And if the snow buries my neighbourhood.
And if my parents are crying, then I'll dig a tunnel,
from my window to yours.
You climb out the chimney and meet me in the middle of our town.
And since there's no one else around,
we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know.
Then our skin gets thicker from living out in the cold.
You change all the lead sleeping in my head.
As the day grows dim, I hear you sing a golden hymn.
Then, we tried to name our babies,
but we forgot all the names we used to know.
But sometimes we remember our bedrooms, and our parents' bedrooms,
and the bedrooms of our friends.
Then we think of our parents,
well, whatever happened to them.
Purify the colours, purify my mind.
And spread the ashes of the colours over this heart of mine.

Tunnels - The Arcade Fire

Remember when our so-called friend would not call out to you while tumbling loosely out a hole punched through your home? It’s pretty clear, though you could hear, you truly finally knew, in time, he’d tell his tale the way he’d like it told. Now he isn’t on the phone, and his story might as well be so. Well, loving is as loving does, and I’d say we should know, because we both have loved, have lost, and are alone. Your face’s falling tears, to me they’re lovely and they’re dear, though you don’t love me and it’s clear that I will never see you in my arms. There’s no room in your heart for even this finely-sharpened dart; although I had started to think there might be hope, it isn’t so. So wake up, make up some new song again around the same tune. The water cools, the leaves they fall, the sun it bends, the summer ends; our so-called friend doesn’t need you. So proceed out the door and down the street. December’s lying near, but in the oven’s heat this house is now a home. Sixty days of trips and stays you took to tell me, dear, that you cannot love me because you secretly still love a stone.

Song of our so-called-friend - Okkervil River

Someday The Waves

Waking before you,
I've got a fever and a childish wish for snow.
Seems like a long, long time
Since I spun you to this borrowed radio.
You pick a place that's where I'll be.
Time like your cheek has turned for me.
Someday the waves will stop.
Every aching old machine will feel no pain.
Someday we both will walk
Where a baby made tomorrow is again.
Waking before you,
I'm like the lord who sees his love, though we don't know.
Seems like a long, long time
Since I've been above you, seen and loved you so.
You pick a place that's where I'll be.
Time like your cheek has turned for me.

-Iron & Wine-

a perfect word

There are no words that describe feeling truly, but only the feeling. So how can I describe what's wrong, if I don't know how it would feel to have everything go right? Should everything fall into place some time, I will come up with a way to describe it to the best of my ability, and it will not make any sense to anyone else.

living on your own

-----living on your own is living--
---breathing on your own is hard.
oxygen tank me.
i look like a hero should look------
so listen fast for your entire life.
leading not following---
---------be courage. eat courage----------

small cookies

We all think that we have it figured out. But I feel like that is only because we are constantly going from one phase to another, never having a moment to question our direction. More and more I am getting lost these days. And not in a conventional, don't know whether to turn right or stand in utter confusion way, but in much more frightening sense.

Everything is fine. Life is enjoyable. And then I find that there are only a few things in life that make me happy, and I can't get large enough doses of them. It's like having really good cookies, but they're super small, so you feel bad eating a zillion of them at once.

I need some direction. Perhaps northwest?

skinny love

come on skinny love, just last the year.
pour a little salt, we were never here.

i tell my love to wreck it all.
cut out all the ropes and let me fall.

Sister

What the water wants is hurricanes,
and sailboats to ride on its back.
What the water wants is sun kiss,
and land to run into and back.
I have a fish stone burning my elbow,
reminding me to know that I'm glad
that I have a bottle filled with my old teeth.
They fell out like a tear in the bag.
And I have a sister somewhere in Detroit.
She has black hair and small hands.
And I have a kettledrum.
I'll hit the earth with you.
And I will crochet you a hat.
And I have a red kite.
I'll put you right in it.
I'll show you the sky.

-Sufjan Stevens