It boils your blood with its crying sound
it wakes the long dead gypsy
we had to make her sleep you know
this life is not possible with her
but you see, you know, I am
a creature, and not human,
not wholly when I am whole
and you, you do not fear me
but instead see the trappings I have always known,
Your pity is not needed, but I will take it all the same,
The lovely captor tries his best to make my lovely jail
alive

I ran away at every age, every year a new destination, armed with a pack filled with not what I needed but what I wanted. I never really went.
I live now with much unanswered, a heart unquelled silver at my center, a song that will bleed me dry. I never really went.
I tied myself to hearts that attached themselves too much, and did not see the world with static that blinds the eyes and burnt my ears. My mother never knew me and I am not scared. I never really went.

Her heart burns at her center
Torn into two or eight or eleven
And in it lives a green world
That was not given the means to live
And instead kills her pleasantly

May you never be a lovely fool
may your knowledge of your lack of knowledge torture you
into mottled flesh, pock marked and stained with your awareness,
and dappled with your love of what is true, the nothingness blue of the universe,
the everything held within an eyes,
nothing matters, so everything does,
for why else,
never be a lovely fool,
may your knowledge of your lack of knowledge torture you into mottled flesh.

I know these eyes,
see how they reflect me differently,
I know these hands,
they have held the broken pieces together,
even when the pierced your own skin,
on accident always
and you never have regretted it,
because I know this heart.

There is only one difference between the first and the last
and it is is the amount of hope

Others gave me music
but you gave me my instrument
and I am forever in love.
Because of you I run my fingers across her pearly teeth
and tease from her the only truth I have ever found.
I have written stories on her keys
and I have died a thousand times on her steps
only to be find myself alive.
I can not help but pay homage,
in stripes, and hats, and glasses, and feathers,
all competing
to beat out what I take from Tom
and Bob
and Paul
and Billy
and Stevie
and David
and of course
my Boys