He says I could never Get away with murder For I leave Pieces of me everywhere
Strong hands Hold me down To the bed I say to them I have to go
My parents always say We’re proud of you I am too I got out of bed I used to get so much done
The pressure inside Is building It comes out through my eyes I stop up the tears It comes out through my nose
Most women are cooks But a man who cooks Is a chef She cooks over and over To feed the masses
I am unique In so many ways But while variety excites What we look for Is our common thread
Down to earth I am but of dust Dust particles I see floating in the air Carbon molecules
The passive-aggressive Guilt trip Is a weak tool For your purpose The sensitive
Don’t talk down to me I am not a child! Even children Deserve respect
I can feel it coming Decisions I can’t make Brain starts to freeze Fingers won’t work Sick of this disease
I will be Forever in debt To my mother Any gift Would come up short
If I could draw a tree In all it’s complexity Would you be impressed? If I could draw a human face It would be but a trace
The strings that attach me To this world Ground me Yes they sometimes Keep me from flying
Husband and wife Companions for life Mature love that deepens And mellows with time Life’s eroding winds
A palomino gallops Beside the highway Look out the window Rides over green hills Through yellow flowers