A Song From Under The Floorboards

The newcomer arrives
Possession and guilt in his face
Apologises to the customs man
For the gaping hole in his suitcase

I'd like to write about my vulnerability.
I'd like to write about my fear of being seen.
I'd like to write about my fear of writing.

I'd like to write about my great big head
Filled with ideas and dreams.
I'd like to be able to write
Instead of just making the paper dirty.

That old big head that protected me
That old big intellectual, exam-passing head
That old big rude-dreaming, song-writing head
That old big head that protected me so well
I used to wish I could live without it.

That old big broadband website head
Where I uploaded everything I was afraid of losing
Afraid of loving
Afraid of using.

feeling messy complicated flesh world

It's time to get the CDs out
It's time to go to the record store
It's time to borrow somebody else's voice

I am angry I am ill and I'm as ugly as sin
My irritability keeps me alive and kicking
I know the meaning of life, it doesn't help me a bit
I know beauty and I know a good thing when I see it.

This is a song from under the floorboards
This is a song from where the wall is cracked
By force of habit, I am an insect
I have to confess I'm proud as hell of that fact

I'd like to write about my vulnerability.
I'd like to write about my fear of being seen.
I'd like to write about my fear of writing.
I'd like to write about my fear of being me.

I just want to be touched again.
not poked or messaged or emailed.

I used to make phantoms I could later chase
images of all that could be desired
then I got tired of counting all of these blessings
and then I just got tired

I just want to be touched again

I've known the eeriest wounds
the soul's long quarantine

and I still turn to love
I want to burn again

I just want to be touched again.
I have to confess I'm proud as hell of that fact.

(with thanks and respect to HD & TH, the original authors)