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The unsuspecting Ms. Perry dons
A white nightgown from Macy's
She bites her lip and sighs:
Yet another September's past
But through the dark, the shades shall part
The art will surely catch her
A crooning, swanning song from the weekend
Will tangle in her hair
Things have been tough lately for dreamers. They say dreaming is dead, that no one does it anymore. It's not dead, it's just been forgotten - removed from our language.
The masochistic lady
goes on Sunday mourn
But every morning does she mourn
the day she lost her sun?
The bride she goes and weighs and waits
on the boy she said she loved
All the while steaming someone else
in her little glove
there's no doubt about it.
May I jump in your July?
Refusing June and summer's rind
You'll stay mean and I'll stay classic
Wooden ogres shade our eyes
And hide my awkward forehead fire
Push like we're the big Two Hearted
Beat the beat out of my ears
Wasted seasons, draining years
It's like the weekend stole your mittens
No, I know.
Are you mean? Yeah, I stayed classic
Words are...inert. They're just symbols, they're dead. And and so much of our experience is intangible. So much of what we perceive cannot be expressed, it's unspeakable. And yet - when we communicate with one another and we feel like we're connected and feel like we're understood, we have some sort of spiritual communion, and that feeling might be transient but I think it's what we live for.
I know I can't repeat the past or
pretend that I have feelings
I don't care you're not my girl
just get me off the ceiling
In the flowers, in the doorway
Watching silvers fishes,
light the candles, dress for dinner,
smash these fucking dishes.
An unexpected maybe
she got laid in her Sunday shoes
The things he'd do for the things katydid
the things katyhad that drove him mad
Sunday morning in the parking lot
of the world's greatest ruse
Sunday plotting the things we'd lose
while she rolled around in her church shoes
The unsuspecting Ms. Perry wins,
She will not grace the foyer
She wakes up from last Christmas Eve
Even Clara's dreams must end
Womanish clouts, the candles shout,
The outing turns to social
An unrequited smile
Extinguished in the sky.
The unsuspecting girl.
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