I solved the riddle, Alice dear,
This weren't your dream at all...
Your dreams are host to nobler men,
No princes here; Just frogs.
They flap their wet and gleaming lips,
Professing works of love...
Now dripping wet from all their spit,
And chapped from all their rubs,
You still don't feel a bit more safe,
And just a bit less loved.
The man on the corner stopped her short,
Signaling through the window at a pile of hats,
To a crisply woven straw fedora and satin bowtie,
He winked the remark, "I think that hat there, it was made for you, mam."
And then off he went down the crowded walk.
Perplexed I was as I carried on for nearly three blocks
'Fore I got the nerve to turn on back,
The enthusiasm for what he said had quite convinced me,
Never mind the fact that I'd never been much into hats.
The sloping brim curved above my brow with true perfection
And the satin folds gave the bright black bow such a shiny light,
The maker's name was a Peter Grimm, near a small white rabbit,
And it brought to mind how the month before she had felt her clocks blow,
And her soul fell a-flying down that rabbit's hole,
When the baby left, and the world turned darkly unfamiliar,
And she had no pill that could turn her back to big again.
Just her tiny, tumbling figurine of selfhood,
Behind an ever shifting mirrored wall of dreaming
Lost among the lines of the angry mind of the old Red King,
But the hat felt safe, and perhaps she'd even felt a wee bit taller,
Inches feel like miles when dimensions move beyond the realms of normal time.
Plus the ornamental headwear offered comfort,
And put a snap back in her step for just a beat...
With a silent thanks for the unnamed haberdashery advisor,
She and her hat with the big black sash,
And the rabbit stitched in,
Bobbed along the seams of Seattle streets
With a joyful heart and a big broad grin.
His fingers play strings
On my body so tight
As he drew back and forth
On these chords of my light
Unspoken melodies and haunting compositions
A song rife with grief, every note well positioned
Peter Grimm writes a symphony of disembodied souls
Warms his bones by a fire that he's fanned from the coals
I followed a black jack rabbit
Through the wormholes of his brain
Taking pictures of his nightmares
As I tasted all his pain
His stories, meant to scare me,
Meant to fill my heart with dread
Only caused me to look deeper
At the scars between our heads
He never really meant to show me
All the things that I did see
For the tough skin he'd been growing
Now, transparent as the sea
I watched the brackish waters
Tumble through his web of veins
So alive and full of creatures
Waving wildly in his mane
He spoke of sweet devotions and a love as pure as gold
Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that my heart weren't his to hold
His words could not bring comfort if they didn't ring out true
Like a script resounds of duty,
This love weren't mine,
That's all I knew