Brain Freeze

My brain has been locked on this song for approximately two weeks now, so I thought it only fair that I should share it with others so I can shift it to someone else's brain :) Enjoy!

"On The Radio"
-Regina Spektor

"This is how it works:
It feels a little worse
Than when we drove our hearse
Right through that screaming crowd,
While laughing up a storm
Until we were just bone,
Until it got so warm
That none of us could sleep.
And all the styrofoam
Began to melt away.
We tried to find some worms
To aid in the decay.
But none of them were home
Inside their catacomb.
A million ancient bees
Began to sting our knees.
While we were on our knees,
Praying that disease
Would leave the ones we love
And never come again...

On the radio,
We heard November Rain.
That solo's real long,
But it's a pretty song.
We listened to it twice
'Cause the DJ was asleep...
(Bum Ba-Bum, Ba-Bum)

This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry.
You cry until you laugh.
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath.

No, this is how it works-
You peer inside yourself.
You take the things you like,
And try to love the things you took.
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some-
Someone else's heart,
Pumpin' someone else's blood.
And walking arm in arm,
You hope it don't get harmed.
But even if it does,
You'll just do it all again.

And on the radio,
You'll hear November Rain.
That solo's awful long,
But it's a good refrain.
You listen to it twice,
'Cause the DJ is asleep.
On the radio
(oh oh oh)
On the radio
On the radio - (uh oh!)
On the radio - (uh oh!)
On the radio - (uh oh!)
On the radio..."

Let's fly to the moon, yeah? You'll be the driver. I'll bring the Vidal Sassoon. We'll laugh as we see all the people-ants ruined/ With our lunar brigade hope, we'll take them by monsoon... :)

Odd Dreaming...

You boys (with your red-mask hats)
Play hate games in my backyard on guitars,
While here I sit and mull over
My barside depression/amusement.
Am I in this band, you ask?
My answer is as murky
As the dream you came from.

Now, I sit with you
On a red barstool,
Telling knock-knock jokes
To the frogs in my head
And the Elvis impersonators
That flock to my side.
I am so utterly alone in all this...

He startles me with his protection question,
Like a horror-movie shoulder-tap.
I brace myself for the honesty,
And yet, it doesn't knock me over as I feared.
It calms me, even.
Odd...

I see the green dry-erase insults
Written in neat list format.
(You, my lawyer, would whole-heartedly approve!)
The smirking snides slide it down the bar
And into my trembling hands,
Like fire and wisdom.
I smoke it down and save three words of it
In my brain for morning remembering:
"Skank," "Bitch," and "Whore"
...
It's far more than I deserve, I suppose.
But not more than expected...

And yet...
Though this unusually clear mist surprises me,
I am not troubled.
What's done is done.
I've lied to myself,
And I've done it grandly and frequently.
I've misplaced my modesty,
And given in to maladjusted self-pursuit.
Though I did not know the outcome,
I played each game willingly.
And when the die was cast,
I cast myself off.
And every time, I sold the home team,
Not knowing fully that sooner or later,
I'd buy another...
But at what price??

(sigh)

I just wish
(With all my lovely four-year old hope)
That I could make it right.
Oh that I could take those insults,
Those teams that put their trust in me
And ended up stranded, betrayed, and abandoned-
If only I could carry them in my arms
And sit them down in front of me
And love them all the same...
And they would be at peace with me.

But I fear that war is just as inevitable
As the waking from this dream...

:/