I know you’re in there,
Hiding behind my eyes,
Filling the hollows in my head,
Making me wonder
Just who decided that I needed
More love.
Show yourself,
It’s okay,
I know you’re in there.
It’s not like I haven’t lived
With somebody else’s hands
Working the sheets,
Tacking back and forth,
Down the channel,
Trying to miss the stink *** drivers
Who can’t see passed the beer cans
In their fat, sweaty, hands.
Oh, I’ve sat at the helm,
Listening to the tactician whisper,
“Stand on, stand on, ready to come about.”
Waiting for the shout,
“Hard a’lea.”
Cutting over ‘til the compass reads
North by northwest,
Then standing on,
Standing on.
But this is different.
The whispers didn’t have a voice,
Just a presence behind my eyes,
And the call to tack came before
I was ready.
But I turned the helm,
And the sails swung to port.
There,
Sitting on the rocks,
Singing their silent, beckoning songs,
Their blue-green eyes
Flashing behind the tendrils of their
Foam, blonde hair,
Sat the Sirens of my life,
Smiling their bow-lipped, ruby smiles,
Laughing because they know
There’s no way in hell
That I won’t run a course
Straight into their laps.
You must think it’s funny,
Watching this,
Laughing at how a sailor can’t
Tell the difference between a siren’s lap,
And the Fiddler’s Green,
Laughing at me,
Behind my eyes,
Tempting me with
More love.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 9:07 AM UTC
I know you’re in there,
Hiding behind my eyes,
Filling the hollows in my head,
Making me wonder
Just who decided that I needed
More love.
Show yourself,
It’s okay,
I know you’re in there.
It’s not like I haven’t lived
With somebody else’s hands
Working the sheets,
Tacking back and forth,
Down the channel,
Trying to miss the stink *** drivers
Who can’t see passed the beer cans
In their fat, sweaty, hands.
Oh, I’ve sat at the helm,
Listening to the tactician whisper,
“Stand on, stand on, ready to come about.”
Waiting for the shout,
“Hard a’lea.”
Cutting over ‘til the compass reads
North by northwest,
Then standing on,
Standing on.
But this is different.
The whispers didn’t have a voice,
Just a presence behind my eyes,
And the call to tack came before
I was ready.
But I turned the helm,
And the sails swung to port.
There,
Sitting on the rocks,
Singing their silent, beckoning songs,
Their blue-green eyes
Flashing behind the tendrils of their
Foam, blonde hair,
Sat the Sirens of my life,
Smiling their bow-lipped, ruby smiles,
Laughing because they know
There’s no way in hell
That I won’t run a course
Straight into their laps.
You must think it’s funny,
Watching this,
Laughing at how a sailor can’t
Tell the difference between a siren’s lap,
And the Fiddler’s Green,
Laughing at me,
Behind my eyes,
Tempting me with
More love.