on my birthday flower
hee!
happy happy to me!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
NaPoWriMo!
national poetry writing month or napowrimo is a global challenge to produce one poem a day for the entire month of april.
i of curse had to stumble upon this with just ONE day to go. no time to prepare, no ideas, no preconceptions... best way to jump in!
woohoo!
i of curse had to stumble upon this with just ONE day to go. no time to prepare, no ideas, no preconceptions... best way to jump in!
woohoo!
Saturday, March 28, 2009
starry starry morning!
i bought these adorable star stickers from cheap jack
and i want to put them on EVERYTHING in my room!
laptop
plant
shoes
mr. typee!
as a bindi?
on the star tattoo for sure!
even haiku wasn't spared! (but he's a little superstar anyway)
i feel all happy again :)
and i want to put them on EVERYTHING in my room!
laptop
plant
shoes
mr. typee!
as a bindi?
on the star tattoo for sure!
even haiku wasn't spared! (but he's a little superstar anyway)
i feel all happy again :)
Friday, March 27, 2009
here's what i think
there's no point being so affected by how woman we are
it's not about being woman
or man, child, lover, wanderer, lonely, loved
it's about being who you need to be
when you need to be it
and being comfortable with disappearing
when your presence isn't necessary to the process
it's about flaunting all of it if that's what makes you happy
if. that's. what. makes. YOU. happy.
and hiding whatever the fuck will only cause unnecessary dramatics
see? simple.
now go do it.
haha.
it's not about being woman
or man, child, lover, wanderer, lonely, loved
it's about being who you need to be
when you need to be it
and being comfortable with disappearing
when your presence isn't necessary to the process
it's about flaunting all of it if that's what makes you happy
if. that's. what. makes. YOU. happy.
and hiding whatever the fuck will only cause unnecessary dramatics
see? simple.
now go do it.
haha.
Getting Older - Kim Addonizio
Sometimes what you remember is their voices again,
coming on inside you like strung lights in your blood,
certain words they'd tongue differently
from anyone else, or your own name
and its surprisingly infinite nuances.
And sometimes you remember their hands,
not touching you but draped over a steering wheel
or cupped briefly around a cigarette,
anywhere you could watch them
in their life apart from you, knowing how
they'd find you later, blind but sure,
and come to rest where you needed them.
You remember the hardness of their bellies,
the soft line of hair that swirls down
toward the cock, the look of each one
that entered you and then withdrew, or lay
quietly inside awhile longer before slipping
away like a girl sneaking out in the middle
of the night, high heels dangling from one hand
as her stockinged feet drew sparks from the rug.
Sometimes you wander the house all day,
the fog outside stalled at the tops
of trees, refusing to rise higher and reveal
the world you hope is still there, the one
in which you're still a woman
some beautiful man might helplessly
move toward. And you remember how one
looked at you the first time you undressed,
how another didn't mind that you cried.
Sometimes it's enough just to say
their names like a rosary, ordinary names
linked by nothing but the fact
that they belong to men who loved you. And finally
you depend on that, you pray it's enough
to last, if it has to, the rest of your life.
coming on inside you like strung lights in your blood,
certain words they'd tongue differently
from anyone else, or your own name
and its surprisingly infinite nuances.
And sometimes you remember their hands,
not touching you but draped over a steering wheel
or cupped briefly around a cigarette,
anywhere you could watch them
in their life apart from you, knowing how
they'd find you later, blind but sure,
and come to rest where you needed them.
You remember the hardness of their bellies,
the soft line of hair that swirls down
toward the cock, the look of each one
that entered you and then withdrew, or lay
quietly inside awhile longer before slipping
away like a girl sneaking out in the middle
of the night, high heels dangling from one hand
as her stockinged feet drew sparks from the rug.
Sometimes you wander the house all day,
the fog outside stalled at the tops
of trees, refusing to rise higher and reveal
the world you hope is still there, the one
in which you're still a woman
some beautiful man might helplessly
move toward. And you remember how one
looked at you the first time you undressed,
how another didn't mind that you cried.
