let lemons be angry

All i want to be nowadays is half-asleep. It's the rain, and i am the color of rain. I want to be at the specs gal drifting out of here and hearing it, round and round, carousel, he's got you under its spell. Maybe when i wake up time will have stopped somewhere in last year. I get it, it's the jewel feeling again. Standing still, with the scenery flying by. Time has gone by and left me behind. I suddenly want my mother here, but she's faraway. I want to ask her what i should do about the little troublesome decisions, i want to crawl into her bed and be five again. Everywhere i turn there's something or someone to remind me what i'm hiding. Something that cuts, something that's cold. Did joan of arc ever feel this way in the dead darkness of nightwatches, or in the rain, or when she bled? Was there a little girl under the armor who longed for strong arms to hold her? Was there a lonely heart deep in the warrior who longed to finally depend on someone else? So she was joan of arc. Did she care that she was joan of arc? Because right now i don't care to be strong. Maybe next week i'll be up on my feet and brave and ready for things, but for now--just for now--i don't have to be those things. I won't be a less person if i'm not all that.

round and round, carousel
he's got you under its spell
moving so fast
but going nowhere