From the recording Country of Origin
Boom boom boom
I am a waterfall around whom
crowds gather. I will lose,
was willing to throw
my sense of direction
into the ocean
And I cried when the train pulled around and away:
I said, “I will come back someday.”
I’ve held this singularity; I’ve kept it to myself.
My generosity has taken the shape
of snowballs in god’s face and
he is perhaps pissed
or has lost his patience.
Sometimes I can see the blood and gold
as colors in the kaleidoscope.
Lights lights city ship boom!
Beating out the smooth What? and When? and Whom?
until my questions become a song.
Unsatisfied crowds throng
and catch me with their glances full on,
so that as I walk around I hear,
“Are you her?” “Are you her?”
“Are you that one?”
And sometimes, I hear
nothing from anyone.
A woman needs a roo-ooo-m
Of her own. Boom.
A woman needs a room of her own.
Boom boom boom!
But we all must evolve.
We must evolve,
however godawful slow.
Deep sea convections over ten thousand days, a rising up of direction
to take or to steal; to obtain by any known means.
And we? Who are we? We are the Madrid and Paris overflow;
jet streams crossing longitudes.
We are little children clutching little maps,
hoping for a reward,
or maybe for something colorful to burn.
But now it’s time I suppose
to love myself despite my allowing
these things to always occur.
They say the canyon must love the river.
All right, I will live my life in this fever, okay.
And I'll stop trying to invent a cure,
okay -- but I’ll hope for one anyway,
since hope is the most productive bit of the game.
I left the ocean on a train,
holding onto a drawing of an empty wooden cup.
Now I am all grown up.
I am all grown up.