Sometimes it's enough just to say
their names like a rosary, ordinary names
linked by nothing but the fact
that they belong to men who loved you. And finally
you depend on that, you pray it's enough
to last, if it has to, the rest of your life.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
random, unstructured thoughts been floating in my system too long, need to be put somewhere for careful mulling over later
in the creative arts, are there some jobs that require one to be more male or more female than others? e.g., as a woman writer, is it best for you to give even your male characters a female voice, ensuring you never let the characters take over your message, your voice? and maybe as a cinematographer you need to be a completely gender neutral voyeur (because any scene plays out as if in the absence of a witness), showing your ability to capture a moment just as-is?
as a writer, should you be afraid to create subversive characters for fear that people will think this is you projecting your secret bad habits, traits, and depravities in the style of those "my friend has a question about masturbation" queries in newspaper sex advice columns?
as an artist, should you be embarrassed to understand even the basest of human traits (or inhuman traits)... isn't that your job?
does someone of my economic standing, upbringing, and social background have the right... have the NEED... to be feminist? is it a wasted pass time, a hobby, an indulgence? or is there yet some function left for feminism to fulfill? no i'm not talking about the non-urban society where feminism is only another word for still fighting for equality and they haven't quite gotten to the point where it becomes more about superiority. here, today, now, in my life, is there a point? is there a purpose?
the tortured artist cliche... isn't it time for it to be done with? what if the themes of an artist's works are dark, disturbing, morbid, whatever, but he finds joy, peace, comfort in creating them... is that wrong? why does it sound morally ambiguous to even suggest it, to even put those words in the same sentence? how can we assume all artists are masochists doing this not for the creative satisfaction, and onocertainlynot for the money or fame, but because there is something in them that compels them to eat themselves inside out one piece of art at a time? doesn't THAT sound more absurd?
is happiness a creatively unproductive condition? i find it isn't so any longer... how? what changed? when did this happen? it isn't anything conscious i did, i know, so what happened??
why would the universe change something so fundamentally critical inside me and not even give me the tools to comprehend it? what's the point then??!
yags, have i become one of THOSE people?
the bechdel test... really? is this THE test? is this it, the measure? really??
ok, done for now, more later.
as a writer, should you be afraid to create subversive characters for fear that people will think this is you projecting your secret bad habits, traits, and depravities in the style of those "my friend has a question about masturbation" queries in newspaper sex advice columns?
as an artist, should you be embarrassed to understand even the basest of human traits (or inhuman traits)... isn't that your job?
does someone of my economic standing, upbringing, and social background have the right... have the NEED... to be feminist? is it a wasted pass time, a hobby, an indulgence? or is there yet some function left for feminism to fulfill? no i'm not talking about the non-urban society where feminism is only another word for still fighting for equality and they haven't quite gotten to the point where it becomes more about superiority. here, today, now, in my life, is there a point? is there a purpose?
the tortured artist cliche... isn't it time for it to be done with? what if the themes of an artist's works are dark, disturbing, morbid, whatever, but he finds joy, peace, comfort in creating them... is that wrong? why does it sound morally ambiguous to even suggest it, to even put those words in the same sentence? how can we assume all artists are masochists doing this not for the creative satisfaction, and onocertainlynot for the money or fame, but because there is something in them that compels them to eat themselves inside out one piece of art at a time? doesn't THAT sound more absurd?
is happiness a creatively unproductive condition? i find it isn't so any longer... how? what changed? when did this happen? it isn't anything conscious i did, i know, so what happened??
why would the universe change something so fundamentally critical inside me and not even give me the tools to comprehend it? what's the point then??!
yags, have i become one of THOSE people?
the bechdel test... really? is this THE test? is this it, the measure? really??
ok, done for now, more later.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
and this morning, confronted again by the archetype of the tortured artist
The family history of poets Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath took another tragic turn Monday when it was revealed that their son had committed suicide after battling depression.
Nicholas Hughes, whose mother asphyxiated herself in 1963 by putting her head in a gas oven at her London home while her two children slept in the next room, hanged himself at his home in Alaska, his sister Frieda told The Times newspaper...
complete story: http://edition.cnn.com/2009/SHOWBIZ/books/03/23/plath.son.suicide/?iref=mpstoryview
i am infinitely troubled by this news on so many levels.
:(
Nicholas Hughes, whose mother asphyxiated herself in 1963 by putting her head in a gas oven at her London home while her two children slept in the next room, hanged himself at his home in Alaska, his sister Frieda told The Times newspaper...
complete story: http://edition.cnn.com/2009/SHOWBIZ/books/03/23/plath.son.suicide/?iref=mpstoryview
i am infinitely troubled by this news on so many levels.
