ghost train howlin on the radio

things go so fast, so many new things that you just don’t know where to put them, and while you’re decidin where to put them there are even more things and then they build up and then they get bigger and then there’s no space and it is like Tetris and you have been waitin so long for a long piece but there hasn’t been a long piece and the pile is gettin higher and you have been savin a space and you think how you could really use a long piece and how much it would help and clear up so many things but the screen is gettin full and then there’s only one row left and you know if the next piece isn’t a long piece then there will be no way and it will be game over and then the next piece appears and it’s comin so fast and the crazy music is makin you tense and makin you frantic and you’re tappin the spacebar and flippin around and now you see the new piece and oh how you hope it’s a long piece but then you see the new piece and you see it’s not a long piece but instead another square piece and there’s just no space for a square piece dammit why’d they never let you have a long piece you saved a space and waited so long and played it so well and it was all you ever needed and don’t you know it would have fit so well in the space you kept open but now the space is blocked and if you want to go on you’ll need to start another game but there’s a chance you’re all out of credits.

i've got this theory, there are two kinds of people in the world. there are lyric people and music people. you know, the lyrics people tend to be analytical. you know, all about the meanin of the song. they're the ones you see with the CD insert out like 5 minutes after buyin it, pourin over the lyrics, interpretin the hell out of everythin. then there's the music people who could care less for the lyrics as long as its just got like a good beat and you could dance to it. i don't know, sometimes it might be easier to be a music girl and not a lyric girl. but since I'm not, let me just say this. sometimes things find you when you need them to find you, i believe that. and for me it's usually song lyrics.

i've spent my life walkin on my tiptoes. mistakes. i hate mistakes. neither my limbs nor my lips match my heart. they do not know each other. so many mistakes. when i was younger my mistakes were only mine and i could deal with them in the dark when the world stopped and i cried. now mistakes count against me. every one. every mistake proof that i do not deserve to be relied upon, trusted, or invested in. not because my true self isn't worth it. but because my hand may slip and injure you beyond healin. and i have learned those are unforgivable mistakes. so I walk on my tiptoes. i remember when i never cried. you thought i didn't care. i remember when i learned to cry and for a little while it meant somethin. it erased mistakes because cryin meant i regretted them. or at least that i cared. but then i cried all the time and to you that just meant i made more mistakes than i could keep up with. more mistakes than was worth. mistakes. i hate mistakes. i hate walkin on my tiptoes.

i heard what you said. i’m not the silly romantic you think. i don’t want the heavens or the shootin stars. i don’t want gemstones or gold. i have those things already. i want a steady hand. a kind soul. i want to fall asleep, and wake, knowin my heart is safe. i want to love, and be loved. a girl only needs three things in her life: love to make her weak, alcohol to make her strong, and friends to pick her up when the first two make her hit the ground.

you build your world around someone, and then what happens when he disappears? where do you go into pieces, into atoms, into the arms of another man? you go shoppin, you cook dinner, you work odd hours, you make love to someone else on June nights. but you’re not really there, you’re someplace else where there is blue sky and a road you don’t recognize. if you squint your eyes, you think you see him, in the shadows, beyond the trees. you always imagine that you see him, but he’s never there. it’s in your coffee cup, your bathwater, your tears. unfinished business always comes back to haunt you, and a man who swears he’ll love you forever isn’t finished with you until he’s done...right.

 

things change the way you feel. and things change. to know you like your tongue knows the back of your teeth. that's all i want. everythin you like, i will find some reason to dislike and if we find we like the same thing, i will insist that you like it less than me or for the wrong reasons, like you don’t really understand the things you like. because that makes me feel better....i was wonderin if you had a second. to talk about anything at all. you can be as logical, rational and objective as you want, it's not going to change the way you feel. put it this way; you tellin me that lunch is in an hour doesn't make me less hungry.