I opened a bank account
|
when I was nine years old
|
I closed it when I was eighteen
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I gave them every penny that I'd saved
|
and they gave my blood
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and my urine
|
a number
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now I'm sitting in this waiting room
|
playing with the toys
|
and I am here to exercise
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my freedom of choice
|
I passed their handheld signs
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went through their picket lines
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they gathered when they saw me coming
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they shouted when they saw me cross
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I said why don't you go home
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just leave me alone
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I'm just another woman lost
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you are like fish in the water
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who don't know that they are wet
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as far as I can tell
|
the world isn't perfect yet
|
his bored eyes were obscene
|
on his denim thighs a magazine
|
I wish he'd never come here with me
|
in fact I wish he'd never come near me
|
I wish his shoulder
|
wasn't touching mine
|
I am growing older
|
waiting in this line
|
some of lifes best lessons
|
are learned at the worst times
|
under the fierce flourescent
|
she offered her hand for me to hold
|
she offered stability and calm
|
and I was crushing her palm
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through the pinch pull wincing
|
my smile unconvincing
|
on that sterile battlefield that sees
|
only casualties
|
never heros
|
my heart hit absolute zero
|
Lucille, your voice still sounds in me
|
mine was a relatively easy tragedy
|
now the profile of our country
|
looks a little less hard nosed
|
but that picket line persisted
|
and that clinic's since been closed
|
they keep pounding their fists on reality
|
hoping it will break
|
but I don't think there's a one of us
|
leads a life free of mistakes
|
|
-----------------
|
Lost Woman Song
|
Ani DiFranco |