:(
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
hey, you, mr. universe
listen,
i don't want this heaviness
you know those days on which you give me
the power to understand the birds
or notice hidden things and run and scoop them up
the way the wind does?
i want more of those
am i asking for too much?
i see what you're doing mr. universe,
i've figured out your game plan
(i think)
and i am only o-so-full of encouragement!
keep going, i say, i can't wait to see how it turns out
but listen
mr. universe sir
please listen
i don't want this heaviness
all i really want
is to be an infinitely small part
of the grand design
to curl up and fall asleep right away
to sing in the shower
and write simple poems
now and then
am i still asking for too much?
i don't want this heaviness
you know those days on which you give me
the power to understand the birds
or notice hidden things and run and scoop them up
the way the wind does?
i want more of those
am i asking for too much?
i see what you're doing mr. universe,
i've figured out your game plan
(i think)
and i am only o-so-full of encouragement!
keep going, i say, i can't wait to see how it turns out
but listen
mr. universe sir
please listen
i don't want this heaviness
all i really want
is to be an infinitely small part
of the grand design
to curl up and fall asleep right away
to sing in the shower
and write simple poems
now and then
am i still asking for too much?
Friday, March 20, 2009
whew
"it's never too late to start [writing poetry]. don't try to catch up by going back on your life. start with now."
thank you susan wooldridge for taking off the pressure. i was getting really tense.
(lesson for this morning: when a book's amazon look-inside is enough to inspire you, it's worth buying.)
cool coincidental post on a new favorite: start where you are.
thank you susan wooldridge for taking off the pressure. i was getting really tense.
(lesson for this morning: when a book's amazon look-inside is enough to inspire you, it's worth buying.)
cool coincidental post on a new favorite: start where you are.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
o i was all welled up by the end of this!
elizabeth gilbert, author of eat, pray, love, on creative genius and how we ruin it
i think i might have to read this woman's book now. even though her experiences inspired the film coyote ugly. damn.
also on a similar theme, an excerpt from the prologue of dorris lessing's the golden notebook.
this is a theme i've been thinking about a lot of late and it's nice to see it come up around me. it's nice validation that. thank you mr. universe!
i think i might have to read this woman's book now. even though her experiences inspired the film coyote ugly. damn.
also on a similar theme, an excerpt from the prologue of dorris lessing's the golden notebook.
this is a theme i've been thinking about a lot of late and it's nice to see it come up around me. it's nice validation that. thank you mr. universe!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
lessons from ahmedabad 3-7 march
wheat stands at attention all day. it just doesn't get tired.
if you sit on a street corner long enough, someone will come along to ask if you'll take a picture of them holding a leaf. they'll laugh even if it turns out blurry.
sometimes when you crawl into dark, scary holes, you find seven puppies whose eyes haven't opened yet.
ordinary things become pretty when the breeze picks them up.
you know how sometimes you can't decide if you should leave your heart open or closed? at such times it would be nice if your heart had two ends. then you wouldn't have to choose.
even when you really like someone, you may end up dumping all your bags on their play-table, stealing their blue checked shirt, and taking secret pictures. (sorry.)
if my house had such pretty doors, i'd be really antisocial. because i'd slam them in people's faces all the time just so they could look at them!
so strange how our shadows choose to stand in a completely different place from where our bodies are. maybe they're trying to tell us something.
if you shoot a scene near a bull long enough, he'll start throwing star tantrums too.
every corner was a picture. i was so overwhelmed, after these few i just closed my eyes
if you sit on a street corner long enough, someone will come along to ask if you'll take a picture of them holding a leaf. they'll laugh even if it turns out blurry.
sometimes when you crawl into dark, scary holes, you find seven puppies whose eyes haven't opened yet.
ordinary things become pretty when the breeze picks them up.
you know how sometimes you can't decide if you should leave your heart open or closed? at such times it would be nice if your heart had two ends. then you wouldn't have to choose.
even when you really like someone, you may end up dumping all your bags on their play-table, stealing their blue checked shirt, and taking secret pictures. (sorry.)
if my house had such pretty doors, i'd be really antisocial. because i'd slam them in people's faces all the time just so they could look at them!
so strange how our shadows choose to stand in a completely different place from where our bodies are. maybe they're trying to tell us something.
if you shoot a scene near a bull long enough, he'll start throwing star tantrums too.
every corner was a picture. i was so overwhelmed, after these few i just closed my eyes
Monday, March 16, 2009
my heart will be blessed with the sound of music, and i'll sing once more...!
