Why don’t you just pay a-fucking-ttention,
here’s my words that I’m screamin’
why don’t you give a-fucking damn?
Why’m I pissed?
Why’m I fruster-fucking-ated?
Live my life, walk in my shoes.
Tell me, can you feel the rocks?
The ice, the glass, the grass,
through the soles of my shoes.
Your sole in my sole,
can you feel my soul?
I can see you standing there
in a circle of fire – why’re you a liar?
Don’t deny it – I can see it,
You’re just smoke and ashes.
Like everyone else.
Just like every-fucking-one else.
Watch your words,
mind your tone.
Fuck you, I’m going home.
What home you say?
Cause you been there,
you know how flame licks out,
ignites everything it touches.
You could burn a town to the ground,
you could set the world on fire,
burn it down tree by tree.
So, why’m I so angry?
You’re standing there in my shoes,
red flames racing up the laces,
remains catching in a gray wind.
Don’t blame me for these flames.
White hot mist is what you’ll become,
if you keep wearing those shoes.
Take them off.
Please take them off.
she dreamed of being the perfect housewife,
with a white picket fence
and cookies in the oven;
neighborhood children coming round
and happy laughter and rising above
that white trash, low class background.
instead what she got was a broke down,
brown and metal fence
and some foodstains on a woodgrain
and 50 extra pounds that made her feel
so fucking small; fucking ironic.
what a disorganized clusterfuck she was,
no amount of education could make her talk pretty
oh but she wanted to – oh how she did.
she dreamed of being elegant and graceful,
and six feet tall and singing lullabyes
to tiny babies swaddeled with love;
so she settled for fur covered sweaters
and slobbery kisses for the nights when
the wounds wouldn’t heal.
she stared in the mirror every day,
and told herself to be stronger than yesterday,
that she was beautiful and brave
and that she could do today; she could do it.
living in a house of cards on the top,
waiting for the wind to blow
for the cards to fall – no trick aces,
no secret plays –
just a little girl dreaming of perfection
that she’ll never get even though
she wants it so bad she can taste it –
but sometimes who you are and
who you want to be are not the same.
she’s never gonna be high class –
just another empty version of
some shitty town’s white trash.