Tuesday, 20 September 2011

Fire Door

I opened the fire door
To four lips
(None of which were mine)
Tightened my belt around my hips
Where your hands were missing 
And stepped out into the cold
Collar high
Under the slate grey sky
The air was smoking and the streets were dry
And I wasn't joking when I said
Good Bye

Magazine quality men talking on the corner
French, no less 
Much less of them then us
So why do I feel like something's been rearranged? 
You know, taken out of context I must seem so strange
Killed a cockroach so big
It left a puddle of pus on the wall.

When you and I are lying in bed
You don't seem so tall.

I'm singing now 
Because my tear ducts are too tired
And my brain is disconnected 
But my heart is wired

I make such a good statistic
Someone should study me now  
Somebody's got to be interested in how I feel
Just 'cause I'm here
And I'm real 

Oh, how I miss
Substituting the conclusion to confrontation with a kiss
And oh how I miss
Walking up to the edge and jumping in
Like I could feel the future on your skin
I opened the fire door
To four lips
(None of which were mine)

I opened the fire door


I couldn't resist stealing this Ani DiFranco lyric to be taken out of context on a tote bag ;) 
It's made from recycled wool fabric, left over present-wrapping ribbon and -hem - 'vintage' buttons, so I reckon my favourite folksicle would approve. 
This is for Rachel - one of just three Ani fans I know (including me.) The other two are both Canadian. Coincidence? I think not - I suspect (hope) they are all over there getting fired up on angry lefty lyrics, ready to charge south and drown the Tea Party in maple syrup. Vive La Revolution!.
I'm off to bake pancakes for moping up afterwards
Noods x

PS. Why are you still reading? You should have buggered off to Youtube the song by now. Never mind - here. Enjoy :)

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