i used to have a really boring desk
but i just found one of my favorite things to keep on it!
now when i'm working and get bored or frustrated, i can just look up and begin to hear "the happiest sound in all the world"! (it actually says that on the poster!)
i don't think i'll ever get over the sound of music, and the drape dresses, and how badly i wanted to be sixteen-going-on-seventeen, and that year i made malti make me pink lemonade every day because that's what the baroness drank! (god alone knows what she put in it to make it pink!) o thank you julie andrews for making me feel like the eighth von Trapp kid every time i slipped in the worn-out vhs, for giving me singing lessons, for making me fall in love with stiff captains when everyone else was into prince charming, for making me have confidence that spring will come again, and for teaching me the word "flibbertijibbet"!
and new poster, thank you for reminding me i STILL have not tasted crisp apple strudel. but whenever i do, i just KNOW it'll become one of my favorite things.
odelay odelay odelay hee hoo!
but i just found one of my favorite things to keep on it!
now when i'm working and get bored or frustrated, i can just look up and begin to hear "the happiest sound in all the world"! (it actually says that on the poster!)
i don't think i'll ever get over the sound of music, and the drape dresses, and how badly i wanted to be sixteen-going-on-seventeen, and that year i made malti make me pink lemonade every day because that's what the baroness drank! (god alone knows what she put in it to make it pink!) o thank you julie andrews for making me feel like the eighth von Trapp kid every time i slipped in the worn-out vhs, for giving me singing lessons, for making me fall in love with stiff captains when everyone else was into prince charming, for making me have confidence that spring will come again, and for teaching me the word "flibbertijibbet"!
and new poster, thank you for reminding me i STILL have not tasted crisp apple strudel. but whenever i do, i just KNOW it'll become one of my favorite things.
odelay odelay odelay hee hoo!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
stories from kolad, 14 march
what a girly weekend this was. and then, o my, paisley print ceiling as if just for us!
now you see her...
now you don't!
when she's an astronomer, she'll have a real telescope! (that one is just a tube :))
shh... the canon's fake too!
purple croc, yellow croc, no croc.
jaya floating = nash floating
but then nash went freestyle!
it's nice to fall asleep beside a lake. when you wake up, you find yourself looking at something random but pretty.
sometimes things get tangled. but looking for your own toes can be fun too.
the wooden posts stand at attention, bravely guarding the lake all day and night...
...but sometimes even they need a shoulder to rest their head on.
if you listen closely, these pictures can tell you everything you need to know about us!
rucha...
jaya...
me...
veena...
parag...
all of us!
now you see her...
now you don't!
when she's an astronomer, she'll have a real telescope! (that one is just a tube :))
shh... the canon's fake too!
purple croc, yellow croc, no croc.
jaya floating = nash floating
but then nash went freestyle!
it's nice to fall asleep beside a lake. when you wake up, you find yourself looking at something random but pretty.
sometimes things get tangled. but looking for your own toes can be fun too.
the wooden posts stand at attention, bravely guarding the lake all day and night...
...but sometimes even they need a shoulder to rest their head on.
if you listen closely, these pictures can tell you everything you need to know about us!
rucha...
jaya...
me...
veena...
parag...
all of us!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
super fun tag!
using only song *titles* from one artist, cleverly answer these questions.
jaya who tagged me picked (stole) radiohead (bitch) so i go with the doors.
1. Are you a male or female: la woman
2. Describe yourself: stoned immaculate
3. How do you feel about yourself: wishful, sinful
4. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriend: rider on the storm
5. Describe your current boy/girl situation: strange days
6. Describe your current location: palace of exile
7. Describe where you want to be: end of the night
9. Your favorite color is: orange county suite
10. You know: whiskey, mystics and men
11. What’s the weather like: waiting for the sun
12. If your life was a television show what would it be called: the poet's dreams
13. What is life to you: a feast of friends
14. What is the best advice you have to give: break on through
15. If you could change your name what would you change it to: maggie m'gill
i tag...
milz or milz or milz
girija
divya
abhishek
jaya who tagged me picked (stole) radiohead (bitch) so i go with the doors.
