but it is you and I’m starting to feel surprisingly fine about it. Maybe this is how it’s all supposed to feel. It’s you. It’s always you. Really, honestly, Truly. Maybe It’s only ever been you…