Lyrics

Her eyes are full of study
Her shelves are filled with books of
people who thought about details
and who promptly fell in love

Because the stage and the canvas
were suddenly the corners of rooms
that anyone could notice
and shout "Art!" and throw combs
partly through their hair,
and feeling they knew what was
current, fly home to read the news

Unfortunately because
people are busy and the rest
are poor collectors, all the fresh,
solid, true ideas written in her sensual books' flesh
and touched in bed before sleep
are catalogued

When her age was eight
she had to memorize Roman numerals
with only a vague
idea of what that meant
to everything, or to her

Only a nervous need to acknowledge places she hadn't,
lest something become furious enough
to show her strongly that details like acknowledgment
had no known place in an eight year old world

Which would have made her sad, at least, or even frightened

Now now, there is nothing to be afraid of now
There is nothing to be afraid of now

In this later world, she's found reassurance
and is free