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What You Make Of It
Teacher said to me
stand up and tell your story
so I'll do just that.
I saw my days shine
Yeah, shine all day, everyday
Then they were taken.
I survive on strength
and I breathe in your many lies
Yeah, he stole my heart.
Eyes drenched in so called
sorrows through you have not left.
But I'll survive here.
But anyway, this
is the story of me and
not his many faces.
Years have passed since I
Saw your face shining over me
Many nights I feared.
I've looked out the window waiting
for you to say you're right there.
But all I've seen is a shattered world of
lifelessness and distress; are they missing you too?
Bullies and liars and dealers and stealers
and the racism we deny everyday..
This thing we call "care" when we give
"everything" to someone although we
complain of having "nothing" but for them
in our arguments we always swore we gave "something"
And the nights so long that I have purposely
made this way and adapted to its environment
of saggy eyes and midnight cries
and a tomorrow that never comes fast enough.
Who knows the lies I've told but my own soul
That everyone is so convinced you can clense clean
in a building with a man in a black robe, and
a white neck tie and tap water within a fountain.
He says he can fly,
She says se can be a friend;
But I say I can make an angel from the ashes of hell.
And clearly we know who lied, He lied;
He cannot fly!
And in the end he'll think and she'll think
of going to gates in the clouds and I'll pop their dreams to remind them
just how far under in what a beautiful box they
are really going.
Then on Tuesdays I'll visit the local drunk
and pay for a few drinks and let the foaming bubbles
pop all my troubles.
Wednesday morning I'll wake up on the park bench
wishing I had remember what happened last night
and instead forget all my regrets.
What made my skin so soft but the hands that had to first torture it?
I've added a husband, subtracted a friend;
divided my family and multiplied my children.
Too bad this is life, yeah, it's life. Up and down,
Twisted and cinical but none the less
nothing more than what I have made it.
What have I made it you ask?
I have made it the same as love:
Something we have believed in for so long,
its mystery has become my reality.