But here in my heart
I give you the best of my love
Whoa oh oh oh, sweet darlin’
You get the best of my love…
He lies on his stomach, playing with the baby, and you are in the kitchen making dinner. The windows are open, and the garden is in full bloom. A half empty glass of red wine sits on the counter.
Later, when the baby is in bed and you have made love, you fall asleep together on the living room carpet, the summer breeze coming through the half-open window. The wine glasses are on the coffee table now, and record covers litter the ground. The needle has lifted from the turntable, and the Eagles record spins silently.
I read the news today, oh boy
Four thousand holes in Blackbird Lankeshire
And though the holes were rather small
They had to count them all
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall
I’d love to turn you on…
You are inordinately skinny, even though you eat two plates of food at every meal. You’re hair is yellow and you have a receding hairline. You are younger than me.
You don’t know what to say, so you never stop talking. A tight smile always tugs at the corners of your mouth, betraying how nervous you are. The only time the mask drops is when someone opens up to you with no fear of what you may think. When they tell you how much they hurt, too, your entire expression changes, and you lean forward, your mouth slack, to listen.
Do you know how sad it feels to be a man alone?
I feel soooo… solitary being in my home
Without you… don’t know what to do
And I don’t know where you’ve gone…
You are three years old, and you drink milk bottles and waddle around in diapers. Your Daddy’s record covers are strewn across the carpet, and your big sister is labeling them with masking tape and a Sharpie pen. She is doing her Daddy a big favor- this way, if the records ever get lost, the finder will know exactly where to send them, or, if that doesn’t work out, which phone number to call.
Meanwhile, you suck on your bottle and bounce up and down to the music. You won’t go to sleep until you’ve heard this song a few more times, and Mommy knows this, so she lets the music play on.
Cause he gets up in the morning
And he goes to work at nine
And he comes back home at five-thirty
Gets the same train every time
You are naturally beautiful, but you mar it all by wearing too much black eyeliner. You look so serious until you laugh, and then your eyes open wide and I see who you really are. You discuss things you don’t understand, and in doing so, give yourself a headache. You rub your temples and order another red wine. You say your fatal flaw in life was pretending to love football when you were a girl, because instead of making the guys want you, you turned into their buddy.
First thing I remember was asking Papa, “Why?”
For there were many things I didn’t know
And Daddy always smiled, took me by the hand
Saying, “Someday, you’ll understand…”
You are trapped in the tunnels of your mind. Where are you? You don’t know. Who are you? You have no idea. Have you transcended us all, or have you just gone away?
When I dream of you, the air between us is blue. You are throwing yourself against gray padded walls, wearing a football helmet while everyone watches. We try to save you, but you can’t understand a word we’re saying. You run back and forth, from one locked door to the next, until you collapse, exhausted, on the floor.
Help us wake up.
Who do you need, who do you love,
When you come undone?
You are stunningly beautiful. With black hair and flashing eyes, you catch every man’s attention. You laugh with your head thrown back, and tell raunchy jokes that draw gasps of shock and laughter from your friends. You are sensitive to a fault, a spear piercing your heart when you see an animal hurt or mistreated. You are utterly heartless when someone is wasting your time. You are an ice queen with a million cracks, your inner light melting your resolve again and again.
Take a little walk, when the worst is to come
When I saw you looking like I never thought
And say you’re at a loss, or forgot
That words can do more than harm…
You are the center point around which she revolves. You are the steady compass, pinning the paper down, allowing the pencil to make a perfect circle. Around you, she comes full circle. You are the sun, and she is a planet orbiting you, measuring where she is, who she has become, in relation to where you burn, yellow, strong.
Your arms are open to the world, and in them, she is convinced she has found home.
I’m gonna try to nullify my life
Cause when the blood begins to flow
When it shoots up the dropper’s neck
When I’m closing in on death…
You are a wild child, you always have been. You travel to Venice, and smoke cigarettes with your high-top Converse unlaced. Your hair is dyed black, and you are working on a mural tattoo up the side of your leg. You shoot heroin and sleep with strange women. You don’t give a fuck.
Before you die, you take jobs and lose jobs, never quite sure where you’re going. No one understands. You live in boarding houses and on the street. You move to Philadelphia, and then back to L.A. You buy cheap clothes at thrift shops, and you stink when you raise your arms. You die in a doorway with the needle in your arm. Now you’re in heaven. How does it feel?
And when you’re looking for your freedom
And nobody seems to care
And you can’t find the door
You can’t find it anywhere…
You have a halo of curly red hair, and you look out on the world through tinted glasses. Easels litter your living room, and burn marks dot your coffee table. Children love you, and women are effortlessly drawn to be your lover. In the basement, you grow pot, tall, skunky plants that fill the air with crystal magnificence. In your house plants upstairs, you have hidden tiny glass figures, mice, elephants, people.