you're taking up lots of space
|
your shit is everywhere
|
your breath is all up in my face
|
your hands are swarming in the air
|
|
you're the first one out the car
|
and then the loudest one in the bar
|
tell me is there something wrong
|
girlfriend, what's with this new version of who you are
|
|
so she lifts her chin and
|
squints at me
|
to assess what I think I know
|
she says my heart has some dangerous neighborhoods
|
so beware where you try to go
|
|
and they say that the truth will set you free
|
but then again, so will a lie
|
it depends if you're trying to get to the promised land
|
or if you're just trying to get by
|
|
what is a camera but a box of light
|
what is a guitar but a box of sound
|
you think I don't understand
|
I think I might
|
|
what it is to
|
to harvest the emptiness
|
and just ride it around
|
|
and maybe your chest is an empty shell
|
with ribs of spiraling coral
|
where a perfect pearl of sadness resides
|
but if you ever need it here
|
I could come and press it there
|
and I could listen to the sound of the ocean inside
|
|
-----------------
|
Promised Land
|
| Ani DiFranco |
