rush hour
|
and the day's dawning
|
the rain came
|
and pushed me under the awning
|
the puddles grew and threw themselves at me
|
with every passing car
|
I'm shielding my guitar
|
and there were some things that I
|
did not tell him
|
there were certain things
|
he did not need to know
|
and there were some days
|
when I did not love him
|
he didn't understand me
|
and I don't know why
|
I didn't go
|
he said change the channel
|
I've got problems of my own
|
I'm so sick of hearing about drugs
|
and aids
|
and people without homes
|
and I said, well,
|
I'd like to sympathize with that
|
but if you don't understand
|
then how can you act
|
I expected summer to be there in the morning
|
I woke to the alarm
|
but she was out of arms reach
|
sneaking out
|
on silent thighs
|
that were spent and sore
|
from the hot nights that came before
|
he said I looked for you
|
I don't know why
|
I said I was wearing black so you could
|
see me against the sky
|
take your big leather boots
|
and your buckles and your chains
|
put them on a downtown train
|
I expected he would be there in the morning
|
I awoke to the alarm
|
he was still in arm's reach
|
but his body was just a disguise
|
his mind had wandered off long ago
|
you see in his eyes
|
love isn't over when the sheets are stained
|
in my head there remains
|
so much left to be said
|
make me laugh, make me cry, enrage me
|
but just don't try to disengage me
|
|
-----------------
|
Rush Hour
|
| Ani DiFranco |
