These days you're not made until you make something,
But I fear you're not free until you break something;
Something near,
Something dear,
Something close to home.
What's the point of creation if you can't learn to let go?
I've lived this life an Autumn leaf, a crescent moon, an old woman with her hands chained by foreign diamonds. I've delivered the news to the children standing awkwardly as they lapped at my ankles and shouted words that hover in smoke.
I was in that holy church the day
your father killed himself,
that girl we knew lost her nerve,
and my Granddad died in his sleep,
and I hoped to God that they had never known my faith,
and I only say "God" when I'm scared,
or deeply unprepared.
But in those moments I am nothing more
than flesh rotting away,
and the memories:
just insects feeding off of my decay.
So one day I found myself in that casket.
They pulled me out;
they threw me a suit stitched together
with documents,
and pixie sticks,
and cigarettes,
and told me I was "ready now".
I didn't know what meant,
but I complied,
and leaned up
and looked around.
They told me to stand tall,
and proud,
and give a bow.
These days you're not made until you make something,
but I'm trying to break everything.
credits
from Red Dream,
released November 1, 2012
Music: Nick
Lyrics: Mitch
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