Then Sandra said, I feel like I can’t say half the stuff I’m meant to. How could I when people get so offended so quickly?
I’ve got problems that I cannot even deal with because I have to keep them in. It’s too dangerous out here, everybody got their own beliefs these days. You can’t even cut the leafs without hurting someone’s god.
Stacey had a heart of gold and it grew onto her like a hard earned reputation, she said: oh my word, what have I done? Turned into little miss perfect and now I’m stuck in a pot at the end of the rainbow as a symbol for better days.
And I said, what’s with all the commotion? It sounds like revolution, it feels like condemnation just doesn’t do it no more, it’s kinda boring keeping score. I commit so much literary murders, my sins refuse to desist. I’m power hungry only from fear of weakness, or so I say to myself to relax the guilt from everything I’ve built that’s corrupted the self, the nation and dreams. I always hear their screams and taste their tears and see a long face for everyday in such a short life. I talk too much to myself but never say too much, unless it’s something to do with mischief, then I breathe a sigh of relief and cloud up my perceptions and keep no receptions.
Then you said, oh my word, you say a whole lot of nothing with a pinch of some good something. I’m lost in the beauty of meaningless art at the expense of a pure heart that’s been dragged through the dirt. I feel your pain, that’s what you said. You always say the right things and understand all my words like they were meant for your ears, and your mind to decipher.