Lord Almighty, with your wits and smarts,
Pry this stake out from my heart.
Cursed am I with an open mind,
Rid my sins and Heathen bind.
Shed my love for the Earths divine equinox,
Fill me, O’ Lord, with your vile paradox.

Twice did our love see the roses of
St Valentines rising sun.
That which follows,
worse than the one foregone.
For we were never
the type,
to
obey.

The fourteenth day,
of that second month,
he came to me,
and I heard him say:
"My darling, for you I bestow a gift! -
the gift of irony
No gift at all."
He knew me,
and he knew
me
well.

O' then the second Valentines,
saw that this year,
I had a gift for him.
A gift he'd rather not hear.
A gift I'd rather not bear.
The gift to end
all
gifts.

Autumn blessed me,
with the deterioration of his memory.
And Winter cursed me,
with a heart of stone.
Spring breathed life,
into that which
I thought I'd
buried
alive.

And he's happy now.
He has another now.
And I'll be okay so long
as the sky remains blue,
and the setting sun leaves
the clouds
a rosy
hue.

Remove these photographs
from inside my skull.
Can't you see they're
making my heart too sore?
Take these rose-tinted glasses
from upon my eyes.
For I cannot bear
them

anymore.

You know the type?
The ones that sit alone,
with their heads buried in books,
not even blinking an eye as
the midday trains go roaring past
as the school girls all hold
down
their
dresses.
With their blonde hair,
they all think they can be Marilyn Monroe.
Or Barbie.
But they're not fooling anyone,
and the boys only want
the trains to go screaming past again.

You know the type.
Always in clans,
looking like clones.
They're happy. I think.
At least they seem to be.
But the girl that sits by herself,
with her music loud enough
to drown out auditory reality,
she isn't.
And she doesn't even pretend to be.
And if she closes her eyes,
the visual world disappears too,
and reality no longer exists.
Then,
if you look closely,
you can see
a smile form.
It might only come along
as frequently as a blue moon,
but it's sure to make
a blind man weep.

The bombs already drop
in rhythmic succession,
brewing but little
condemnation -
Millions bleed the colour of soil,
impoverished by
rich mans toil.
But no tear,
nor a note is shed  - unless,
they bleed the colour of
the dollar bill.

Tonight I will sleep on my fragmented thoughts
that my anxieties found too delicate to embrace.

Crushed by nature and neglected from nurture
I'm not one to hoard but my head must rest.

Is it so wrong for a woman to caress her melancholy
as tenderly as she does her lover?

These pieces of madness once smelled so sweet
like the roses I've kept from years foregone.

I crowd my mind with scraps of death
to remind myself that what is dead, is never gone.

You wont want to give me your whole heart,
But I’ll pick at the cement wall around it,
Piece by piece,
Night after night,
When the lights are out and your guard down.
Then when you’re most resistant,
I’ll fit.
Right through the hole I picked,
And steal it.
It will be warm and well nurtured,
You wont mind me holding on to it.
Even come to like it in my possession.
The more you like it the heavier it grows.
And a burden it becomes.
A weight too much to bear.
I'll find a nice place in the forest beneath the pines,
Or down by the water.
Night after night,
When the lights are out and your guard down,
I'll slip outside and pick at the earth,
A heart shaped hole just big enough to fit yours.
Then when you feel most secure, most safe,
I'll drop it, and bury it, and walk away.
It will grow cold,
And call to you through the breeze,
Or through the waves.
You wont hear and you wont search for it.
You’ll search for me, to no avail.
I’ve long mastered the art of escape.

Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn't leave much to Ma and me,
just this old guitar and a bottle of *****.
Now I don't blame him because he run and hid,
but the meanest thing that he ever did was
before he left he went and named me Sue.

Well, he must have thought it was quite a joke,
and it got lots of laughs from a lot of folks,
it seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
and some guy would laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell you, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean.
My fist got hard and my wits got keen.
Roamed from town to town to hide my shame,
but I made me a vow to the moon and the stars,
I'd search the ***** tonks and bars and ****
that man that gave me that awful name.

But it was Gatlinburg in mid July and I had
just hit town and my throat was dry.
I'd thought i'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon in a street of mud
and at a table dealing stud sat the *****,
mangy dog that named me Sue.

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
from a worn-out picture that my mother had
and I knew the scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old
and I looked at him and my blood ran cold,
and I said, "My name is Sue. How do you do?
Now you're gonna die." Yeah, that's what I told him.

Well, I hit him right between the eyes and he went down
but to my surprise he came up with a knife
and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair
right across his teeth. And we crashed through
the wall and into the street kicking and a-gouging
in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell you I've fought tougher men but I really can't remember when.
He kicked like a mule and bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laughin' and then I heard him cussin',
he went for his gun and I pulled mine first.
He stood there looking at me and I saw him smile.

And he said, "Son, this world is rough and if
a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
and I knew I wouldn't be there to help you along.
So I gave you that name and I said 'Goodbye'.
I knew you'd have to get tough or die. And it's
that name that helped to make you strong."

Yeah, he said, "Now you have just fought one
helluva fight, and I know you hate me and you've
got the right to **** me now and I wouldn't blame you
if you do. But you ought to thank me
before I die for the gravel in your guts and the spit
in your eye because I'm the nut that named you Sue."
Yeah, what could I do? What could I do?

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun,
called him pa and he called me a son,
and I came away with a different point of view
and I think about him now and then.
Every time I tried, every time I win and if I
ever have a son I think I am gonna name him
Bill or George - anything but Sue.

And if I loved you Wednesday,
  Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday—
  So much is true.

And why you come complaining
  Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday,—yes—but what
  Is that to me?