i am not a pretty girl that is not what i do i ain't no damsel in distress and i don't need to be rescued so put me down punk maybe you'd prefer a maiden fair isn't there a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere
i am not an angry girl but it seems like i've got everyone fooled every time i say something they find hard to hear they chalk it up to my anger and never to their own fear and imagine you're a girl just trying to finally come clean knowing full well they'd prefer you were dirty and smiling
and i am sorry i am not a maiden fair and i am not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere
and generally my generation wouldn't be caught dead working for the man and generally i agree with them trouble is you gotta have yourself an alternate plan and i have earned my disillusionment i have been working all of my life and i am a patriot i have been fighting the good fight and what if there are no damsels in distress what if i knew that and i called your bluff? don't you think every kitten figures out how to get down whether or not you ever show up
i am not a pretty girl i don't want to be a pretty girl no i want to be more than a pretty girl
She knew she was able to fly, Because when she came down, She had dust on her hands from the sky, She felt so high, the dust made her cry.
She knew she could fly like a bird, But when she said 'please raise the roof higher' nobody heard, They never noticed a word, The light bulbs burn, her fingers will learn.
Why should it feel like a crime? If I want to be with you all the time. Why is it measured in hours? You should make your own time, you're welcome in mine
She's star, starcrazy, electric-shock-bog-brush-hair, Flat on her back in the 80's, in the 90's going nowhere, Star, starcrazy, got a kicking transistor inside, A heavy metal stutter that brains me, and an electric love in her eyes,
Oh, she don't want education, She got nothing to say, She got no imagination (so they say) Why does she feel this way?
Cos she's star, starcrazy, getting stupid on the streets tonight, and shaking like a mechanical thing with an electric love in her eyes,
Oh, she don't want education, She got nothing to say, She got no imagination (so they say) So why does she feel this way?
On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose, Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses. On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud Que de nos chagrins il s'en fait des manteaux
Refrain: Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit Que tu m'aimais encore, C'est quelqu'un qui m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore. Serais ce possible alors ?
On dit que le destin se moque bien de nous Qu'il ne nous donne rien et qu'il nous promet tout Parait qu'le bonheur est à portée de main, Alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou
Au refrain
Mais qui est ce qui m'a dit que toujours tu m'aimais? Je ne me souviens plus c'était tard dans la nuit, J'entend encore la voix, mais je ne vois plus les traits "il vous aime, c'est secret, lui dites pas que j'vous l'ai dit"
Tu vois quelqu'un m'a dit Que tu m'aimais encore, me l'a t'on vraiment dit... Que tu m'aimais encore, serais ce possible alors ?
On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose, Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud Que de nos tristesses il s'en fait des manteaux,
Be careful of words, even the miraculous ones. For the miraculous we do our best, sometimes they swarm like insects and leave not a sting but a kiss. They can be as good as fingers. They can be as trusty as the rock you stick your bottom on. But they can be both daisies and bruises.
Yet I am in love with words. They are doves falling out of the ceiling. They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap. They are the trees, the legs of summer, and the sun, its passionate face.
Yet often they fail me. I have so much I want to say, so many stories, images, proverbs, etc. But the words aren't good enough, the wrong ones kiss me. Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren.
But I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
My mouth blooms like a cut. I've been wronged all year, tedious nights, nothing but rough elbows in them and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybaby crybaby , you fool !
Before today my body was useless. Now it's tearing at its square corners. It's tearing old Mary's garments off, knot by knot and see — Now it's shot full of these electric bolts. Zing! A resurrection!
Once it was a boat, quite wooden and with no business, no salt water under it and in need of some paint. It was no more than a group of boards. But you hoisted her, rigged her. She's been elected.
My nerves are turned on. I hear them like musical instruments. Where there was silence the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You did this. Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has stepped into fire.
you said Is there anything which is dead or alive more beautiful than my body,to have in your fingers (trembling ever so little)? Looking into your eyes Nothing,i said,except the air of spring smelling of never and forever.
....and through the lattice which moved as if a hand is touched by a hand(which moved as though fingers touch a girl's breast, lightly) Do you believe in always,the wind said to the rain I am too busy with my flowers to believe,the rain answered