2003-07-14 - 12:10 p.m.
The blood is on the welcome mat, the wishing well is dry
the magic spark of life is fading from the mermaid's eye
and you can't count the times you fall upon your bed and cry
as fatalism sings, "for all that lives was born to die."
I tell you to forsake your ways and stop your self abuse
you tell me it's too late for you, and say, "so what's the use?"
I have to get away from your neglect of this disease
and the only time I talk of you is when I'm on my knees
because I love you so
baby, you'll never know
I stuff my fantasy
of what we'll be
and let it go
you have to know that I'll be strong
though weak I seem to be
but it's not weak to not do wrong and speak thus truthfully:
to know the truth and make it known will set the captive free
you must first water what's been sown and root out all the weeds
so learn to tell the difference and then seek to meet those needs,
the nurturing of every plant that comes from precious seeds
...
I hear them down there groaning in the garden of your heart
don't fear the job of owning them and let them have a start
the growing pain of stretching through the outer husk is rough,
the struggle and the wretching in the cocoon's just enough,
any less and then the butterfly will not possess the stuff
that's required for her to fly and so she'll die inside the fluff
the lovely winged creature will remain within the saddle
so don't forfeit the inner strength to relieve the outer battle
for the fleeting tide of rise and fall will gratify but that'll
not prepare you for the storms which come to butcher you like cattle
mother nature has some issues and she wants to wipe you out
and the easy street might supercede but you won't come about
so listen to me baby even if I bust your chops
before the barricade on your highway comes to a sudden stop.
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