1. Are you a male or female: la woman
2. Describe yourself: stoned immaculate
3. How do you feel about yourself: wishful, sinful
4. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriend: rider on the storm
5. Describe your current boy/girl situation: strange days
6. Describe your current location: palace of exile
7. Describe where you want to be: end of the night
9. Your favorite color is: orange county suite
10. You know: whiskey, mystics and men
11. What’s the weather like: waiting for the sun
12. If your life was a television show what would it be called: the poet's dreams
13. What is life to you: a feast of friends
14. What is the best advice you have to give: break on through
15. If you could change your name what would you change it to: maggie m'gill
i tag...
milz or milz or milz
girija
divya
abhishek
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
i'm really very bored
Which Famous Artist Are You? | |
 | You are Andy Warhol. Your artistic talent became clear at an early age. As a result, you are still developing your talent now, chasing the dream. A big fan of commercial art, you see greatness in the ordinary. |
| Find Your Character @ BrainFall.com | |
What Shoe Are You? | |
 | You are a fuzzy slipper. Life is better with a warm fire, the phone unplugged, and few challenges worth getting out of bed for. |
| Find Your Character @ BrainFall.com | |
What Type of Movie Would Your Life Be? | |
 | You life would be a Drama. You're rich in feeling and emotion. You constantly play life out in your mind, imagining the "ifs, ands, or buts." You constantly feel like the world is your audience, which might inevitably affect your sanity! While your passion is endearing, the over-dramatics may grow a bit too intense after a while. |
| Find Your Character @ BrainFall.com | |
goregaon swings and bulbul blogs
fuck, see, this is what i had to say that i couldn't/didn't. (thanks v for reminding me.)
i can get into a really really bad mood if i'm wearing a skirt but i'm not in skirt-wearing mood. and if the chappals are the wrong color, then you can just throw yourself into a sack in a river and forget about it. and the thing is that no matter where i am, i want to be somewhere else. it's this restlessrestlessrestless squarepusher kind of beat in my head that keeps my toes moving and fingers shaking. it's tough but it gets easier to tolerate. but when you tolerate something for too long, you tend to stop realizing it's even there, like the goddamn elephant in the room you walked around for so long, you can't even see it anymore. so then you keep seeing the effect but you forget the cause. why do i walk around in wide circles when things are close at hand? why does it smell like elephant poop in here all the time? who knows? people ask you these questions but you're bloody stumped. and you get convinced there are no sane answers and obviously there's something wrong with you. and people, they only see what you show them, poor things. so how can you blame them for swinging from the elephant's tail but not seeing it? it's filling the whole room! it's too big to see! so they swing away and keep asking all these questions and you start walking in wider and wider circles and pretty soon everyone is convinced you're cuckoo in the head. and then maybe in a way you are, because you're clawing your eyes open but you've still got this goddamn tunnel vision. surely, that's insanity. and insanity is so unattractive after the initial novelty factor.
well my chappals are still all wrong and i can see it now, but the novelty for you finished a year ago. 365 days of saying, save him from you, save him from you, let him be the tattoo on his neck. 365 days of this mantra i internalized and NOW you ask me what i'd do?
really.
i would, i did, i have, i will.
i couldn't save me from myself, and the elephant ran a bit rampant around the room, but that's another story. there are tons of other stories, none of which we'll get into, because see i'm doing the saving here. and this time i'm committed to save you from me. and me from you, and me from me, and i'll even save you from you if i have to! (if i can.) us from them, them from us. keep choosing your pronouns. i'm a superhero man.
haha. ok i know i'm silly. but i'm not that silly.
i can get into a really really bad mood if i'm wearing a skirt but i'm not in skirt-wearing mood. and if the chappals are the wrong color, then you can just throw yourself into a sack in a river and forget about it. and the thing is that no matter where i am, i want to be somewhere else. it's this restlessrestlessrestless squarepusher kind of beat in my head that keeps my toes moving and fingers shaking. it's tough but it gets easier to tolerate. but when you tolerate something for too long, you tend to stop realizing it's even there, like the goddamn elephant in the room you walked around for so long, you can't even see it anymore. so then you keep seeing the effect but you forget the cause. why do i walk around in wide circles when things are close at hand? why does it smell like elephant poop in here all the time? who knows? people ask you these questions but you're bloody stumped. and you get convinced there are no sane answers and obviously there's something wrong with you. and people, they only see what you show them, poor things. so how can you blame them for swinging from the elephant's tail but not seeing it? it's filling the whole room! it's too big to see! so they swing away and keep asking all these questions and you start walking in wider and wider circles and pretty soon everyone is convinced you're cuckoo in the head. and then maybe in a way you are, because you're clawing your eyes open but you've still got this goddamn tunnel vision. surely, that's insanity. and insanity is so unattractive after the initial novelty factor.
