braille

April 4, 2007

[i seem to be on a Regina Spektor kick]

she was lying on the floor and counting stretch marks;
she hadn’t been a virgin and he hadn’t been a god,
so she named the baby Elvis
to make up for the royalty he lacked.

and from then on, it was turpentine and patches
from then on, it was cold Campbell’s from the can,
and they were just two jerks playing with matches
’cause that’s all they knew how to play.

and it was raining cats and dogs outside of her window
and she knew they were destined to become
sacred road kill on the way
and she was listening to the sound of heavens shaking,
thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes.

’cause it’s been turpentine and patches
it’s been cold, cold Campbell’s from the can,
and they were just two jerks playing with matches
’cause that’s all they knew how to play.

Elvis never could carry a tune;
she thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon.
she was tracing her years with her fingers on her skin
saying, why don’t i begin again?
with turpentine and patches,
with cold, cold Campbell’s from the can.
after all, i’m still a jerk playing with matches –
it’s just that he’s not around to play along.
i’m still an asshole playing with candles,
blowing out wishes, blowing out dreams.
just sitting here and trying to decipher
what’s written in braille upon my skin.

(Regina Spektor)

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