now playing: Drudkh - Blood In Our Wells - Ukrainian Insurgent Army [213kbps|5:02]
now reading: Charles de Lint - Memory & Dream
now cooking: Mrs Paul's fish, black eyed peas and snaps, and grapes
The squirrels control my street
A sex game of chase is afoot
Each victory produces a victim
But it continues the species
Each interaction is a power play
Grass responds to all this rain
In the only way it knows how
Growing only to be cut down
Like many of us mowed by life
My headache has subsided now
Definitely due to dehydration
Six miles will do that you know
I want to run more this morning
Regardless of the consequence
I wonder if it's worth the effort
Same question for my songwriting
Am I a martyr for introspection
The impetus for my creativity
Cuts like so many little daggers
Each lyric is a bloodletting
As I expose my hidden layers
Why is it even fucking necessary
I feel safer recorded into a mic
The medium is wholly receptive
These headphones never dissent
My music, even the worst song
Will never, ever reject me
Because each is a part of me
Each is a part of my heart
Which she shattered so well
Maybe if I write enough songs
I can put it back together
Through sheer will I am reborn
Growing only to be cut down
