When I was young,
I longed for love,
Through trapdoors below,
and canopies above.
Got tired of giving more
than taking what I need.
Made me think,
somehow there's safety
in killing the seed.
It's boring but safe,
when you don't even bleed.
When love comes and goes,
though you resist,
Mood clouds pour around,
you spend your days
feeling pissed.
Could it be there is more to Life?
Than collecting and planting
the lies in their eyes,
flowering into compromise?
When nothing is right,
cry yourself to sleep.
But in the morning,
read the magazine,
and remember-
You're still a Queen,
with your dirty feet
and your tambourine.