well my chappals are still all wrong and i can see it now, but the novelty for you finished a year ago. 365 days of saying, save him from you, save him from you, let him be the tattoo on his neck. 365 days of this mantra i internalized and NOW you ask me what i'd do?
really.
i would, i did, i have, i will.
i couldn't save me from myself, and the elephant ran a bit rampant around the room, but that's another story. there are tons of other stories, none of which we'll get into, because see i'm doing the saving here. and this time i'm committed to save you from me. and me from you, and me from me, and i'll even save you from you if i have to! (if i can.) us from them, them from us. keep choosing your pronouns. i'm a superhero man.
haha. ok i know i'm silly. but i'm not that silly.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
existential angst on a film set
you be yourself
then someone yells 'action'
and you start to play yourself.
but do you stop when they yell 'cut'?
then someone yells 'action'
and you start to play yourself.
but do you stop when they yell 'cut'?
i've met quite a few
to divs, with whom there will be no confusion
to milz, who owes me royalty (d asks for some too, for the bangles)
to unna, who i'll buy a beer at toto's any day any time
to light
to film
to notebooks
to egg curry (yummmm)
to sunrise-sunset-sunrise-sunset oneafteranother
to wheat fields
to sync sound
to curly hair
to a whole-new vocabulary
and a long-awaited joint
i only have this to say:
now that i've met you,
i'm less impressed by greek gods
mwah.
to milz, who owes me royalty (d asks for some too, for the bangles)
to unna, who i'll buy a beer at toto's any day any time
to light
to film
to notebooks
to egg curry (yummmm)
to sunrise-sunset-sunrise-sunset oneafteranother
to wheat fields
to sync sound
to curly hair
to a whole-new vocabulary
and a long-awaited joint
i only have this to say:
now that i've met you,
i'm less impressed by greek gods
mwah.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
just observing
how many places can you claim as yours?
every new place
is equally new
no such thing as too alien
or not-so-alien
as another
so how many places can i claim as mine?
palolem
aswem
colaba
and his house
(not even so much my house)
so what do i know about here so far (in two hours from airport to home)?
they like backpacks and shoes.
nice to sit around half listening to intense conversations about color and reflection
i like counting all the colors in this room
and the number of vertical things
(shush, it's a new thing)
makes things safer, somehow
they begin many sentences with, "i'm carrying..."
and everyone's faces look like someone else's face
lesse where this goes.
every new place
is equally new
no such thing as too alien
or not-so-alien
as another
so how many places can i claim as mine?
palolem
aswem
colaba
and his house
(not even so much my house)
so what do i know about here so far (in two hours from airport to home)?
they like backpacks and shoes.
nice to sit around half listening to intense conversations about color and reflection
i like counting all the colors in this room
and the number of vertical things
(shush, it's a new thing)
makes things safer, somehow
they begin many sentences with, "i'm carrying..."
and everyone's faces look like someone else's face
lesse where this goes.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
where would you like to wake up tomorrow?
don't see the sorrow - au revoir simone, from the 50people1question video
Don't see the sorrow
Don't let it creep up through your skin
'Cause I read somewhere-
What you like, you'll find again
you'll find it again
I'm on the edge
Of not wanting to feel this way anymore
But I will still try to learn my lessons
With no mistakes anyway
I know that, know that
So you--
Why won't you make room, some room
For me? You--
Why won't you make room, some room
I see myself in you
I seem to know my death too
Here on a day this clear
It's as good a day to begin, to begin
So you--
Why won't you make room, some room
For me? You--
Why won't you make room, some room
For me? You--
Why don't you make room, some room
For me? You--
Why won't you make room, some room?
Don't see the sorrow
Don't let it creep up through your skin
'Cause I read somewhere-
What you like, you'll find again
you'll find it again
I'm on the edge
Of not wanting to feel this way anymore
But I will still try to learn my lessons
With no mistakes anyway
I know that, know that
So you--
Why won't you make room, some room
For me? You--
Why won't you make room, some room
I see myself in you
I seem to know my death too
Here on a day this clear
It's as good a day to begin, to begin
So you--
Why won't you make room, some room
For me? You--
Why won't you make room, some room
For me? You--
Why don't you make room, some room
For me? You--
Why won't you make room, some room?
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