Why, why, why do I care?
Why does it get so far under my skin that I can see the color like the run of a pulsing vein? What is has become, and what comes is indeed. Shouldn't that be enough?
So tortured and pure, so righteous in these wounds; is that what this mirror calls to thine eye? If so, then turn it to the wall and stare into the blackback, for I am the doctor in spite of himself, I am Moliere backstage at the Scottish play, I am a man hiding behind his sunglasses; standing in this same room again, asking those same questions that he doesn't really want the answers to at all.
Last night I took shots to the jaw and wrenched my shoulder hard against the bodies of strangers slamming to a beat that roared like a train uncontrolled.
There was release, there was joy. Bright lights and crowded sweat, nothing mattered more than the jump. Nothing existed other than the rhythm, the volume, or the night.
Why does it get so far under my skin that I can see the color like the run of a pulsing vein? What is has become, and what comes is indeed. Shouldn't that be enough?
I'll teach you, Ma'am, that Heaven's contradictions,
Give latitude to men of pure convictions.
Give latitude to men of pure convictions.
So tortured and pure, so righteous in these wounds; is that what this mirror calls to thine eye? If so, then turn it to the wall and stare into the blackback, for I am the doctor in spite of himself, I am Moliere backstage at the Scottish play, I am a man hiding behind his sunglasses; standing in this same room again, asking those same questions that he doesn't really want the answers to at all.
A pious man made study of a science,
In which, through other paths, one finds compliance,
Enabling us to balance indiscretion,
Against the zeal of one's professed repression.
In which, through other paths, one finds compliance,
Enabling us to balance indiscretion,
Against the zeal of one's professed repression.
Last night I took shots to the jaw and wrenched my shoulder hard against the bodies of strangers slamming to a beat that roared like a train uncontrolled.
I'll teach to you of science' subtle ways,
To clear your conscience and to ease your days.
To clear your conscience and to ease your days.
There was release, there was joy. Bright lights and crowded sweat, nothing mattered more than the jump. Nothing existed other than the rhythm, the volume, or the night.
For now though, let us finish what we started,
If sin there is, be it on me imparted.
If sin there is, be it on me imparted.
Now I find myself standing alone
amongst tall grasses and sunshine,
wishing someone would hit me again.
[Listening to: Fishbone, "The Suffering"]
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